Health Care: The Public Exception.

I don’t understand the uproar over “The public option” in President Obama’s plan for health care reform. Some people act as if government-sponsored health insurance was a threat to the American way of life. Yet, our country holds “public options” in such high esteem that one is enshrined in the Bill of Rights and explained on a daily basis by police officers around the country: the right to legal counsel. As the Miranda warning puts it, “You have the right for an attorney to be present. If you can’t afford one, one will be appointed for you.” What is a public defender besides a legal public option? You’re not compelled to accept it, nor does it compete with other forms of legal counsel, but it must be made available. That’s the intention of “The public option” in Obama’s proposed reform, too. That health care be available to everyone.

Teddy Kennedy's Gone West.

Edward “Ted” Kennedy, a Massachusetts senator for forty-six years, died of brain cancer Tuesday night at the age of seventy-seven. Alone among the Kennedy brothers, he lived long enough to mature, learn and excel.

A lot of men take a long time to mature, but the Kennedys were famous for it. At best, they preserved a boyish charm into adulthood. At worst, they flaunted a childish impulsiveness and sense of entitlement. Not a family of great students, they possessed native intelligence and if they inherited only a fraction of their father’s cunning, that was a lot. John F. Kennedy, our thirty-fifth President, was outspoken about needing to learn on the job. Tragically, he was assassinated before that was possible. A particular loss since the acknowledged master of legislation – before and since – was his Vice-President – and future President – Lyndon B. Johnson. If John excelled at anything during his short time in office it was at projecting an ideal image of our country – both domestically and abroad. Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated before he could even run for President. His primary campaign, however, showed signs that he had learned what not to do by working for Senator Joseph McCarthy and against Martin Luther King. Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr., the eldest son, didn’t survive WW II. So, it fell to Teddy, the youngest son, to carry his family’s flag into battle. A risky job, regardless of family or battle, he not only picked up the flag, he ran with it.

With a career spanning forty-six years, Ted Kennedy had the third longest tenure of any U.S. Senator. He was an inspired orator and a dogged trench fighter. If this country ever sees universal healthcare, it’s because he saw it first. For nearly half a century, he excelled at serving his state, his country and his conscience as a proud and defiant liberal. Okay, his conscience took some time off during his personal life, but he bore the consequences of that with as much strength and tattered pride as he could muster. More importantly, he matured and learned from his mistakes. If not immediately, then eventually and finally. His record of national service remains untouched and unimpeachable.

Madoff: The Success of His Secret/Update II.

"Madoff dying of cancer, fellow inmates say."

The Boston Globe (8/24/09)

TIME: August, 2009

PLACE: Federal Correctional Facility, Butner, North Carolina

A short woman with a perky, blonde bob, who looks like Katie Couric, but isn’t, talks through the bullet-proof glass partition of a prison visiting room to a man who looks like Bernie Madoff and is.

RUTH MADOFF

I’ve brought something for you.

A smiling corrections officer brings him a delicious-looking chocolate cake.

BERNIE

Is there a file in it?

RUTH

Something better.

BERNIE

What?

RUTH

Cancer!

BERNIE

Huh?

RUTH

Remember how you said, terminal cancer would solve all your problems?

BERNIE

Yes.

RUTH

Enjoy.

BERNIE

This has cancer in it?

RUTH

Enough to kill all of North Carolina. At least, that’s what the doctor said.

BERNIE

A doctor? What doctor?

RUTH

Why? Are you going to send him a thank you note?

BERNIE

No, but I didn’t think you could call up and say, “Hi, doctor, I want some cancer.”

RUTH

You’d be amazed at how many hospitals want you dead. I’m shocked.

BERNIE

Beth Israel, definitely.

RUTH

Every hospital named Beth Israel. Also Dana/Farber Cancer Institute, Sloan Kettering and MD Anderson.

BERNIE

Who?

RUTH

The big cancer hospital in Texas.

BERNIE

Were they clients?

RUTH

Not directly.

BERNIE

How long will this, uhh . . . take to . . . work?

RUTH

I’m not sure, but there is a faster alternative.

The same smiling officer brings him a small, plastic pharmacy bottle with one pill in it. Bernie reads the label.

BERNIE

Potassium Chloride? That’s salt, isn’t it?

RUTH

Not exactly.

BERNIE

Oh. You mean . . .

She nods.

BERNIE

Works fast?

RUTH

You should be lying down when you take it.

He puts the pill jar aside.

BERNIE

This cake looks good. Who made it?

RUTH

William Greenberg Desserts.

BERNIE

I thought they didn’t like us.

RUTH

They don’t, but when I told them what it was for, Mr. Greenberg insisted on making it himself.

BERNIE

I suppose I should be flattered.

RUTH

He demanded on seeing the virus first.

BERNIE

Oh.

RUTH

And a letter from the doctor. Notarized.

BERNIE

Wasn’t he worried about, you know, the germs?

RUTH

As long as he doesn’t lick his fingers, he’s okay.

BERNIE

You’re in a good mood.

RUTH

You want to see me cry? Come home and you’ll see me cry all day, every day.

BERNIE

Sorry.

RUTH

I thought I was doing you a favor.

BERNIE

You are. In fact, now that I think of it . . .

RUTH

What?

BERNIE

Never mind.

RUTH

Tell me.

BERNIE

If I get cancer -

RUTH

When you get cancer.

BERNIE

When I get cancer – and it gets really bad – it’s a long shot, but . . . do you think they’ll give me compassionate release to go home?

Taking The Mickey Out Of Rooney.

TIME: Sixty minutes before the taping of Sixty Minutes.

PLACE: Andy Rooney’s office.

The famous journalist sits behind his desk. His hoary (look it up) visage, known to millions, smiles at the producer, easily one-third his age, standing in front of him.

Producer

Good morning, Mr. Rooney. Have you written a piece for this week’s show?

Rooney

I don’t write them anymore. I just wing it.

Producer

On camera?

Rooney

No, I’m not that good. I come up with the idea first, then improvise.

Producer

Do you have an idea for this week’s show?

Rooney

Not yet, but I will.

Producer

We tape in an hour.

Rooney

Don’t you trust me, little girl?

Producer

I trust you, but . . .

Rooney

Okay, how about . . . job security?

Producer

Excellent! Very current.

Rooney

Want to see my job security?

He takes a framed photograph out of a desk drawer and hands it to her.

Rooney

You’re holding it wrong.

She turns it and gasps.

Producer

Is that . . . ?

Rooney

Bill Paley, himself. I like to call her, “Elsie.”

Producer

Maybe a different topic.

Rooney

How about war stories? I’ve got some great ones.

Producer

Perfect!

Rooney

Me, Murrow and Pamela Harriman in the ball turret of a B-17.

Producer

Is there something more wholesome?

Rooney

Hmmm . . . how about Don Hewitt?

Producer

He’s my hero. He’s why I came to Sixty Minutes.

Rooney

He once serviced a midget from the cast of The Wizard of Oz. She was a real munchkin.That’s kind of wholesome.

Producer

Anything more personal?

Rooney

I’ve got it! I’ve got it!

Producer

What?

Rooney

I don’t know. It was in my ear.

Producer

Getting back -

Rooney

It's personal. Maybe it's a subject?

Producer

You can’t talk about earwax.

Rooney

Ever wonder how wax gets in your head and why it comes out your ear? What purpose does it serve, anyway?

Producer

What I love is how you find the fascinating in the mundane.The way you focus on the over-looked beauties of daily life.

Rooney

I had a beauty this morning. All it takes is a cup of coffee.

Producer

All right, all right, I give up. Have it your way.

Rooney

Thanks. Now, get out of here before I fake a heart attack and blame it on you.

The Big Hangover.

“My head is pounding and my throat is sore.”

“You did a lot of screaming last night.”

“Why?”

“We went to a town hall, remember?”

“Vaguely. Why am I dressed like Adolph Hitler?”

“To protest Obama’s fascistic takeover of the healthcare system.”

“Then why are you dressed like Heidi?”

“I’m supposed to be Eva Braun. This is the closest I could get.”

“Where are we? Who are those people?”

“We’re in jail. Those are inmates.”

“Did we get arrested?”

“You tried to strangle our congressman, remember?”

“Not really.”

“You had a good grip on him, too. It took three policemen to pull you off.”

“Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice.”

“Yeah, but it’s a crime.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do anything to prevent universal healthcare.”

“Hey,” says an inmate in the same holding cell, “did you say you’re against it? I don’t have insurance. None of us have it. We can't afford it. But, I’ll bet you can. I’ll bet you have all the insurance you want. You can see any doctor you want, can’t you? Any time that you want.”

“Not exactly, you see - ”

“Get ‘em! Get the Nazis!”

Moderation in the defense of justice is no virtue.

The Gloves Come Off.

Suddenly, they were everywhere. From the White House to the Capitol Building to every federal building in the District of Columbia. Small, white, paper signs, claiming, “Absolute Proof That ‘Death Panels’ Exist!” Then slightly different signs appeared, with a date. Finally, the same sign with a date and a meeting place. The meeting place, a large public hall, was standing room only. Most of those present were government officials, many of them high-ranking including Senators and Congressmen. Not surprisingly, given the topic, they were almost exclusively Republican. Slowly and quietly, soldiers in flak vests and helmets, carrying assault rifles, appeared at every exit. Then a loud click as the doors were locked. A large screen descended and flickered to life. Robert Gibbs, the White House Press Secretary appeared.

GIBBS

Welcome to “Proof That ‘Death Panels’ Exist.” Thank you for coming. Here’s how it works: if you don’t stop endangering this country by spreading lies about healthcare reform, you will be put to death. If you don’t stop threatening the President’s healthcare reform plan by claiming it proposes “Death Panels,” you will be put to death. If you don’t publicly apologize for spreading these lies, you will be put to death. If you actually believe that the plan advocates “Death Panels,” then you are too stupid to live and will be put to death. Of course, you should vote to pass the President’s heathcare reform plan. If you do, then the country will enjoy high quality, reasonably priced and, most of all, universal healthcare for the first time. If you don’t, you will be put to death. Don’t worry about political fallout, either. Right now, in town halls across the country, the same meeting is being held. At worst, it will result in fewer, but better, supporters for your re-election campaign. Should you choose death, we’re not savages. It won’t be those men with big guns, who are standing behind you. We will use the most modern death penalty technology and the most experienced executioners, both imported from Texas. You have thirty seconds to make your decision, starting now.”

That is how the United States finally got high quality, reasonably priced, universal healthcare.

Yes, Virginia, There Was A Santa Claus.

Dear Editor,

I’m eight years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Freedonia Times, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth: Is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

Yes, Virginia, there was a Santa Claus. His name was Guy Bastardi and he was murdered by a drunk driver two weeks ago. Diane Schuler, 36, had been careening the wrong way down the Taconic Parkway for two miles when she slammed head-on into Guy’s car at high speed. The police found blood in her alcohol and an empty half-gallon of vodka in her car. There was more pot smoke in her lungs than at a fraternity party. Guy Bastardi was forty-nine and didn’t look like Saint Nick, but was so generous and warm-spirited, so nice to everyone that even strangers called him, "Santa Claus." But wait, she not only killed a man of legendary sweetness, she dispatched his father, Michael Bastardi, 81, and Daniel Longo, a family friend, as well. They were on their way to a weekly pasta dinner with the rest of the Bastardi clan when Diane Schuler drove a van full of children into them. Yes, Schuler wasn't alone as she drank and toked herself into oblivion. She was returning from a camping trip with her two-year-old daughter, five-year-old son and three nieces, all under the age of ten. The only survivor was Schuler’s son, who went to the hospital. Four adults and four children went to the morgue. Diane Schuler will never face justice because she was one of them. But what about Santa? Not the man, the idea. Did he survive the crash? Yes, Virginia, because, as Frederick Church wrote in his famous New York Sun editorial of 1897, “. . . he lives as long as love and generosity and devotion exist.”

The Editor

Goldfellas.

“Goldman princes told:

spend like paupers.”

The New York Post

8/4/09

INT DINER AFTERNOON

LLOYD BLANKFEIN (Robert DeNiro) Chairman and CEO of Goldman Sachs, sits at a table in the back of Kitchenette, a faux-rustic diner in TriBeCa, the neighborhood just north of Wall Street. He is joined by two Managing Directors, TOMMY (Joe Pesci) and HENRY (Ray Liotta). They all wear bespoke suits without ties, their collars open.

Tommy

Why here instead of our own dining room?

Lloyd

I want us to get out more, so people see us and know we’re not monsters.

Tommy

What’s wrong with the Grill Room of the Four Seasons?

Lloyd

Too rich, too powerful. It’s sends the wrong message.

Tommy

And this Hee-Haw joint sends the right one?

Lloyd

It says wholesome and family-oriented.

Tommy

I don’t see any families.

Lloyd

They come on the weekends. It’s jammed.

Henry

Lloyd’s right. Brunch here is an impossible ticket.

Tommy

I can get in.

Henry

The line’s out the door. I’ve seen it.

Tommy

I can get us all in. Just name the day.

Lloyd

You see? We’ve got to stop that. No obvious use of wealth and influence. Nothing conspicuous. I want us to keep a low profile.

Tommy

But we blend in there. Here we’re conspicuous. Especially without ties.

Lloyd

Think casual. Corporate casual.

Tommy

I think we look like a lounge act.

Lloyd

Let’s talk numbers. We just had an excellent quarter. $3.4 billion in profits.

Henry

The Lufthansa deal helped.

Lloyd

Two more quarters like it and the bonuses will be historic. So big, in fact,that I’m thinking of deferring some payment. For PR purposes.

Tommy

Hold on.

Lloyd

It looks bad if we’re getting rich while everyone else is getting poor.

Tommy

But we are.

Lloyd

And I definitely want to avoid the impression that we’re exploiting the situation.

Tommy

But we aren’t.

Lloyd

Think image. Corporate image.

Tommy

I’m thinking I earned a bonus and I should get it. The whole thing. After all, I arranged the merger between Microsoft and Yoo Hoo.

Lloyd

You mean Yahoo.

Tommy

Uh, oh.

Tommy runs out of the restaurant.

Lloyd

Should I order for you?

INTERIOR LLOYD’S OFFICE NEXT MORNING

LLOYD is sitting behind his desk, HENRY in front of it. Both are drinking bottles of Yoo Hoo, the carbonated chocolate beverage. A champagne bucket on the desk holds several more bottles.

Lloyd

Want some more? We have a carload.

Henry

No, thanks. But I would like to ask you a favor.

Lloyd

Shoot.

Henry

Can I mail something to your house in New Jersey? You know, to avoid sales tax.

Lloyd

Sure. What is it?

Henry

A sable coat I bought for my wife.

Lloyd jumps up, livid with anger.

Lloyd

What did I tell you? No big purchases! Nothing flashy! Nothing expensive!

Henry

Hey, hey. She’s not going to wear it in New York. Only Palm Beach.

Lloyd

Oh, yeah. Wearing a sable coat to the beach isn’t conspicuous.

Henry

Have you ever been to Palm Beach?

Lloyd

Where’s Tommy? He’s late.

Henry

He’s parking his car.

Lloyd

There are twenty-five garages within a block. What’s taking him so long?

Henry

He drove his new car in today.

Lloyd

You’re kidding.

TOMMY enters.

Tommy

If you like that stuff, we’ve got a carload.

Lloyd

Did you buy a new car?

Tommy

Yeah, you want to see it?

Lloyd

What did I tell you about buying things? Nothing big, nothing flashy, nothing expensive.

Tommy

It’s not big and it’s not flashy.

Lloyd

What is it?

Tommy

A Bugatti Veyron.

Lloyd

Sounds expensive.

Tommy shrugs

Tommy

It’s got sixteen cylinders.

Lloyd

Why can’t you drive two V-8s like a normal crowd?

Tommy

What do you drive?

Lloyd

I don’t drive.

Tommy

What does your chauffeur drive? I’ll bet it’s German.

Lloyd

That depends.

Tommy

On what?

Lloyd

On if you think a Mercedes is German.

Tommy

They hauled your friggin’ grandparents away in one, that’s how German it is.

Lloyd

Technically, it’s a Chrysler.

Tommy

And technically we’re a bank.

Everyone laughs. Henry, the hardest.

Henry

You’re a funny guy.

Tommy turns on him, completely serious.

Tommy

What do you mean funny? I amuse you? Is that it? I’m here to amuse you?

Henry

The way you talk is . . . funny.

Tommy

I talk funny? How? Like a clown? Ha, ha. Look at the clown?

Lloyd’s SECRETARY calls on the intercom.

SECRETARY

(OS) Mr. Blankfein, Harry Winston called to say they sent those earrings to your wife.

Lloyd (into intercom)

Thanks.

Tommy

You bought earrings at Harry friggin’ Winston and you’re busting my chops?

Lloyd

They’re very small.

Tommy

I’ll bet they’re diamond.

Lloyd

Yeah, but they don’t look expensive.

Tommy

Then what’s the friggin’ point?

Lloyd

They’re nice, but they don’t look like they cost a million dollars.

Tommy grabs a bottle of Yoo Hoo like a club.

Not that I spent a million dollars.

Tommy relaxes.

Listen, we all have some exposure on this deal, so let’s try to manage our risk, okay. We can either return everything that we bought (Tommy and Henry are stone-faced) or we can keep what we’ve bought and promise not to buy anything else for a year.

Henry

Nothing?

Lloyd

Within reason. Don’t go buying a another sable coat.

Tommy (to Henry)

You bought a sable coat and I’m a bad guy for buying a …a…fuggedy whatsis.

Henry

Bugatti Veyron.

Tommy

Whatever.

Lloyd buries his face in his hands.

Lloyd

I can’t take this anymore.

Tommy

Any time you want to quit, tell me. I’ll be glad to take over. I’ll get the haircut, I don’t mind.

Lloyd

What haircut?

Tommy

You’ve got to be bald to be chairman.

Lloyd

I’m not bald.

Tommy

Unless you have pink hair, you’re bald. So is Paulson, so is Corzine.

Lloyd

What about Rubin?

Tommy

Who?

Lloyd

Robert Rubin

Tommy

Name sounds familiar. Oh, yeah. He worked for Citygroup.

Everyone laughs. Henry, the hardest.

Henry

You’re a funny guy.

Tommy

What do you mean funny?