JOSEPH LHOTA IS GIULIANI SMALL, NOT LITE.

          The word, “henchman” isn’t used much now, but it will get popular again soon. Joseph Lhota is running for mayor. According to the article by Michael Barbaro on the front page of today’s (3/28) New York Times, Mr. Lhota was deputy mayor under Rudolph Giuliani and his most notable task was strong-arming the Brooklyn Museum. It was also his biggest failure. 

When, in the fall of 1999, Mayor Giuliani objected to a painting in The Brooklyn Museum, one that he considered religiously offensive, it was deputy mayor Lhota’s job to make sure the work of art was removed. The painting in question, “Holy Virgin Mary” by the artist Chris Ofili, contained clumps of elephant dung and photos of female genitalia. It was part of, as Mr. Barbaro writes, “Sensation, a deliberately provocative collection of about 90 paintings, photographs and sculptures that had arrived in Brooklyn after making it’s debut, to huge crowds as well as controversy, in London.” The deputy mayor “concedes that he did not see the artwork – or the rest of the “Sensation” exhibition – in person, despite living in Brooklyn Heights,  about ten minutes from the museum. He looked at pictures instead.” That was enough to convince Mr. Lhota, a Roman Catholic who once considered joining the priesthood, that this painting was, indeed, offensive. 

     First, he warned the Brooklyn Museum that if they didn’t remove the painting, the city will cut off their funding, a vitally needed $7 million a year. When they refused, he threatened to close the entire museum, citing a technicality in their lease. The museum’s board of directors voted to proceed with the show, so he told them that he was withholding their first payment, a check for $500,000. “Schuyler Chapin, the city’s commissioner of cultural affairs, demanded an explanation from Mr. Lhota, in person, at City Hall.” The deputy mayor replied that “He was looking for ‘leverage points’ to force the museum’s hand. ‘It was,’ he said, ‘as legitimate as any negotiation is.” But not as legal. 

           The Brooklyn Museum filed a lawsuit against New York City and won. “When a federal judge, Nina Gershon, ruled in November 1999 that the city had violated the First Amendment, she cited Mr. Lhota’s testimony. It ‘reinforces the conclusion,’ Judge Gershon wrote, ‘that it was never contemplated that the city or the mayor would have veto power over the museum’s decisions as to what to display.’ After its court defeat, the Giuliani administration reached a settlement that required it to restore financing to the museum and barred City Hall from any acts of revenge.”

None of which would matter in the least except Joseph Lhota is seeking to follow Michael Bloomberg as Mayor of New York City. As Defender of the Faith, Mr. Lhota is as silly and useless as the Swiss Guard. As an art critic, he makes Sister Wendy look like Peggy Guggenheim. As a mayoral candidate, however, his behavior is disturbing. He defends both his conduct regarding the Brooklyn Museum and the motivation behind it. “I don’t regret the tactics – at all.”

If he was just another thug running for office, he wouldn’t merit our attention, either. Yet, as Michael Barbaro notes, “Mr. Lhota promotes himself as a moderate Republican candidate with urban sensibilities that the national party lacks.” If that were true, he’d be John Lindsay and people who remember Mayor Lindsay might be deceived. Joseph Lhota also claims cultural credentials: having “once audited an art history class at Georgetown.” Auditing means you aren’t graded, so the only cost to your stupidity is tuition. On the other hand, because the class didn’t effect his grade point average, it could be a sign of the demi-cunning that would mark his later career in public service. Either way, people who couldn’t get into Georgetown might think he’s smart and do something dumb like vote for him. 

     So, what makes one of Giuliani’s henchmen, an unsuccessful one at that, think he can be mayor? Simple.  Joseph Lhota is the kind of guy who would lie to the press and then believe his own publicity. Ask him. He’ll tell you to read the article in The New York Times.

DR. BENJAMIN CARSON: THE NOVO-CAIN.

What this country needs is a wealthy, privileged, power-hungry leader with a huge ego. I don’t think that, but it sure seems like Dr. Benjamin Carson does. What’s more, he means himself.

In his article on the front page of today’s (3/21) New York Times, Trip Gabriel calls Dr. Carson, the newest star of conservative politics because he’s “A renowned neurosurgeon who is black and has the credibility to attack the president on health care.” He’s definitely a renowned neurosurgeon because the man who hired him says so. If you don’t believe Dr. Donlin Long, a retired chairman of neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins, listen to Dr. Carson himself. His 1996 autobiography, “Gifted Hands,” became a movie starring Cuba Gooding, Jr. If neither is sufficient (or, shall we say, disinterested) look at his achievements. “He gained fame for a series of operations separating conjoined twins, long and risky procedures that do not always succeed.” It’s not every doctor who gets Gabriel to blow his horn. Nor is it every risky operation that makes you famous even if it doesn’t succeed. (Although, with respect to his career, you could say that all his operations succeeded.)

         

      More amazing to me than separating conjoined twins is how little being a doctor qualifies you for besides practicing medicine. Certainly not for discussing health care policy. Consider Dr. Carson’s comments to Mr. Gabriel. “Most people could pay most of their bills through health savings account, he said in his office. He would eliminate Medicaid and Medicare, and for the poor, government would make the contributions  to their health accounts.” What if, say, you’re conjoined twins and need the most complicated and expensive procedure known to man? “The difference could be made up by catastrophic care insurance.” In all fairness, this may not be as simple-minded and out-of-touch as it appears. A similar plan was proposed, years ago, by The Tooth Fairy and is very popular among children.

         

  Okay, health care policy may not be his strength. How about taxes? “You make $10 billion, you put in a billion; you make $10, you put in 1, Dr. Carson explained at the prayer breakfast. Now, some people say that’s not fair because it doesn’t hurt the guy who made $10 billion as much as it hurts the guy who makes 10. Where does it say you’ve got to hurt the guy?” First, Mitt Romney wouldn’t say that to a group of campaign donors in his living room and second, prayer breakfast? I’ll assume that isn’t a cereal called Wafers (“Now, with more Communion!”)

         

         If you’re thinking, “That’s the kind of man we need to run the country” then you’re not only agreeing with Dr. Carson, but with an editorial in the Wall Street Journal that declared, “Ben Carson for President.” I’ll confess I haven’t read the editorial, but I have a good reason. I’m too busy imagining Dr. Carson getting his “gifted hands” on foreign policy or placing one “gifted” finger on “The Button.” It isn’t pretty.

         

       What could possibly explain this man’s appeal- his dramatic hold - on  political conservatives? Alex Castellanos, a Republican consultant, thinks he knows. “Anybody who is serious and thoughtful and an antipolitician is the opposite of the mess we’ve got now. If you can separate two Siamese twins, maybe you can separate Democrats and Republicans in Washington.” Separate . . . huh? I challenge Dr. Carson himself to find a brain in this man’s head.

         

          Too many experts, that’s the problem. What does the common man think of Dr. Benjamin Carson? Quite a lot according to, well, Dr. Carson. “He told the Conservative Political Action Conference that some of his most poignant feedback came ‘From older Americans who said they had given up  and they were waiting to die and now they felt a sense of revival once again.’” Even by the standards of political and surgical egos, which sets the bar somewhere above Mars, that’s a whopper. This doctor thinks he can bring people back from the dead. The last doctor who thought that had his attitude adjusted by Boris Karloff.

         

     So, if political conservatives are infatuated with Dr. Carson and it’s not because he’s a “renowned neurosurgeon” or “has the credibility(!) to attack President Obama on health care,” then, going back to Trip Gabriel’s original description, it must be because he’s “black.” If so, that would make him the new Herman Cain, the novo-cain. A millionaire executive at the top of his field, who believes in a flat tax and is threatened by the Affordable Health Care Act. The only difference is that Dr. Benjamin Carson may know where “Uzbecky-becky-stan-stan” is. He’s probably had patients from there. I wish him the same success.

        

LESS IS MORON.

There’s no lack of frauds in The New York Times, but the articles are usually about them. Rarely, in my experience, do you read something     in the Times that was written by a fraud. That joy came on the morning of March 9^th, when, in the Sunday Review, Graham Hill built an intellectual slum on some of the most expensive real estate in journalism.

         
In a piece entitled, “Living With Less. A Lot Less,” Mr. Hill claims that we can have “bigger, better, richer” lives by reducing the size and number of our possessions. That we, like him, can live happily in 420-square feet. He falls 420 feet short. The only thing he delivers in abundance is bragging. He boasts about where he lived before, “A 1900-square-foot loft in Soho that befit my status as a tech entrepeneur” and where he lives now, “My space is well-built, affordable and as functional as living spaces twice the size.” Traveling before, “Bangkok, Buenos Aires and Toronto with many stops in between” and now, “My travel habit – which I try to keep in check.” 

Most of all, Graham Hill brags about the money he had before, “Flush with cash from an Internet start-up sale” ”Not everyone gets an Internet windfall before turning 30” “My partner and I sold our Internet consultancy company, Sitewerks, for more money than I thought I’d earn in a lifetime” and . . . well, he never actually says that gave away any of his money. That's significant for two reasons: it means he still has wherewithal, it just isn't where you can see it and that all personal details - anything that would keep the piece from being a giant resume cum ad for himself - is missing.

Mr. Hill never talks, for instance,about his life or work before becoming financially rich. He gives no details about his "great love" for "Olga, an Andorran beauty" and doesn't provide a single insight or dramatic incident

illustrating the cost of materialism. Instead,  he relies on vague assertions, "My relationship with stuff quickly came apart" and slow-moving clots of academic research, "Irrespective of personality, in situations that activate a consumer mindset, people show the same problematic patterns of well-being, including negative affect and social disengagement." 

The closest Graham Hill comes to being revealing or insightful is when he writes, "Often material objects take up mental as well as physical space." I'm sure that's true and, in his case, space that he can ill afford. The closest that he comes to a summary (by close I mean five paragraphs from the end) is when he writes, "Intuitively, we know that the best stuff in life isn't stuff at all, and that relationships, experiences and meaningful work are the staples of a happy life." Compressing into one sentence as boring a rehash 0f conventional wisdom as we're likely to see this side of daytime television.

"Living With Less. A Lot less." isn't a complete waste, however, because it makes three things clear. One is that, like Barbara Jordan's faith in the Constitution, Mr. Hill's self-absorption is whole. It is complete. It is total. Down to the photograph accomp- anying the article. It shows him squatting in a corner like he was worthy of a portrait by Irving Penn. (Speaking of pretensions, how about the name of his company, Sitewerks? You'd think John Von Neumann was going to de-bug your computer.) Two, why his relationship with "Olga, an Andorran beauty" ended. (If you doubt - for a second - that she left him, see above.) The third is that if he wants to make a lot of money - and we know that he does - he should sue the people who educated him. Apparently, they overlooked Henry David Thoreau and his statement that, "Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify."

FRANCIS, WE HARDLY KNEW YA!

Now, that the Papacy has become a job that you can retire from, the new Pope, Francis I, can quit, too. Who would blame him? Experts everywhere have said that the new Pope will face many challenges – like that’s a good thing. He automatically becomes responsible for every scandal plaguing the church and he can’t be fast enough and effective enough in addressing every one. (Don’t even think about the Vatican Bank.) Really, he can get his own red shoes. So, when the true nature of the job that Jorge Cardinal Bergoglio has signed onto becomes clear to him, no one should be surprised when he hangs up his zuchetto and goes, “Ciao, bello.”

         

      The first thing he’ll want to do,      of course, is go back to Argentina, where the people love him. Where they used to love him. Then he was elected Pope and they adored him. He was a national hero. Argentina has produced a Pope. Now, however, they'll think he’s a quitter. The Pope who couldn’t cut it. A weakling, a coward. What’s the Spanish word for macho? Oh, yes. Macho. Francisco no es macho. He’ll be lucky if they don’t stop him at the border. Okay, no Argentina.

         

       How about Monte Carlo, he'll think. It’s time he lived like a person. No vows of poverty, obedience and – what’s the other one? Some time on the beach would be nice and maybe a game of chance in the casino. So, Jorge Bergoglio moves to Monte Carlo, where he quickly discovers that Popes are infallible everywhere, but at the craps table. (“Baby needs a new pair of red shoes!”) He runs through his money vite and can’t get more because, once he quit, they took away his holy credit card. His Eminence moves down the coast to a less expensive neighborhood and takes a job at the Home Depot in Marseille. (“Does this apron come in white?”) He’s doing pretty well and the irony of still serving carpenters is not lost on him, but the job poses its own unique challenges (“Hammers are over there.” “How about silver hammers?” “Funny. That’s the first time I heard that – today!”) 

          So, the former Pope Francis I will return to Rome and ask for his old job back. (“I’m humble, I’m humble. Look at me, I’m turning the other cheek.”) By now, however, Angelo Cardinal Scola of Milan is Pope. (“What’s wrong with Pope Angelo? It means angel!”) What’s more, he wants to keep the job. So, he introduces Jorge to the new Captain of The Swiss Guard, Carmine "Big Fondue" Mazzola, who introduces Jorge to the bed of the Tiber. Sic Transit Francisco mundi.

"PARADE'S END" AND NOT A MOMENT TOO SOON.

A gullible English aristocrat falls into the clutches of a man-hungry hussy named Sylvia. Wait, don’t tell me! He has a butler named Jeeves and belongs to the Drones Club. No, that would be funny – and written by P.G. Wodehouse. Instead, these characters – and their resulting marriage – belong to Parade’s End, a recent minseries on HBO. A transparent attempt to cash in on the popularity of Downton Abbey, it’s based on a series of five (!) novels, also called Parade’s End, by the writer so nice, they named him twice: Ford Maddox Ford.

           I’ll admit that I’ve only seen the first episode of five and that it may turn into a comedy by the end, but I doubt it. My experience with stories that begin in humiliation, like Parade’s End, is that they usually end in despair. There’s plenty of humiliation to go around, too. Christopher Tietjens, heir to a stately home so large that it looks like a Georgian airport, meets and abruptly marries Sylvia Satterthwaite, a pool of salacious quicksand that swallows men up to their necks. A solid chap, highly principled and what the British call, “very clever,” Tietjens is, in matters of the heart, anti-matter. Still, he’s aware enough to know that his wife will never be faithful. Propriety seems to goad her, immorality acts as a kind of sauce. 

          Why would a ranking member of society and influential member of the House of Lords, someone with everything to lose, marry – against all advice – someone with everything to gain? Sylvia is knocked up and Mr. Nice Guy wants to do the right thing by her, regardless of whom the father may be. Like I said, very solid. Also the sex, don’t you know. Quite thrilling, but exclusivity is not one of its charms.

          The only thing that saves Christopher Tietjens from complete saphood is his attraction to a winsome, young suffragette named Valentine Wannop. (Get it? Valentine/heart) He’s not discreet about it, either. His interest in her – and likewise – is as obvious as lighting on a golf course. Guess where they meet? A golf course! And he acts as if struck by what? Lightning! (Subtle – like two Fords coming together at an intersection.) At this point, I should mention that the adaption of Parade’s End for television was done by the eminent playwright and screenwriter, Tom Stoppard. Having already foisted upon us the current film version of Anna Karenina (TFT 1/15/13) Mr. Stoppard seems intent on 1) undoing his reputation 2) financing his retirement 3) both.

  What lies ahead for Christopher, Sylvia and Valentine? Who cares? We have the makings of a triangle, but not an interesting one. It’s as if – in Gone With the Wind - Ashley married Scarlett and then met Melanie. Can you see getting another fours hours out of it? I can’t – and won’t.

POPE-NEY SWOPE.

           I’ll be surprised if the next Pope isn’t Italian and shocked if he isn’t European. So, things look pretty buono for the Archbishop of Milan, Angelo Scola. Don’t count out Peter Cardinal Turkson, though. The Ghanian prelate could be the first black pope. (Not counting the leader of the Jesuits, called by some, “The Black Pope,” after his priest-like vestments.) The odds against His Eminence are, I’ll admit, pretty high, but you have to consider the Putney Swope factor.                                    

Putney Swope is a 1969 comedy, written and directed by Robert Downey Sr., in which the executive board of an ad agency must elect a successor to their recently deceased chairman. Since the rules forbid voting for yourself, they each vote – by secret ballot – for the one person they’re sure will never be elected: the only black man on the board, Putney Swope.

I don’t know for a fact that Cardinals can’t vote for themselves, but it seems to me that some Vatican official back in, say, the third century may have seen the risk and proposed a rule against it. Nor is it a guarantee that, once elevated to Pope, the former Cardinal of Ghana would commence a series of sweeping changes as Putney Swope did in the movie. Changing, for instance, the name of the ad agency to “Truth And Soul, Inc.” The chances of something like that happening are very, very small. Yet, as Lord Acton said to George Gershwin, “Power corrupts and absolute power is nice work if you can get it.”