Mixed Signals

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"Campaigning in last year's midterm elections, Obama argued over and over again that Republicans had driven the economy into a ditch; from now going forward, the question will be why he hasn't towed it out."

Karen Tumulty
Washington Post
Aug. 5, 2011

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It was almost predictable — except that things are so darn unpredictable these days.

About the only thing that seemed to be predictable last week was the weather — here in north Texas, we're in a potentially record–setting stretch of consecutive 100–degree days.

First the debt ceiling went down to the wire — which a lot of people were predicting. Then the overseas markets began some scary gyrations that spooked the American markets on the eve of the July jobs report. Fewer people were predicting that.

The signals just prior to the jobs report were not promising, and people were understandably nervous about what would happen on Friday, when the report came out and the markets began reacting to it.

Well, the jobs report was better than expected, and stocks got an early bounce from the news — but then things settled into a rocky pattern that capped a volatile week on Wall Street. I guess some people understood that, while it was better than expected, the jobs gains were still far short of what is needed to get the economy on a sound footing.

(Of course, it depends on who is doing the spinning. Democrats are likely to point out that jobs have been added to the economy in each of the last 10 months, which is true. But in most of those months, including the most recent one, the gains weren't even close to what the economy needs to average for several years.

(And Republicans are likely to overlook their prominent role in the making of this economic crisis — and act as if the president is solely to blame.

(Politicians like to blame their rivals for things. It reminds me of a comedy album in the 1970s in which a comedian mimicked an embattled Richard Nixon telling the nation that he was taking full responsibility for the Watergate scandal — but not the blame.

("Let me explain the difference," the comedian/Nixon said. "People who are to blame lose their jobs. People who are responsible do not.")

And then S&P lowered the U.S. credit rating from AAA to AA+. It's a kind of economic probation, I have heard economic experts say — potentially reversible but only if the U.S. government cleans up its act.

As polarized as the federal government is today, I don't have a lot of hope for that one. It seems to me that what is really needed is presidential leadership. It has been sorely lacking.

Some people disagree with me, and that is fine, but the fact remains that unemployment is higher now than it was when the president took office — and that is what many voters see when they look at this administration's economic record.

I have heard some Obama defenders speak with satisfaction of the recent jobs gains — but the raw numbers say that the unemployment rate went down by the same amount — 0.1% — that it went up the previous month. No real ground has been gained by the economy this summer.

In fact, the decline in the credit rating suggests the opposite. But who knows?

Not much is clear to anyone, least of all the ordinary citizens — especially the ones who have been out of work and just want to be self sufficient, to have at least part of their lives back. They don't care about global politics and foreign economies, but their lives are being affected by them, anyway.

They are the ones for whom leadership is most important right now.

David Gergen knows something about presidential leadership. He worked with four presidents, and he shares, at CNN.com, his thoughts following a recent visit to London, where he saw the Churchill War Rooms.

"On both sides of the Atlantic," he writes, "the turmoil of this past week has sparked cries for those in political power to step up and for God's sake, lead."

His visit to the Churchill War Rooms convinced him that a Churchill is what is needed here.

Churchill's times were uncertain as well, Gergen points out, but he set clear goals and led the march, even if he was marching into a murky future.

"On several walls hang posters from those days: 'Keep Calm & Carry On.' That is very much the spirit that leaders of today need to instill in peoples across the Atlantic," Gergen writes. "They must replace fear with faith in the future."

If that happens, maybe the signals won't seem as mixed.

Remembering the 'Culminator'

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One of the real regrets of my life is that I have no photographs of myself with my friend Mike Culpepper, who died 20 years ago today.

Well, that's one regret that I have. Another regret is that I have no photographs of Mike by himself. I have only my memories.

But I have many of those.

One of the things I remember is how many of the same things we both liked. Near the end of his life, he liked the music of the Southern rock group the Black Crowes, and I remember that he mentioned to me once that he liked their song, "She Talks to Angels."

(Mike was really more of a fan of the Black Crowes than I was so I guess that isn't really a good example. However, it illustrates our shared appreciation for Southern rock — so maybe it isn't a bad example, after all.)

He liked other songs by the Black Crowes, too, but that stood out in my mind after he died. Maybe, under the circumstances, it seemed to have a special relevance — regardless of how one felt about the concept of an afterlife (thoughts of which were unavoidable — the introduction of the word angels invited its consideration).

Mike wasn't one of my childhood friends. In fact, we met relatively late in his life, about six or seven years before he died. (I guess late isn't the right word. Mike and I did know each other in the last years of his life, but I think what I'm getting at is not really chronological. It's more proportional. It was a rather significant chunk of Mike's life. Mine, too, actually.)

We met through a mutual friend in one of those random, chain–reaction things that so often seem to happen in life. I've met many people that way — most of the time, those acquaintances haven't amounted to much more than comments like "Didn't we meet at ...?" and "Oh, yes, I thought you looked familiar ..." the next time we bumped into each other, but my friendship with Mike was different.

I don't remember how or where we met, but I know through whom we met — my friend Brady.

Ironically, I hadn't really known Brady all that long, either, when I met Mike. I met Brady through some mutual friends I knew in college — Mike (that's a different Mike) and Joe.

Mike and Joe were roommates. I think I met Joe first. Must have. Joe was a journalism student, and so was I. Mike was an artist.

Before our college careers were over, Joe and I did attend some of the same classes. But that wasn't how we met. My memory is that we met through another friend (also a journalism student) whom I did meet in a journalism class, and she introduced us at some sort of social occasion on campus.

I didn't know any of those people before I graduated from high school — but they came to mean more to me than most of the people I'd known since grade school.

After we finished college, we all gravitated to central Arkansas, which is where I met Mike Culpepper. You know how the memories of some people, some places and some things are forever linked to certain times? I guess that is how I feel about Mike.

For me, memories of our friendship are almost entirely linked to my memories of the 1980s. We met when I was living in Little Rock, working for the Arkansas Gazette, and he was living in Pine Bluff, a short distance away.

We became friends as we crossed paths frequently at Brady's place. I worked on the Gazette's sports staff, and Mike was a sports fan. We always had a lot to talk about.

I felt honored to work for the Gazette. It had a rich tradition of which I was proud to be a part, and sports always played an important role in the lives of the people in Arkansas, as it still does today. As a child, I dreamed of working on the news side at the Gazette, but that never meant that I regarded my work on the sports side as trivial.

I can say, without hesitation, that I am proud of the work I did there. And my memories of that time in my life are enhanced by the ever–present memory of my friend, Mike Culpepper. It would have been a completely different experience for me if he had not been there. We didn't work together, but I can't think of my time at the Gazette without thinking of the influence Mike had on me.

He was a true friend.

Like just about everyone I knew, Mike was a Razorback fan, and he always wanted to talk about the Hogs. And, like most of the men in Arkansas at that time, he was a Dallas Cowboys fan. He always wanted to talk about the Cowboys, too.

He wanted to know who the hot prospects were at different positions and who was likely to be in the Super Bowl.

I didn't always know what he wanted to know, but that was OK with Mike. I soon discovered that he would bring up topics usually as a way to start an open–ended conversation. He liked to speculate.

My job required me to work nights and weekends. So did Mike's. In fact, there were several occasions when Mike came by my apartment late at night, and we would watch TV and drink a beer — or eat some food he had just picked up at the Waffle House nearby.

(Mike always was fond of the Waffle House. I never understood why. Maybe it was because the Waffle House was about the only place in west Little Rock that was open late at night. The food was always a little too greasy for my taste.)

Mike usually had food with him on those nocturnal visits, and I figured, although we never discussed it, that he must have missed a lot of meals. He was always thin (painfully so after his chemo treatments). But he was generous, almost to a fault. Whatever he had was yours to share, even if he was down to his last penny or his last morsel of food.

Often, when Mike came by, we would play computer football — which was an altogether different thing from what folks play today. I had an old Commodore 64 in those days and a computer football game diskette. Mike would come by shortly after I returned from work — sometimes he would be waiting outside my door when I arrived — and we would play football until the wee hours of the morning.

Then, sometimes, Mike would fall asleep on my couch, and I would retreat to my bedroom. If neither of us had to work the next day, more computer football would be played after we got up.

That computer football game was a tradition for awhile — not only for Mike and me but for Brady and a mutual friend of ours named Steve as well. In fact, it was the source of a nickname that Brady gave Mike that was based on Mike's surname — the Culminator. Even now, whenever I speak or even think of Mike, Culminator comes to mind.

I spent about 4½ years at the Gazette, then I moved to Texas, where I enrolled in graduate school. I was working on the sports staff of the local newspaper, and I took pride in watching (from a distance) the Razorbacks' Southwest Conference championship season, which brought them to Dallas for the Cotton Bowl.

Mike and Steve came to visit me, and the three of us went to the game. Arkansas didn't win (the Razorbacks lost to Troy Aikman and UCLA), but it is a memory I treasure now — along with the game program I bought that day.

I was still in north Texas — on the verge of getting my master's degree, in fact — when Mike was diagnosed with a particularly aggressive form of cancer in the spring of 1991, and he died less than five months later.

I had planned to take my last graduate–level class that summer and receive my degree in August, but I put those plans on hold. I made a few trips back to Arkansas that summer to visit Mike as he was undergoing the final, ultimately futile treatments for his disease, then, on this day 20 years ago, Steve called to let me know that it was over.

It had been a hot, sticky summer — not nearly as hot as this one has been although the humidity here in north Texas was higher in 1991. My memory of Aug. 7, 1991, is that the actual temperature wasn't quite 100°, but the humidity made it feel like it was well over 100°.

I had been out somewhere, running some sort of errand, and I had just been back in my apartment for a few minutes when the phone rang. My clothes were drenched in sweat — there wasn't a single part of me that was dry — and I probably made sloshing noises as I rose from my seat to answer the phone.

I'm still not sure what I thought or what I felt at the moment Steve called. I remember feeling dizzy, and I stuck out my hand so I could grab something and remain standing. I couldn't tell you what I grabbed — a chair, a table, whatever. All I know is that I did remain standing. I propped myself up against whatever it was that I grabbed, and I remained vertical.

I couldn't imagine a world without Mike in it, even though I had been preparing myself for the likelihood that he would not survive ever since I heard the diagnosis. I knew the outlook was not good — Brady had told me how grim it was — and yet, somewhere in my mind, I clung to the belief that he could, that he would beat it.

But he did not.

That brings me to another regret that I will take to my grave. Each time I visited Mike during those months when he was fighting his losing battle, I mentally accepted the fact that I could be seeing him for the last time. But I could never bring myself to say goodbye to him.

I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to tell him what a great friend he had been, that I would never forget him, but I just never could when I had the opportunity. Maybe I was a coward.

A couple of weeks before he died, I finally broke down and wrote him a letter. Writing has always been my default position, I guess. It's easier for me to deal with things when I write them down.

Anyway, I wrote a very heartfelt letter to him. I assume he received it, but I don't know. He never sent me a reply, and his parents didn't mention it to me when I came back to Arkansas for his funeral.

During that phone conversation 20 years ago today, as I say, I felt dizzy, and there was a sudden roaring in my ears. I knew Steve was talking, probably telling me details that I have long since forgotten that he told me, but I couldn't make out the words for awhile.

(I guess the best way to describe it would be to compare it to the teacher's wah wah wah droning in the old Charlie Brown cartoons. No offense, Steve. Nothing made sense to me at that moment.)

Then things cleared up enough that I heard Steve tell me that Mike's family wanted me to be one of his pallbearers. I don't remember what I said or how I said it. I probably said something like "I'll do that" or "I will be there" or maybe even just "OK," and Steve said something like "We already told them you would."

So, on Aug. 10, 1991, I found myself in Pine Bluff, Ark., serving as one of Mike's pallbearers — instead of doing what I originally planned to do on that Saturday, receive my master's degree.

I thought about that during the eulogy, and I remembered what John Lennon said: "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans." And I remember wondering what plans Mike had that had been interrupted.

Before they lowered Mike into the ground, I finally said goodbye. It was under my breath so I doubt that anyone at the graveside heard it, but that was OK because it wasn't meant for anyone else.

That provided a certain sense of closure, I suppose, but I was still left with the maybes.

Maybe I thought I was saying that to Mike's spirit, but I have often wondered about that. In the last months of his life, Mike underwent something of a religious conversion. He didn't strike me as being particularly religious most of the time I knew him, but in the months before his death, he seemed to embrace his family's Catholicism.

I wasn't really sure what I believed about the afterlife at the time. I am no more certain about it today. Maybe, when I was standing next to his coffin just before it was lowered into the ground, I felt it was being respectful of Mike and his faith, even if it wasn't/isn't a belief that I share.

Maybe Mike had accepted something that some of us could never accept — at least, until it was too late.

Mike was still in his 20s when he died. I have often wondered what he might have done if he had been allowed to live for the next 20. Would he have gotten married? Would he have had children? What would he have done with the additional time?

I always thought he was a talented person. I can't begin to guess what he might have done if he had lived, but I'm sure it would have been impressive.

Mike may have been the most courageous person I have ever known. I long ago concluded that I will never be able to face what he faced with the grace with which he faced it.

But I will try.

As I say, I don't know what I think happens when people die.

But if there is anything to the perception that humans have souls that live on after their physical bodies die, then I know at least one thing is true.

My friend talks to angels.

Put in a good word for me, Mike.

I Still Miss You

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"I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces all day through
In that small café, the park across the way
The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well

"I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way
I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you."

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It's been a year now, and there are times when I still can't get my mind completely around it.

My friend Phyllis died a year ago today.

Her birthday rolled around a couple of months after she died, and I wrote at that time of how much I missed her. Not a lot has changed.

We met in sixth grade. We lost touch at times — as even the best of friends will do — and we didn't always see eye to eye on things — again, as even the best of friends do — but we were always friends. That never changed, and we will continue to be friends until I draw my last breath.

You see, death (or so I have heard it said) does not mean the end of a friendship. At least, until both of the friends are no more. I'm glad I still have the memories I have. As long as those memories exist, so does Phyllis.

When I die, if there is an afterlife, I suppose Phyllis and I will pick up where we left off. Under those conditions, I guess, time and space will no longer be barriers.

The existence of the afterlife is really a separate discussion, though, and I am not as confident of it as I once was. I will discuss it with anyone who wants to discuss it, and I will listen respectfully to anything that anyone has to say on the subject — but not today.

Today, my thoughts are of Phyllis and how much I have missed her these last 12 months.

I have written about Phyllis on several occasions, in this blog and in the others that I write. I never know when — or why — I may be reminded of her, inspired by her. I only know that I am.

And I want others to know that she has inspired me. That's why I put these thoughts out here.

If I die unexpectedly, these writings will be here indefinitely, I suppose. If people stumble onto something I have written about Phyllis — or anyone else — it may be nothing more than a digital "Kilroy Was Here" to most.

But, in truth, it is my way of saying that I was here — and so was Phyllis and so were all the other people about whom I have written and will continue to write.

Those people brought me great joy when they were alive, and I want them to be remembered.

And the best way to do that is to remember stories.

There are lots of stories I could tell about Phyllis. But, you know, one of the pleasures of telling the old stories is having the people who were part of those stories around to reminisce about them.

Phyllis has been gone for a year now so I haven't told those stories nearly as often as I would like.

Well, most of those stories probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone else, anyway, so maybe the appropriate thing to do on this first anniversary is to reflect on what I have learned — in the last year and in my life in general.

I've been thinking a lot about the things I always thought were true. I've noticed that, as the years have gone by, things aren't as black and white as I thought when I was a child and I was learning the rules — you know what I mean, the multiplication tables, learning to tie my shoes, driving on the right side of the road, looking both ways before crossing the street, etc. The basics.

The instructions I received when I was growing up resembled those science experiments that have been conducted in classrooms for generations. The outcomes of certain actions under certain circumstances were 100% predictable.

There's a lot more gray now. I find it hard, at times, to know exactly what meaning I am supposed to draw from things anymore.

For instance ...

Almost exactly two years ago, I wrote about my friend and her relationship with her husband.

Phyllis was single until about the last 10 years of her life, then she met a man who was more than 10 years older and married him. By her account and others', it was a strong relationship, made even stronger by their shared experience of her affliction with cancer.

Her husband, who goes by the name of "Hawk" (I have always suspected that is a nickname, not a given name, but Phyllis never told me and neither has anyone else), is a Methodist minister who serves a couple of small churches in the central Arkansas county where Phyllis and I grew up.

I've never met him, but, after Phyllis died, we became friends on Facebook, and I have followed his posts there and occasionally sent him e–mails offering him encouragement as he has recovered from Phyllis' loss. Usually, I've sent such messages to him around milestone dates — holidays, birthdays, that sort of thing — but sometimes for no other reason except that I was thinking about him, hoping he was all right.

I guess I sort of felt I owed it to Phyllis.

Lately, his recovery took a turn that took me by surprise — and I haven't known how to react to it.

If you aren't familiar with Facebook, people can choose to enter all kinds of personal information, including their relationship status. They aren't required to do that. It is simply an option.

Anyway, after Phyllis died, Hawk changed his status to widowed, and it remained that way until just recently, when he changed it to in a relationship.

I've had mixed feelings about that, feelings that are hard for me to put into words, much less to understand.

It isn't that I expected Hawk to erect some kind of shrine to Phyllis and be a monk for the rest of his life. I don't believe that is what Phyllis would have wanted. (Let me qualify that by saying that I have always felt a little uncomfortable about suggesting that I know — or, for that matter, that anyone knows — what a deceased person might or might not have thought.)

There really is no rational way to look at this as some kind of betrayal — and I don't.

At the same time, though, as I say, I'm not sure how I feel. I know how much of herself Phyllis invested in that relationship, and I suppose much of my feeling stems from my deep regret that she is gone. In this past year, I have often felt cheated, deprived of what should have been.

We should have been able to enjoy the pleasures that old friends enjoy in their old age. Those were things that should have been for Phyllis. She was entitled to those things, damn it. It isn't fair that it was all snatched away from her that way. I guess it still pains me to realize that they will never be.

There were times after Phyllis and I re–connected on Facebook when Hawk had to leave her for a few days or perhaps a week to attend some sort of ministerial conference. Phyllis posted daily countdowns until his return — then, on the day he was scheduled to return, she would post giddy, schoolgirlish messages about how "my sweet Hawk" would be walking through the door in a few hours.

That was a side of Phyllis I had never seen, not even when we were teenagers together back in Conway, Ark. Back then, I knew she had the typical "crushes" girls in that age range tend to have, but she was always more serious about everything else — her studies, her grades, her music.

It sort of rounded out Phyllis for me, I guess. And I knew — as I had always known — that her devotion to the people in her life was lasting and genuine and true.

I know Hawk wasn't unfaithful to her — and isn't being unfaithful to her now. And perhaps, when I have had more time to absorb this, I will know better how to feel about it.

For now, though, all I can say is this:

I miss you, Phyllis.

A 'Rendezvous With Destiny'

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In the weeks before Barack Obama took the oath of office 2½ years ago, lots of folks were already comparing him to Lincoln and FDR.

Lincoln, as the Great Emancipator, was an obvious one, I guess, considering that Obama was the first black president. Obama's elevation to the presidency could be seen — and, in fact, was seen by some — as the fruition of Lincoln's vision of a post–racial America.

But I always felt the comparison to Roosevelt was more appropriate because of the circumstances and the expectations — OK, maybe I was influenced by the fact that I once wrote a research paper in graduate school on the 1932 presidential election, in which FDR first won the presidency (denying Herbert Hoover a second term by a substantial margin).

I still say the circumstances — which most people readily acknowledged were the worst since Roosevelt's time — had a lot to do with that. It's been nearly 80 years since Roosevelt was elected president, and the economic disaster that contributed much to Obama's election clearly wasn't as severe as the one facing FDR — but it was the worst this country has faced in three–quarters of a century, and that is important to remember.

In 2008, America already was, for all intents and purposes, a post–racial society. Racism still existed, but not on an officially sanctioned level, as it did when schools and public restrooms and businesses of all kinds were segregated.

And organized racism (i.e., the Ku Klux Klan) was not practiced at the level it once was, thanks to laws that were not only enacted but actively enforced.

Discrimination was outlawed, which, it seems to me, is the kind of thing that can only be taken so far as long as it is pursued as vigorously as other crimes.

If, for example, an employer is predisposed not to hire people who belong to a certain race — or, for that matter, happen to be female or over a certain age — it probably would be the kind of thing that would be hard to prove in court without some sort of paper trail. If one exists, it is government's responsibility to prosecute.

I'm sure discrimination still happens, but it's more covert. Folks who discriminate make more of an effort to cover their tracks. Most don't say or do incriminating things indiscriminately.

The election of Obama had no discernible impact on unsanctioned discrimination, but that wasn't really what the campaign was about. Sure, many folks were motivated by a desire to show the world that America had transcended racism, but I think a lot of it had to do with the economy.

It was what Americans have always done.

The bad economy affected everyone — and, as a student of history, I can tell you that, when times are bad, voters need very little encouragement to turn to the party that is out of power.

In 2008, the Republicans held the presidency. There was no incumbent to punish, as there had been in 1932, but the public could hold his party accountable — and it did. The voters gave the Democrats the White House and padded their majorities in the House and Senate.

I believed then — and I believe now — that the Democratic nominee was virtually assured of victory after the economy imploded under a Republican president. If Hillary Clinton had been the nominee, she would have won. If John Edwards had been the nominee, he would have won (and, considering the things that have emerged about him, we might well have faced other issues as a result).

As I say, this is how it has always been in America. When the economy is bad, the voters turn against the party in the White House. Doesn't matter who is in charge in Congress — which is never popular, anyway. Economic policy is believed to be set by the president.

Sure, we've had other economic downturns in the last three–quarters of a century — some modest and short lived, some not so modest and longer lived — but presidents who survived and were rewarded with additional time were the ones who demonstrated leadership and confidence.

They were the ones who met their "rendezvous with destiny," as FDR put it in his acceptance speech at the 1936 Democratic National Convention. Roosevelt was wrapping up his first term in the White House and was asking for four more years.

The unemployment rate in 1936 was much worse than it is today — but it was a clear improvement over the conditions that prevailed when Roosevelt was first elected. People responded to that fact — as well as the fact that Roosevelt had shown an eagerness to try new things when other approaches weren't getting the desired effect.

It's called leadership. It is the pioneering spirit that has always been celebrated in American history.

In the aftermath of the congressional resolution of the debt ceiling crisis, one got the sense from Obama that we had dodged a bullet, not that an important step had been taken toward the fulfillment of his vision of economic recovery and progress.

He hasn't shown the same kind of eagerness to try new things when the old ones did not succeed. Instead, he has been like George W. Bush, unable (or unwilling) to admit to any mistakes and, consequently, learn from them.

He must have made some mistakes. Under Obama's watch, unemployment has never been below where it was on the day he was sworn in. in 2½ years, voters expect to see some improvement.

Yet, on this Friday, roughly 15 months before Obama must face the voters again, forecasters believe the unemployment rate will remain at 9.2%.

In the context of the times, that would have been considered amazing when FDR sought a second term — and might have led to a 50–state landslide. As it was, Roosevelt carried all but two states and received more than 60% of the vote.

But, in 2011, to many voters, it represents a retreat if not outright surrender. Even the most generous voters seem hard pressed to defend these numbers, which directly threaten everything else.

It's why the stock markets have been jittery. It's why creditors have put the United States on a form of economic probation, even though an agreement was reached on the debt ceiling.

What has Obama — who likes to talk about "teachable moments" — learned from his mistakes? Is he meeting his rendezvous with destiny?

Do You Really Want This Job?

That's what I want to ask anyone who runs for president.

I mean, I know full–time jobs are hard to come by these days — and that one does pay well, along with coming with a well–furnished, rent–free home in which to live for four years and an airplane that will take you anywhere you want to go.

But, other than that, I really would like to know why anyone would want to be president.

It wasn't that way when I was a kid.

I was always interested in the presidents when I was small. Looked up to them, I did. When I was little, I committed to memory all the presidents in chronological order — don't know why I did that, couldn't even hazard a guess. Nevertheless, I did that when I was in first grade. True story. I had been given a set of cards with each president's portrait on one side and brief biographical data on the other. Sort of like baseball cards — but with commanders in chief.

Somewhere I got the idea that serving as president was the greatest, noblest thing to which a person could aspire. My parents and my friends would tease me about coming to visit me in the White House. There was even a time when I believed I would be president one day.

But I gave up on that idea a long time ago.

To seek the presidency, I believe, requires an unholy alliance of selflessness and egotism. It is a combination one rarely finds in garden variety occupations (outside of politics). The successful application of those two personality traits is rarer still.

A president must be incredibly selfless, willing to accept the nearly constant scrutiny, the almost total lack of a private life that comes with the territory — and, simultaneously, he must possess an enormous ego to think that he can wear all the hats one must wear as president.

The expectations really are incredible. No human being could possibly live up to all of them — but that hasn't kept some from trying.

Some, of course, haven't even tried.

But most who have tried to be all things to all people — and most who have not tried to be anything — have not succeeded in the Oval Office.

The successful presidents, the ones who are remembered by history, typically are remembered for their strengths in spite of their weaknesses. They carved out their niches. You know what I mean — Lincoln, for example, is remembered as "Honest Abe" and "The Great Emancipator" (even though abolishing slavery was not his initial goal when the Civil War began).

The unsuccessful ones tend to obtain less flattering nicknames.

In the first 2½ years of his presidency, Barack Obama has shown time and time again that among his top priorities is a desire for bipartisanship — preferably while maintaining a certain amount of distance which gives the appearance of elitism to some.

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(Sometimes he reminds me of Frasier Crane, who was once the subject of an unflattering limerick that was scrawled on the men's room wall at work, and he sought to prove he was just one of the guys by inviting all of his colleagues, most of whom he did not know, to a party at his place.

(But his quest for acceptance backfired on him. His colleagues embraced him a little too warmly, and Frasier lamented the end of the days when he was "unapproachable" to most of the people in the office. "Couldn't they have sent just one representative?" he asked.

(After weeks of dealing with the likes of John Boehner and Mitch McConnell and their minions, I have to think Obama would sympathize.)

Maybe it was something else. I suppose, when Obama's presidency has been over for several years and historians have had the opportunity to assess every angle of every action and the long–term consequences, there will be an answer of some kind.

But what seems clear to me, at this point, is that Obama squandered much of his political capital on inconsequential fights early in his term when his party handily controlled both chambers of Congress, leaving him with little in reserve when he really needed it — on this squabble over the debt ceiling (which still isn't resolved as I write this, by the way).

On the surface, one can say that Obama probably did about as well as he could have hoped for. Neither side was going to get everything it wanted, but the catastrophe that he and others feared probably has been avoided.

If the crisis really has been resolved, it can't be seen as a triumph for either side. Both sides will spin it to their best advantage, but the truth is that it never should have come to this in the first place.

The real "winners" — if it can be said that there were winners — were the millions of Americans whose existences may have been made much more difficult if nothing had been done.

Some people will say that was leadership — although, publicly at least, Obama remained at arm's length of the debate and let others do the heavy lifting. Meanwhile, the rhetoric from both sides remained quite partisan, suggesting that even more intense debates lie ahead in the 2012 election cycle.

Given the partisan tone of this debate, Obama couldn't be surprised at the criticism that has come his way from the right and the center. But he might be somewhat taken aback by the wrath that has come from the left.

Many Democrats in Congress aren't happy, and neither are columnists who are usually supportive of this president.

There was a double whammy for Obama in the almost always supportive New York Times.

Paul Krugman wrote that the president surrendered under pressure and there is more to come. A precedent has been set, he says, that will endure beyond the Obama presidency.

"[H]ow can American democracy work if whichever party is most prepared to be ruthless, to threaten the nation's economic security, gets to dictate policy?" he asked.

Another of Obama's followers, Maureen Dowd, may have been even more damning. She wrote that Obama — in the eyes of an unnamed Democratic senator who, presumably, will be among those to vote on the deal today — is "turn[ing] into Jimmy Carter right before our eyes."

Such is the fickle nature of American politics. When Obama was elected and about to take the oath of office, he was compared to Lincoln and FDR. As his first year in office dragged on, the comparisons dropped to less historically impressive (flawed but successful) predecessors.

When the discussion deteriorates to comparisons with one–term presidents, I would suggest that you investigate the source. It's usually someone with an axe to grind. But Dowd was on board the Obama bandwagon before there was a bandwagon. She was an Obamaphile before Obama was cool.

And, over at the Washington Post, which has been nearly as supportive of Obama as the Times, Greg Sargent reminds those in power that, once the latest distraction is behind us, it's time for that long–promised "pivot to jobs."

That makes me think there may be some dissension within the ranks. At best, with his approval rating languishing in the 40s, Obama must realize that the 2012 election will be much closer than the one in 2008. States that narrowly voted for Obama — and rarely vote for Democrats — like Indiana, North Carolina and Colorado — are highly unlikely to vote for him again, and it will be touch and go in a lot of other places, too.

When liberals start saying a liberal president surrendered and is taking on the look of the Democrats' last one–term president, it could well lead to a challenge from within Obama's party (it isn't too late for a challenger to emerge, however unlikely he/she would be to succeed) and a possible victory for the other party in the general election — even if the opposition nominates someone generally seen as an extremist.

That was what happened to Carter — who entered the presidency on a wave of popularity that was similar to Obama's but is remembered by some as "President Malaise."

It isn't a fair characterization. As I have written here before, Carter never used the word malaise in his now–infamous speech from July 1979. But these things take on lives of their own.

It really makes me wonder why Obama would want to spend another four years in the White House — or why any of the Republicans who are challenging him would want to take his place.

Half a Century of Six Flags

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It isn't unusual these days to see a "Six Flags" amusement park in several places across this country — from coast to coast.

You'll even find them in foreign countries.

Some have always been "Six Flags" parks. Others began their existences with other names and under different management, but they were later absorbed into the "Six Flags" corporation. In all, there have been nearly three dozen "Six Flags" amusement parks.

But the very first one opened to the public 50 years ago on this date in Arlington, Texas, about 25 miles west of where I live today. It officially opened for business on Aug. 5, 1961 (the day after Barack Obama was born).

That theme park was known then — and it's still known — as "Six Flags Over Texas," a name it took from the fact that six different nations ruled Texas in its history — Spain, France, the Confederacy, Mexico, the Republic of Texas and the United States.

It was modeled after Disneyland's concept of dividing the park into several sub–sections (theme parks within a theme park, you might say) — but Disney focused more on general themes like Adventureland, Fantasyland, Tomorrowland.

My grandparents lived in Dallas, and my family visited them often when I was growing up. Outside of the Texas State Fair, there really wasn't much to bring families to Dallas when my parents were children, and I don't think things were all that different before I was born, but "Six Flags Over Texas" changed that.

My mother and my grandmother could hardly wait until I was old enough to take to "Six Flags," which was constantly adding new things in the 1960s and 1970s. When the day finally arrived that we went to "Six Flags," I think they were more excited about it than I was.

And, after they took me the first time, it became a regular thing for us every summer.

(Incidentally, although its primary days of operation have always been from late spring to autumn, "Six Flags" is open for seasonal events today, like its annual Spring Break kickoff, which got started in the 1980s, and its Christmas programs.

(I can't remember if it was open during the Christmas holidays when I was a child. We didn't pay attention. We were busy with other things.)

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I loved the rides — some more than others — and I loved the food. And, on especially hot days, I loved the cool of the park's theaters, where song–and–dance shows (often featuring area college students as performers) were repeated frequently every day.

It really was a wonderful combination of entertainment and a crash course in history. As a child, I was attracted by all the things that attract children, but, in hindsight, I have often wondered if maybe the seeds of my interest in history were planted on those day trips to "Six Flags" — an interest that, I am confident, led me to study journalism in college.

Sure, there were the kinds of rides you expect to find at an amusement park. There were roller coasters and bumper cars and a miniature train that went all the way around the park, but there were also several theme–specific rides.

(I remember that the Oil Derrick Tower, which represented the 20th century oil boom in Texas, was the first thing you could see as you approached the amusement park from any direction, looming as it did high above everything else.

(It was visible for miles along that relatively flat terrain, and it was the landmark I watched for — because I knew, when I saw it, that it was really happening. It wasn't an abstract concept.

(I've only been to Disneyland once, and I was a teenager when I did that, but I presume that is how kids feel when they catch their first glimpse of Sleeping Beauty's Castle.)

Many of the rides featured guides who provided an historical narration. OK, sometimes it was modified a little to give the guests more of a sense of being in the moment — a little jam on the bread, as Andy Griffith said once on his TV show.

Sometimes, as I say, the narrators took a little poetic license, but that was all right. The stories they told — to borrow a line from Mark Twain — were mostly true.

And I wasn't going to quibble — because I was only a kid, and I was having fun the way kids do.

I never stopped to think about how the tour guides' stories might be subtly influencing how I thought and what I knew — or what I thought I knew.

But they did — in ways I am still discovering. Even today, when I'm watching, say, The History Channel and something is said that contradicts something I heard in one of those narratives, I do a kind of mental double take.

I don't mind, though. I had fun, and I am thankful for the memories — and whatever actual knowledge I picked up along the way.

Everything Old Is New Again

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"Peace is at hand."

Henry Kissinger
October 1972

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A few hours ago, the president announced a tentative agreement in the debt ceiling debate.

Barack Obama told the nation that "both parties have found their way toward compromise," which will be good news, indeed — if it comes to fruition.

And that is the as–yet unanswered question. Will both sides agree to it? Or will support break down as each side has an opportunity to examine the deal more closely?

I am reminded of the day in October 1972 when, with Richard Nixon a week away from facing the voters in his bid for a second term, Henry Kissinger announced to the world that "peace is at hand" in Vietnam.

It was the original October surprise. It was what everyone wanted. And it was clearly what Nixon believed would secure a second term for him.

Based on Nixon's job approval numbers from 1972 — and the self–destructive nature of the Democratic ticket — that outcome probably was never in doubt.

But, when Nixon was at this point of his first term — July–August 1971 — his job approval numbers were about 10 percentage points lower than the share of the vote he received in November 1972. They were, essentially, at the break–even point, with roughly half of respondents approving of his performance, and much of it reflected public disappointment that Nixon's "secret plan" had failed to bring an end to the conflict in southeast Asia.

In the context of the times — and to be fair — there were, as there always are, economic issues that demanded the president's attention.

(In fact, August 15 will be the 40th anniversary of Nixon's imposition of a 90–day freeze on prices and wages following his announcement that America would no longer convert dollars to gold at a fixed rate, marking the end of the Bretton Woods financial management system.)

But those economic conditions — however severe they may have been and whatever role (if any) the actions that were taken then may have played in our current economic woes — were not the primary focus of attention.

Even Nixon's supporters probably would admit that he was one of the most paranoid men ever to sit in the Oval Office — and, after the Pentagon Papers were leaked in June 1971, I'm sure he must have sensed increased public scrutiny in his foreign policy.

In 1971, Nixon was vulnerable on that issue, after all his talk in the 1968 campaign about the need for new leadership to replace the failed leadership of the previous four years. By October 1972, he must have seen the rhetorical value of being able to say a deal for peace ("with honor," as he put it) was in the works.

Nixon did, as a matter of fact, sign such an agreement in January of 1973 — but the hostilities in Vietnam continued for more than two years (outlasting Nixon's presidency, which ended with his resignation in August 1974).

Similarly, Obama's presidency is vulnerable if this deal falls through and the United States winds up defaulting. That could wind up causing a chain reaction of economic events that no one can imagine — or wants.

Fortunately, the Asian markets responded positively to the news of an impending deal, which should relieve some of the pressure on U.S. lawmakers.

Well, it buys them some time — a few hours, anyway.

But there isn't much time left.

Is peace really at hand?

How Hot Is It?

It's been nearly 20 years since Johnny Carson left The Tonight Show, but, if you can remember when he was the show's host, you can probably remember many of his ongoing routines.

I'm thinking of one in particular that was usually likely to surface during Carson's monologue, but it could happen at any time. It frequently popped up when something really extreme had been happening — for example, a lot more (or a lot less, for that matter) rain than usual.

He would say something like, "It was so wet (or dry) today that ..." and, before he could finish the joke, the audience would roar as one, "How wet (or dry) was it?"

As I say, it could be anything extreme — or anything, at least, that was perceived to be extreme. It could be "Dan Quayle is so dumb" or "Al Gore is so wooden."

Weather was always a good source, but it could be anything. Carson and his writers could be very creative at times.

(All together now — How creative were they?)

Lately, as the nation has been enduring the kind of heat wave that usually seems to be reserved only for Texas, I've been missing Carson.

Well, actually, as far as I am concerned, late night TV has never been the same since he left — so missing Carson is not a new thing for me — but, when there's something in progress like this heat wave, I really miss him.

These times cry out for an opportunity for heat–weary people to shout in unison, "How hot is it?"

Jacy Marmaduke of the Dallas Morning News has been keeping area residents advised as local temperatures have cracked triple digits daily for four straight weeks now.

Recently, this summer's heat wave claimed the second slot on the historical list. It overtook the summer of 1998 a few days ago.

I was living in Dallas in the summer of 1998, and that was, indeed, a brutal summer. I was working for a trade magazine and I had to cover a trade show in Chicago that July. While I was there, I encountered quite a few people who had come from places to the north — and some were complaining of the heat.

Personally, I didn't find the heat in Chicago nearly as severe as the weather I had just left. The difference was noticeable upon my return.

I don't think that would be true this summer. Nearly the entire country has been sweltering. It's been easing lately in places where it usually doesn't get that hot, but much of the country remains in the heat wave's grip.

Depending upon the cloud cover we have, our streak of triple–digit days may come to an end around here tomorrow — but, even if it does, the immediate forecast suggests that a brand–new streak is likely to begin on Sunday, and that one seems certain to continue for awhile.

Besides, as a meteorologist told Marmaduke, there isn't much difference between 99° and 100°. The difference is almost entirely psychological.

If the streak does not end tomorrow, the summer of 2011 may well go down as the hottest on record — at least in terms of consecutive 100° days.

To accomplish that, it will have to exceed the triple–digit streak of 1980 — and it just might do that, but it will never match the intensity of the summer of 1980.

I remember that one, too.

I wasn't living in Dallas in those days, but my grandmother was, and I remember coming here with my mother to visit my grandmother, who was starting to experience symptoms of dementia.

Daytime highs in 1980 seemed to get past 100° before noon and just kept climbing through the afternoon. I remember several days when temperatures flirted with 110° (the worst actually exceeded 110° a few times) — and I remember driving on the streets of Dallas and hearing the asphalt squish beneath the tires.

In 1980, a daytime high of only 100° was seen by some as a sign of an imminent cool front (it never was, but hope sprang eternal. Those triple–digit temperatures were daily facts of life for more than six weeks).

Needless to say, you could do a lot more than fry an egg on the pavement.

This summer's heat wave has been a scorcher, but the summer of 1980 (if it possessed human characteristics) would scoff. I can just imagine the things it would say. "Amateur!" it would sneer. "In my day, I gave 'em heat they're still talking about three decades later."

If some have their way, though, that consecutive triple–digit streak will tumble, and the summer of 2011 will be atop the list when all is said and done.

Marmaduke quotes a 15–year–old from Plano who wants a streak he can tell his grandkids about.

All I can say is, be careful what you wish for.

Foresight in Hindsight

I taught journalism on the college level for awhile in the 1990s, then I was sidetracked by other things.

(I liked the way Robert Redford used that word to describe, in "The Natural," why he had been away from pro ball for so long. I think it frequently applies to life in general.)

Nearly a year ago, I returned to the classroom. I've been teaching journalism again, and I've also been teaching developmental writing, which focuses on the fundamentals of written English (subjects, verbs, prepositional phrases, dependent and independent clauses, etc.), at the local community college.

As the start of my second year there approaches, I've been thinking about what I learned last year and how I can improve what I've been doing.

That isn't quite as easy as it may sound because there are many differences between being a professor at a four–year college and being an adjunct professor at a community college. I can't always apply what I learned in the classroom then to what I'm doing now.

Last year, I spent the summer preparing to teach classes that wound up being canceled just before the school year began because enrollment in those classes wasn't sufficient.

It wasn't that way when I was teaching in the 1990s. In those days, I knew what I would be teaching long before the semester began. My classes were never canceled because enrollment didn't reach a certain level.

Anyway, I hope I'll be teaching journalism again this fall. It remains to be seen if I will.

I do know, though, that I will be teaching developmental writing again — because it is required unless incoming students meet or exceed a certain grade on their placement tests — and I've been thinking about what I learned from teaching that class last year.

I think one of the most important things I have learned has to do with expectations.

Some of my students are foreign students for whom English is a second language, and they compare the rules of their native language to the rules of their acquired one. That is their frame of reference. It is how we human beings process information. We compare new knowledge to that which we already have.

For others, I think it's a simple matter of applying logic — if something is true in one usage, it must be true in all usages. Same sort of thing, really. It's all based on past experience — and the knowledge of previous outcomes.

I was thinking about this the other day, and I was reminded of an old episode of I Love Lucy in which Lucy, who was expecting the couple's baby, decided that everyone who came in regular contact with her child — Ricky, Fred and Ethel — had to speak nothing but perfect English.

Ricky, whose native tongue was Spanish, resisted, but Lucy made her point by asking him to read out loud a story that worked in several words that had similar spellings but different pronunciations — all in just a few sentences.

The spelling was o–u–g–h. It was pronounced differently, of course, depending upon which letter(s) came before.

Anyway, the story Ricky read was about a woodsman. It spoke of how he cut boughs (pronounced bows) from trees.

All this cutting made his hands quite rough (pronounced ruff). Also, apparently, all this cutting released a lot of junk into the air, which gave the woodsman a hacking cough (koff).

There were other sentences that contained words like enough (enuff) and through (threw). I'm sure you get the idea.

Ricky mispronounced each word and got increasingly frustrated. Spanish isn't so complicated, he protested. A sound is always the same. It sounds the same. It is spelled the same.

Many of my students last year (and, I am sure, many of my students in the coming year) would sympathize with Ricky. Why must written English be so complicated?

Well, the main reason is that the British Isles were occupied by different conquerors over the centuries, and elements of those languages were absorbed into the evolving English language. In English, you will find words with roots from all corners of the globe — primarily from the civilizations that actively occupied Britain at different times but also from cultures that were more like bystanders.

Each contributed words (and whatever linguistic peculiarities came along with them) to the language.

As a result, you have to work a little harder to make sure that you do things correctly in English. One must apply, as fictional detective Hercule Poirot put, the little grey cells. One size does not always fit all.

I tried to make this point with my students last semester by contrasting written English with other subjects — and I unexpectedly learned a couple of things about the shortcomings of the modern educational system.

In math, I told my students, when you learn the multiplication tables, you know that they will never vary. The answers will always be the same. Two times three will always equal six. Three times three will never equal six.

You can count on it.

In chemistry, I told them, H₂O is always the chemical formula for water. It is never the chemical formula for anything else.

You can count on it.

Those examples made my point, but I wanted to add one more for emphasis. In hindsight, I should have stopped when I was ahead — and launched into my discussion of the peculiarities of the English language.

In history, I told my students, events always happened whenever they happened. When you commit an important date to memory, it doesn't change. The years in which the American Civil War was fought will always be between 1861 and 1865. The year of President Kennedy's assassination will always be 1963.

To drive home my point, I said to my students, "If someone says '1776' to you, what do you think of?"

I was shocked that no one, in a classroom full of people, raised a hand to indicate that he/she knew the answer. I thought everyone knew the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776.

I still think it is a good point — even if the modern education system doesn't seem to be producing high school graduates with adequate appreciation for their history. I mean, even if those students don't know those dates, they are facts that you will find in any history book.

English is much more ambiguous. It isn't as certain as a mathematical equation or a chemical formula or a date in a history book.

But that is what makes English, both spoken and written, a living, vibrant thing.

My students want written language to be a simple, fill–in–the–blank proposition, like the mathematical formulae they learned when they were younger. Logically, they know that only three times two will equal six so if they are asked to complete something like this — 3 X ___ = 6 — they know that 2 is the only possible answer.

But the rules are different for language. My students seem to have trouble understanding that the very same word may be a noun in some uses — and a verb in others.

For example, take the word run. Ordinarily, that is a verb — They run in the park.

But it can also be a noun — for example, when it is used as part of the names of events or when it is used to describe the act of scoring (particularly in baseball). Under such circumstances, it becomes a noun.

The same thing applies to spelling, punctuation, all that stuff. You've gotta use your brain.

If I can get my students to use their brains, I feel we're moving in the right direction — even if there is still much to be done on the basics.

That's the way I feel about the people who are in charge of the debt ceiling negotiations in Washington these days.

Creative solutions are required. Everyone — the president, the speaker of the House, everyone in Congress — needs to put the interests of the nation ahead of everything else.

I'd like to get all of them to look beyond their limited horizons.

They might not be able to resolve the situation once and for all — but, at least, they could deal with this crisis and move beyond the roadblocks.

Our problems, as John F. Kennedy said, are man made. Therefore, they can be solved by men.

Prosperity Is Just Around the Corner

I am a concerned American.

I am concerned for many reasons, and I have been concerned for a long time. The debt ceiling crisis that is consuming so much time and energy is an additional concern that no one really needs.

I know I don't need it. It's just more stress for me.

That stress level wasn't eased by the tenor of the debate over the debt ceiling that played out on TV tonight.

Now, if you read this blog on even a semi–regular basis, you know that I don't always agree with Barack Obama. In fact, I have frequently disagreed with him — and, although you may not realize it, that is a source of considerable anxiety for me.

I have struggled with this because, as I have said before, I was brought up by parents who were Democrats. And there have been times when I have given this president the benefit of the doubt — in no small part because I understand, at least instinctively, his objective.

But I have had nagging doubts about his leadership from the start — and much of it, I think, has stemmed from the fact that Obama doesn't stay focused on anything for very long. Sometimes, I have wondered if he has undiagnosed attention deficit disorder.

For awhile, I felt my doubts might have been misplaced. Obama came into office and made what appeared to be bold moves that were designed to put people back to work and really fix the economy.

But that is what was misleading.

It wasn't long before his focus shifted to other things — and, ever since, I have felt increasingly uneasy about the way that Obama and his followers rely on racism and Republican obstructionism as excuses for why they can't do things.

They get mired in the blame game, and they whine about the rigidity of the opposition. They act as if this is something new in American politics, but it isn't.

I'll admit that the opposition to Obama is more extreme, more polarized than ever before in my experience — just as his support is more polarized in the other direction. Obviously, it is more difficult to bring these two sides together than ever before.

But that is not an excuse.

Successful presidents learn to use the "bully pulpit," as Teddy Roosevelt called it. Mobilizing public opinion — in fact, using it pre–emptively — is a big part of presidential leadership.

Obama and his supporters have been correct when they have pointed out that Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton all lobbied for — and got — higher debt ceilings. They understood how critical it was for a president to mobilize public opinion if he was going to come out ahead in any significant negotiation.

To mobilize the public, a president must empathize with people's problems — "feel their pain," in Clinton's words — and that has been a problem for Obama. Do you recall the exchange last year between Obama and the middle–class black woman who told him, at a town meeting, that she was worn out defending him while she saw her standard of living deteriorate?

Obama used the opportunity to polish his campaign pitch, spoke of achievements that had no real bearing on the woman's situation as she had described it (but would clearly appeal to select segments of the electorate) and wrapped up his answer with a Reaganesque "stay the course" message.

He never thanked that woman for her support nor did he ask her any questions that were intended to find out more about her situation so he could address issues that directly affected her. In fact, he showed very little interest in her concerns. He was far more interested in promoting what he saw as his administration's achievements — perhaps with an eye to the approaching midterms but almost certainly with his re–election bid (which he announced about six months later) in mind.

"Stay the course" doesn't tend to mean much to people who have been out of work for a year or more and can't see any improvement that affects them. It tends to sound like "Prosperity is just around the corner."

The case for that — and a lot of other things — would be better if Obama had shown himself to be a better negotiator, but he hasn't. He is almost always reactive, not proactive.

That isn't leadership, and it's been an issue on just about every domestic and international matter that has come up in this president's term.

But, in the interest of brevity, let's just look at the debate on the debt ceiling for a minute.

When Obama agreed to the extension of the Bush tax cuts last year, why didn't he do so on the condition that the debt ceiling would be raised at the same time?

I've heard Obama supporters argue (and justifiably) that the Bush tax cuts expanded the deficit considerably. Republicans wanted those tax cuts, though, and my guess is they would have been willing to make a deal.

The time to cut such a deal passed long ago, though. I don't know why, but, like most of the opportunities that were presented to Obama and the Democrat–controlled Congress in 2009 and 2010, it was allowed to slip away.

It remains to be seen whether the two sides can work out a deal in a week.

Frankly, it's more drama than I need right now.