Friday, August 29, 2014

California I Love You...

But, we're through.
Like an aging beauty queen now gone to seed,  California is just a sloppy mess of a state.  Once the place where most of America wanted to be,  California now sits alone at the end of the bar trying to cage drinks from unsuspecting newcomers and not meeting with much success.  U-Hauls once headed into the Golden State now roll toward the exits taking with them the middle class and many who aspire to it.  With a deficit in the billions of dollars California boasts a governor who welcomes anyone, legal or otherwise,  to his dysfunctional domain by promising them all they desire except, of course, well paying jobs.  Money is NO object.  California hasn't bothered to honestly balance a budget in years and shows no inclination to address either the out of whack and bloated pension deficit or the broken and dead broke medical and welfare programs that epitomise this fiscal fix.

A state that once was home to the best schools in the nation; also the finest highways, standard of living, and weather now can only promote a salubrious clime.  Schools graduate illiterate and undisciplined misfits in spite of spending record sums of tax dollars on education.  Gone are the days of California promise and prosperity as it takes title to the dubious distinction of being home to the highest percentage of citizens living in poverty.  Ever greater taxes imposed by a government overwhelmingly controlled by the democrats for the past several years has hastened the exodus of the middle class.  Increasingly California is a state of primarily the very rich and the very poor.  The "progressives" (liberals) have cleverly cultivated the device of emotional appeal to a poorly informed and disinterested electorate in order to secure and maintain their power in Sacramento.  The promise of "bread and circuses" to purchase the votes of the needy and ignorant--a concept not unfamiliar in Washington, D.C.-- continues to reap rewards for the politicians of Lotus Land.  Of course even wealthy liberals will eventually come to their senses if they actually keep their money in the state.
Running out  out of other people's money has always been the bane of the socialist construct of central planning.  You can only run a tab for so long.

Having spent slightly more than half of my 66 years in California I am now in the final month of my stay.  I sincerely wish that one day common sense and responsible government will return to the place that the rest of the country once looked to as the paragon of the American dream.   People younger than I with character and intelligence can still steer this largest and one time richest of all states out of the ditch of fiscal despair but time is running out.   Starting next month I'll be rooting for a California comeback from 1500 miles away knowing that if California fails it's merely a preview of what's ahead for the rest of the country.



Friday, August 22, 2014

We Need More Guys Like Cy

When I began writing this blog more than seven years ago it was for two reasons:  It cost me nothing and it provided an outlet for the snakes in my head that no longer found release via the radio.  A bonus I never anticipated was re-connecting with long lost friends.  The Internet may have driven a stake through the heart of a number of industries, radio most certainly, but it has given us all a wonderful new way of keeping in touch.  Folks that long ago dropped off our radar can be discovered again and their friendship polished and renewed.  I love it!

Recently I heard from an old boss of mine, Randy Jeffery.  When my hitch in the Army was up in 1973, Randy was just about the only radio station owner willing to give me a chance at returning to the business I loved.  After blanketing the country with a rather thin resume' and a less than satisfactory audition tape, I heard from maybe three or four radio stations; Randy's was one of them.  He called me from Winter Haven, Florida where he owned and operated WSIR. Though only in his very early thirties, he had gone from disc jockey to manager and ultimately to ownership.   Apparently he saw some potential in me and, with more nerve than talent or brains, I walked through the door he so generously opened.  Soon I was hosting the morning show on what was probably the best sounding small market radio station in America.  WSIR was a fun, highly produced facility that, thanks to Randy, was a great training ground for many who went on to major market careers.  Excellence was the touchstone of the operation from the jingles to the big city sound of the commercials, news and on air presentation.  He definitely had a gift for nurturing and encouraging talent, both on and off the air.  What I learned at WSIR made my move up the ladder to Tampa-St. Petersburg and WDAE an easy one.  

Randy sold WSIR several years ago and became a media broker--one of the most successful in the history of radio and TV.  He managed many deals, made a lot of money, retired early and is currently in the process of building his dream home in Charleston, South Carolina.  While building the Charleston home he came to know a young man named Cy White.  Cy and his family inspired Randy to write the following email to me last week.  It moved me a great deal and I asked my old boss if I might share it with readers of my blog.  He has graciously complied.


Randy wrote:

"A product called NanaWall is being installed this weekend by Cy, whose weekday job is as an active duty MP with the National Guard at Ft. Jackson in Columbia, SC. On every "off-duty" weekend he moonlights in NC/SC as the sole and highly skilled installer of this complex German-built folding glass wall.
He's working on what will soon be our home, with his wife and two young, home schooled children helping him.  They are with him every weekend.  Between the Guard and NanaWall, he has no "day off".  After spending time with the four of them last night, I realized again what a sheltered world we live in.
Cy recently completed an eighteen month tour of duty at Guantanamo Bay.  He was exposed to the five terrorists Obama exchanged for our one military captive.  Cy told us one of those terrorists was known to have masterminded the beheading of women and children and personally participated in the heinous acts on numerous occasions.  I spent four cushy years in the Air Force, stationed 15 miles from San Francisco and later in the foothills of the Siskiyou mountains in Northern California.  I moonlighted as a DJ in Yreka, California.  Cy has spent 15 years in the Guard, much of it in combat areas in the midst of the worst people in the world.  We read about and see on TV the horrors of war and those in service who have our backs 24/7.  We rarely have a moment to spend quality time with them.  We had that honor last night.
Kim and I have spent 30 years in a country club environment.  We drive luxury cars, fly first class, eat in the best restaurants and have "cushy" lives.  More important and--knock on wood--we live in a safe, protected country made possible, in large measure, because of incredibly brave and dedicated professionals like Cy White.  Although he cannot stand more than 5' 9", it was apparent how much bigger he is than I.
He's getting a bonus from us later today.  Not because of the installation that I know will be done with military precision, but because he is a quiet, unassuming 36 year old guy who believes that every day he puts on his uniform and reports for duty, he is doing a really tough job for lousy pay that he believes is his calling and obligation.  What an honor it is to know he has a hand in the building of our home and how much better my myopic little world is because of him."

The Cy White family

Thanks Randy for reminding us that there still are young folks like Cy and his family who continue to make us proud and keep us focused on life's important components.  Someone once said,  "Riches are what money can't buy and death can't take away."   Cy White is a rich man indeed and we are a far better country because of brave men like him.  To remain "the land of the free"  we must treasure, support and encourage this most rare natural American resource.

Friday, August 15, 2014

Huh?


For at least the last twenty years of her life my mother was hard of hearing.  To suggest that it might be time to invest in a hearing aid was treading on very dangerous ground.  She would adamantly refuse to even consider that her hearing wasn't 100% and was insulted that either of her children would promote her use of a device that was "strictly for OLD people".  Always true to herself and her stubborn German temperament she exited the planet at age 89 sans one of "those contraptions".  

  In my thirties my wife, kids and I really began to notice how loud the TV was at Grandma and Grandpa's house and how often we all had to repeat ourselves in conversation with either parent.  Complaints of "actors who mumble" and those of us present who didn't enunciate clearly became kind of an inside joke to we younger Coppers.  When asked to repeat something--and doing so with a loud and distinct delivery--a retort of "there's no need to shout" was the defensive response.  It was the quintessential no win situation.  Even my argument comparing glasses and hearing aids was unwelcome.  Stony silence and a withering glare was our reward for :  "You wear glasses to help you see.  Why not employ a device that helps you hear better?"  

Like so many things in life, lately Linda and I find ourselves in deja vu mode.  We seem to be saying What? and Huh? just like our parents did.  She accuses me of mumbling under my breath which, to be fair, is a skill honed in adolescence that still serves me well with authority figures.  "GOOD MORNING BOSS, (you fat putz)."  However, these days she is calling me on it even when I'm on my best behaviour.  To be fair, many times she sounds like she too is mumbling when she speaks.  I nearly missed my plane a couple of months back because I thought she told me it left at 6:50 AM instead of 6:15.  (It sure sounded like 6:50.  Maybe if I'd looked at the ticket?)

Several years back parties became a challenge.  Lip reading is a necessity if I'm to catch much of what anyone has to say in a crowded room.  Nodding my head and imagining what the person talking to me looks like naked goes a long way toward getting through any social event.  Also, about a year ago we noticed that hitting the Closed Caption button on the TV remote during certain shows (more of them all the time) featuring actors who "mumble too much" was a huge boost to our enjoyment of the programs.  I'm telling you it's a Godsend for all those limey epics on PBS.  Neither of us would have a clue about Masterpiece Classic without the old CC option.  

Perhaps it's time to make an appointment to see a doctor about one of those now smaller than ever hearing aids?
Or, maybe you could just shut up and toss me the remote so I can turn up the TV.  And please hit the CC button please.
Damn actors are mumbling and hearing aids are for OLD PEOPLE!.





Friday, August 8, 2014

One Magic Day At The Track

It's that time of year again.  My annual pantsing at the only venue where "the windows clean the people" is mere days away.  The season is well underway at Del Mar, "where the turf meets the surf' and we need to make the scene at least once before leaving San Diego for Lake Coeur d' Alene.   My wife is excited because, for some unknown reason, she usually leaves the racetrack with more cash than she brought.  I, on the other hand, would most likely be better off if I simply never left the parking lot and just set fire to my money.  I've given up.  An afternoon to people watch and smell the horse plop at the last completely UN-PC sporting venue is my reward.  
Think about it.  Where else but the racetrack can you drink booze, smoke cigars, and curse that no good $2 "sure thing" as it breaks down in the stretch while holding your child's hand?  It's what's left of the American Dream and I'm on board.  Sure, it would be just dandy if a longshot paid off for me, but I'm a realist.  I've had my day of winning with the nags.  It was thirty years ago and it was magical enough to last a lifetime.

Here's the story:  
 It was the mid 1980's and Bob Hanna, one of the all time unforgettable characters of the broadcast business, and I were living in Las Vegas with our families.   During football season we had a Saturday morning ritual of meeting at the Sahara Hotel race and sports book to place our bets on that week's NFL games.  We'd meet around 10:30 in the bar to discuss our picks and compare notes on each game's line before placing our wagers.  That done we would enjoy a Sahara tube steak or two while we had a couple of drinks and congratulated each other how clever our picks were and how much money we would have come Monday morning. 

Bob was a wheeler dealer who enjoyed great success as a radio station owner and later a media broker. I got to know him when we teamed up on a couple of deals and we became great friends.  Bob checked out of a massive heart attack at the much too young age of 60 while, of course, doing a deal on the phone.  I'm just glad I had some time with him.  He made me laugh.

On this particular Saturday we had taken care of our football bets and were bunkered in at the bar where we had a commanding view of the multiple screens of horse racing action from tracks all across the nation.  By chance I noticed that the first race at Aquaduct was a few minutes away from post time.  In a moment that will forever live in my treasure chest of memories, I turned to Bob and said, "There's a pony named  'Barroom Hussy' just about to go off at twenty to one."  Bob replied, "It would be a shame to let a magnificent piece of horseflesh like that leave the gate without a few bucks on her."  I readily agreed and hurried off to get down our pooled $10 bet.  We ordered a couple of drinks and settled in to watch the race.  Barroom Hussy won it wire to wire.

When we were done celebrating the two of us decided to pool another $10 from our winnings and pick out another horse for the second race.  That filly's name I am no longer able to recall, but she won.  We were on to something.  As what had now become the afternoon wore on, our collective IQ, thanks to an ever increasing drink tab, was going down faster than a hooker at a Shriner convention.  BUT WE KEPT WINNING!  Other railbirds were coming to us for advice; people were springing for drinks and--OOPS--our wives were wondering where the hell we were.  Judy, Bob's wife, had called Linda sometime around 3PM and they formed their own angry search party.  They found us, like Cliff and Norm at Cheers, occupying the two stools at the end of the Sahara bar where we had been planted since that first race at Aquaduct.  (Didn't want to mess with what was now our "system".)

I don't remember the exact tally of the loot we won that mostly unbelievable day in 1985 but I am certain it was the last time I ever won money betting on the horses.  I do remember a large--make that VERY large--pile of green in front of us and two extremely pissed off women standing over the scene demanding some sort of explanation.  I may have tried faking a broken leg.  I'm not sure.  I do remember dining that evening at a very expensive restaurant the girls picked out.  They had the lobster and split the rest of our hard won racing spoils.

Bob and I had Alka Seltzer.


Family entertainment with a chance to win money!



Friday, August 1, 2014

A Real Meathead Production

Turns out Archie Bunker was right, Rob Reiner IS a meathead.  Oh, I know he got lots of kudos for directing "When Harry Met Sally", a blatant theft from the Woody Allen playbook, but that movie at least had believable chemistry between Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal.  Unfortunately"And So It Goes", Reiner's most recent attempt  at directing,  has NO chemistry, no discernible plot or credible premise, an abundance of hopelessly cliched characters and absolutely zero reason to go see it.  It's  
 awful.
Michael Douglas will obviously do anything to get out of the house.

The only reason my wife and I had for wasting a couple of hours on this steaming pile of celluloid offal was a need to be out of our house as realtors dragged curious clients through the hacienda.  The day was hot, a movie in a "real" theater seemed an inspired idea; so off we went.   Looking for a picture with any relevance for people over 40 is a challenge.  You're lucky to find anything even remotely relatable on a screen at the local multiplex.  Apparently Hollywood has decided that the only path to box office riches is through tales of monsters, car crashes, teenage angst, raunch and heartbreak, and dependable full length.animation features for the kiddies.  Humans from the adult world are assumed to be unable to leave their homes for more than a trip to the doctor's office or the "early bird special" at Denny's.
Carl is a genius., his son, not so much.


It's the old chicken and egg dilemma.  Do adults stay home because there are so few movies for them, or are there few movies for adults because they won't leave the house to see them?  I give Reiner credit for trying,  but why was he willing to settle for such bad material?  Cardboard characters and tired gags seem lazy and uninspired.  Who writes crap like "And So It Goes"?  It turns out that a guy named Mark Andrus typed out this technicolor turd.  Good information to have on hand the next time you're tempted to take in a flick.
"Come see our movie, it's Craptacular!"



Michael Douglas is Oren Little the grumpy old man of the production.  Apparently Jack Nicholson has aged out of the geezer rom/com formula.  Diane Keaton, as Leah,  tries valiantly to make you believe she is a working lounge singer who actually gets paid to perform nightly at the local watering hole.  (Please raise your hand if you know of any real live 68 year-old glasses wearing grandmas currently making a living warbling in a saloon with a three piece back-up.)  Naturally, she being a widow and he a widower, they must "meet cute" and develop an improbable relationship.  Throw in a son on his way to stony lonesome, a darling granddaughter, smartass co-worker, wacky neighbors, a pregnant lady about to pop and a Reiner cameo featuring a toupee that looks like a bad Wham-O toy and you've got yourself a movie--a REALLY BAD MOVIE.

It's disgusting enough that theaters now subject paying customers to tons of commercials and previews that only make the experience seem like you never left the house, but there is no excuse for cringe inducing material.  I don't recall another movie that made me actually feel embarrassed for everyone involved until I sat through this bomb.  Which is precisely why I fully expect to see it GO from theaters in a week or two to find its home on a major airline where walking out makes a real statement.

Just in case you are having trouble catching my drift…Don't go see this movie!  Ask your grandkids what they want to see; it's bound to be better.   e.e. Cummings once said: "The most wasted of all days is the one without laughter."  Don't waste a second on this Rob Reiner cinema steamer.

Wishing she still worked for Woody Allen.