By Michael Kaufman

When Claude Pepper died in 1989, Horace B. Deets, executive director of the American Association of Retired Persons (AARP), said it would be hard to find an advocate for the rights of older Americans who could replace the feisty Florida Congressman. ”There really isn’t anyone on the American political landscape who could step into Claude Pepper’s shoes,” said Deets.

The current version of AARP serves to prove his point. Instead of vigorously promoting the ideals of Claude Pepper (such as universal health care), the AARP now offers its 35-million members advice to the lovelorn from Dr. Pepper!  That would be Dr. Pepper Schwartz, described as “AARP’s sex and relationship expert,” who has written 16 books on the dating habits and sensuality of couples and singles. I know this because I am a member of AARP and I got an email from the organization last week with a subject line that grabbed my attention: “Michael, Delicious Burger Recipes!” 

Under “Featured Recipe: Full-Flavored Burgers,” I read, “Bored with the basic burger?” (Not at all. I like basic burgers.) “Jazz up your next meal with our Spicy Turkey Burgers With Pickled Onions, Blue Cheese-Stuffed Bacon Sliders, and Greek-Bison Burgers. Yum!” (Yum? Are you kidding me?  “Yuck” I would say.)

Then I noticed the heading that followed: “Rev Up Your Love Life.” (Okay, vroom, vroom!) “Want to increase your partner’s libido? What about taking a romantic vacation? Get answers to these questions and more on romance and relationships! (Click) “Boomer Dating Advice, Birth Control, Condoms, Painful Sex, Pepper Schwartz, The Naked Truth” (Huh?)

“Pepper Answers Your Questions. Topics covered: Sex with arthritic hips, condoms, initiating sex with a menopausal partner.” (What is this, Geriatric Cosmo? And who is this Pepper anyway?) “Dr. Pepper Schwartz…. Her mission is to improve the lives of aging boomers and the 50+ audience by enhancing their relationships and offering counsel on everything from sex and health issues, to communication and dating as you age.”

My mother taught me not to make fun of people’s names. (I’m doing my best, ma, but Pepper Schwartz? It makes me laugh.) The only other person named Pepper I can recall is Pepper Gomez, a professional wrestler, who appeared on the old “Bedlam From Boston” TV show when I was a kid.

Gomez was called “The Man with the Cast-Iron Stomach” and he once had a match with the legendary Killer Kowalski in which Kowalski was unable to get a grip on that stomach in order to apply his famous “Claw” hold. The frustrated Kowalski then convinced the gullible Gomez to allow him to jump on his stomach from the top of a turnbuckle in the corner of the ring.

Gomez positioned himself flat on his back. Kowalski climbed to the top of the turnbuckle and, villain that he was, promptly jumped on to his neck. Gomez then thrashed about wildly, pointing at his supposedly damaged neck. Had the injury been real and not faked, the Gomez family would have been stuck with some serious medical expenses because professional wrestlers had no health insurance. Gomez was 77 when he died in 2004. Perhaps he was a member of AARP.

So what kind of advice does one get from Pepper Schwartz? Here is one example:

“Q: I have been on a number of dating sites. All the MEN want is someone to cook and clean and wash dirty underwear. NONE of them like baseball. All want to stay at home or watch TV, etc. What happened to men who have a love of life? I am also not supporting someone who sits on his behind all day. If you have any advice for me, just toss it in the ring.”

“A: Where have you been looking: Couchpotatodate.com? Seriously, it might be the way you are picking profiles, because this isn’t my impression of the online-dating world at all. Granted, there are some oddly disconnected characters out there, but they aren’t the majority.

“I really have some chops on your question: Not only am I the relationship expert on one of the larger sites, but the Web is where I found the man I am with now. Before that, when I was 55, I started dating online and fell in love several times with people I regard, even in retrospect, as truly worthy.

“So why aren’t you seeing these guys? I don’t know. Maybe your search criteria isn’t (sic) working for you. Try looking for keywords like “athletic,” “active,” “sports,” “baseball fan,” “independent,” or “hyperactive.” Search for results that filter for guys who like an active life—and aren’t waiting around for Princess Charming to rescue them and set them up in some castle somewhere.”

Where to begin? Am I the only one who sees a few red flags here, in both the question and the answer? I happen to love baseball. I used to be a member of the Baseball Writers Association of America. But frankly, if I were single and I ran into that woman and she asked me if I like baseball, I’d probably just say no. 
 
The burger recipes and advice from Dr. Pepper are followed in the AARP email by “Design & Home Remodeling,” and “Spices That Fight Cancer!”

Last on the list is “What Health Care Reform Means to You.” AARP is paying attention to the wrong Pepper.

Michael can be reached at Michael@zestoforange.com.

By Michael Kaufman

Maybe it won’t happen in my lifetime but one day there will be a plaque on display in the Baseball Hall of Fame in honor of Lester Rodney. Rodney, who died last week at the age of 98, was a sportswriter for the Daily Worker from 1936 to 1958. He played a significant role in breaking the color line in American sports, but, as Dave Zirin aptly noted in a recent column in the Huffington Post, instead of getting the recognition he deserved, “he was largely erased from the books.” Rodney’s writing “is still bracing and ahead of its time,” wrote Zirin.

It was Rodney’s association with the Worker, the Communist Party newspaper that led to his being shunted aside during the McCarthy Era and Cold War period. That has changed in recent years as historians and some of the better modern-day sportswriters (especially Zirin) have taken a closer look at the events leading up to the signing of Jackie Robinson by the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947.

But there is still a long way to go, in part because of the way we Americans have been conditioned to view historic events. Thus, Richard Nixon now gets credit for the Title IX legislation of 1972 that requires gender equity for boys and girls in every educational program that receives federal funding. Nixon, as president, merely signed off on the bill. But that legislation was made possible by people like the little girl in Staten Island who decided she wanted to play Little League baseball and would not take “no” for an answer…. by Bernice Gera, who fought for a chance to become a professional baseball umpire…. by Kathy Switzer, who registered as “K.V. Switzer” to run in the Boston Marathon in 1967 and finished despite an attempt by race official Jock Semple to rip off her numbers and eject her from the event…. and by countless other courageous girls and women.

Title IX did not happen in a vacuum and neither did Branch Rickey’s signing of Robinson. The latter was to have been the subject of my thesis for a graduate course in sociology in 1973. I wrote to Rodney, who was then working as editor of the religion section of a newspaper in California. Like Zirin, as a young sportswriter I found inspiration in Rodney’s old columns and the campaign he and his colleagues launched in the pages of the Worker beginning in 1936 to end what they called “The Crime of the Big Leagues,” namely the systematic exclusion of black players from major-league baseball.

In the years that followed, their articles led to petitions, demonstrations at Ebbets Field and other major-league ballparks, even passage of a resolution by the New York City Council, calling for an end to racial discrimination in baseball. By the time Rickey signed Robinson there was a groundswell of popular support for the move.

“There is so much more than the dates, interviews, statements,” Rodney wrote in his gracious reply. “Those are the bones. The ATMOSPHERE when we started digging into it would seem like a million light years from today to younger folks.” He recalled a 1937 conversation with Burleigh Grimes, then manager of the Dodgers, who had confided his belief that a number of Negro League players had major-league talent. But when Rodney asked if he could quote him, Grimes unhappily replied, “Don’t you know I can’t talk about them? Don’t you know it can NEVER happen, living and traveling together, showers, clubhouse…let’s talk about something else.”

Rodney recounted the unique cooperation between the Worker and the weekly newspapers that served the black community, and the way “none of the other papers — not the liberal Post, Times, whatever, ever touched the subject.” Years later, they would write disparagingly, as Dick Young of the Daily News did in his 1951 book, Roy Campanella, with comments like, “Roy found himself accosted by a man who introduced himself as a reporter from the Daily Worker, communistic organ…” 

“Of course,” wrote Rodney,” both I and Nat Low knew Roy long and well before that.” Low was the Worker’s expert on the Negro Leagues and Rodney credited him for playing “a vital role in the climactic years during World War II” when Rodney was serving in the army.

Soon after receiving Rodney’s letter I had an opportunity to interview Campanella. He smiled warmly at the mention of Low’s name. “How is Nat?” he asked. When I told him that Low had been dead for years he shook his head sadly.

 Since 1962, the Baseball Writers Association of America, which elects players to the Hall of Fame, has conducted a separate ballot to honor a writer with the J.G. Taylor Spink Award. Spink, the driving force of The Sporting News, known during his lifetime as the “Baseball Bible,” was its first recipient. Other recipients include the likes of Ring Lardner, Damon Runyan, Grantland Rice, John T. Carmichael, Red Smith and Shirley Povich. (There are a couple of turkeys in there, too, but we won’t talk about that now.)  

The 1993 Spink Award recipient was Wendell Smith of the Pittsburgh Courier, a weekly newspaper that has served the black community in Pittsburgh since 1910. Smith was honored posthumously in large part for his role in the fight against the color bar, particularly for a series of articles he wrote in 1939, which included an outpouring of anti-segregation statements by white major-league players. The Worker was the only daily newspaper in the country to run the series and Smith wrote to Rodney: “I take this opportunity to congratulate you and the Daily Worker for the way you have joined with us on the current series concerning Negro players in the major leagues, as well as all your past great efforts in this respect.”

It is only a matter of time before Lester Rodney (and perhaps Nat Low as well) will be similarly honored.

Michael can be reached at Michael@zestoforange.com.

By Michael Kaufman

I gave up writing an annual list of New Year wishes around 40 years ago after I killed Johnny Murphy. Murphy was the general manager of the New York Mets at the time and I had wished him “hives” because of the way he had treated Ed Charles, the team’s veteran third baseman following the glorious championship season of 1969.

Charles, known as “the Glider” for his graceful style, had played an important role in the team’s turnaround from laughingstock to success. But he was also its oldest player and soon after the Mets won the World Series, Murphy announced that Charles would not be back in 1970. He would not even be invited to spring training to compete for a job with the team.

For the better part of the next decade the Mets employed a succession of mostly terrible players at third base, including Wayne Garrett, Joe Foy (for whom they traded Amos Otis, a future American League All-Star), and the over-the-hill Jim Fregosi (for whom they traded the still-great Nolan Ryan). I like to think of it as the “Curse of the Glider.”

Of course Johnny Murphy wasn’t around to see any of this. Although I had only wished him hives, he died a couple of days later. So forget about the wishes for others. I’ve been sticking to New Year’s resolutions for myself ever since. The trouble with New Year’s resolutions is that they are often so lofty they are impossible to keep. My resolve is usually shot by the end of January. But the other day I heard an expert psychologist on the radio say that the trick is to keep the resolutions simple and attainable. And I thought of Billy Loes.

Loes was a young starting pitcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers when they won National League pennants in 1952 and 1953 and the World Series in 1955. A sore arm shortened his ensuing career although he went 12-7 for the Baltimore Orioles in 1957 and was named to the American League All-Star team. His career high in wins came in 1953, when he was 14-8 for the Dodgers. He said he would rather win 14 games than be a 20-game winner “because then I’d be expected to do it every year.”

Loes was known both for being outspoken and for his sense of humor. Before the 1952 World Series, Dodgers’ manager Charlie Dressen confronted him: “I see in the paper where you picked the Yankees to beat us in seven games. What’s wrong with you?” “I was misquoted,” Loes protested. “I picked them in six games.”

Loes would later be a thorn in the side of Orioles’ manager Paul Richards, who fined him $100 and suspended him for six days for shoving umpire Larry Napp during an argument over a call on a tag play at home plate. In response, Loes said he would never pitch for Richards again and expressed a desire to be traded. After meeting with Loes at the end of the suspension, Richards said, “As far as I’m concerned, it’s a closed incident. We’ll redeal the cards and wipe the slate clean.” But Loes saw it another way. “I’ll pitch because that’s the way I make my living, not because I think Richards is the greatest man in the world,” he declared. “I don’t have anything against him. I hope he makes a million dollars. But I thought he should have come out on the field in my defense when I was fighting to win a ballgame and I still feel that way.”

Examples of his sense of humor abound. Once, after booting a ground ball in a key situation, a reporter asked him the obvious question of what had happened. Loes replied, “I lost it in the sun!” His explanation after being called for a balk when the ball slipped out of his hand as he was winding up to pitch: “Too much spit on it.” Loes won only three games for the Orioles in 1958. When he showed up for spring training someone asked his goal for 1959. He said, “Win four games.” He finished the 1959 season with a 4-7 record and was promptly traded to the Giants. After being selected by the New York Mets in the 1961 expansion draft, he said, “The Mets is a good thing. They give everybody a job just like the WPA.” Sadly, he never actually pitched a game for the Mets, his final game being with the Giants in 1961.

In the spirit of Billy Loes I hereby make my New Years resolution for 2010: I will lose one pound. Happy New Year to all!

Michael can be reached at michael@zestoforange.com

 By Michael Kaufman

Still searching for that perfect holiday gift for your favorite hipster? Have I got a book for you! The only trouble is that it was published in 1993 and it may not be so easy to find. I just checked on Amazon and there were only two copies listed (1 New and 1 Used).

Nevertheless, it is one of my all-time favorite books. It’s The Opus of Everything in Nothing Flat by Mikhail Horowitz and it is composed of 23 jazz poems and selcted performance pieces, including the likes of “Hitman Haiku,” “Litany of the Dead,” and “Howl for Casey.” But this is the one that sent me to the bookshelf for purposes of this post:

 There’s No Noel There   
      if Gertrude Stein had written A Visit From St. Nicholas 

The night before Xmas was the night before Xmas and
we were staying where we stayed when we stayed at             Xmastime. And in this place, where we stayed when we
stayed where we were staying at Xmastime, we heard
suddenly with much struggling, a clatter, we heard
suddenly with much struggling a great clatter, the sound
of something being clatter, on the roof of this place
where we stayed when we stayed where we were staying
at Xmastime, and we knew that this clatter was a great
one. This one was certainly a great clatter, this one was
certainly clearly expressing something. So we sprang
from our beds at the sound of this clatter, to see what
was the matter with this clatter, to see if the matter was
a great one, since the clatter was a great one, since the
clatter was quite certainly a great one on the roof of this
place where we stayed when we stayed where we were
staying at Xmastime. And we were listening again and
again to reindeer, doing what they were doing on the
roof of this place where we were staying, and we
certainly heard them, and they were quite certainly the
source of the clatter, and the clatter was quite certainly
a great clatter, one that was greatly expressing some-
thing. And it was greatly expressing something being strug-
gling. And there was one who was with the reindeer, and he
too was greatly expressing something being struggling, and he
was doing what he was doing with a great sack on his back,
alack. And he was doing what he was doing with the reindeer.
And the reindeer were doing what they were doing on the roof,
and what they were doing was excreting something.
We did not want them to be doing what they were doing on
the roof of this place where we were staying, so we shot them.
And we shot the one who was struggling with them, and we
shot him again and again. And we were quite certainly clearly
expressing something.

Michael can be reached at michael@zestoforange.com.

By Michael Kaufman

One of the joys of being a reporter is that every once in a while you get to be present when something historic, important,  or just plain entertaining or exciting happens. Then you get to write about it and spread the information. I had some wonderful experiences as a sportswriter, covering events like the 1969 World Series, the Ali-Frazier fight at Madison Square Garden in 1971, and the 1973 World University Games in Moscow. 

I treasure the pictures I have from my interview with Muhammad Ali at his home. I smile at the memory of an interview with Gordie Howe, then still known as “the Babe Ruth of hockey” because he had scored more goals than anyone else in history. (The advent of curved hockey sticks would soon make his record obsolete, much as steroids helped obliterate the home-run records of Ruth and Hank Aaron.) Howe, a fierce competitor known for his physical strength on the ice, was shy and softspoken throughout the interview. He never finished high school, he said, and always admired people who were able to write well.

Not all the memories are good. There was the time I rushed to attend the  press conference at Bachelors III, the Upper East Side bar owned by Joe Namath, star quarterback of the New York Jets. Namath had been ordered by Pete Rozelle, commissioner of the National Football League, to divest himself of his interest in the place, said to be frequented by “social undersirables.” At the press conference, a defiant Namath tearfully announced his retirement, although a deal was soon worked out that allowed him to keep playing.

But what I remember most about that press conference was how we reporters were packed in like sardines while we waited for it to begin. I was somewhere in the middle of the room, hoping I wouldn’t pass out from lack of oxygen, when Namath walked up to the microphone and began to speak. Suddenly the door at the rear burst open and a television crew led by Howard Cosell began pushing its way forward. Namath waited.

Cosell advanced, using his elbows like a blocker in the Roller Derby, occasionally muttering a half-hearted, “Excuse me,” and leaving a trail of grumbling writers in his wake. “Hey!,” they hollered while ducking to avoid getting hit in the head by cameras and lighting equipment. As Cosell passed by me he stomped squarely on my foot. It hurt a lot and I winced. He paused a moment and looked at my face. Then he looked at my press badge to see my name. When he recognized neither he grunted and moved on. I guess I wasn’t important enough to get even a half-hearted, “Excuse me,” from the bastard (may he rest in peace). The top of my foot was badly bruised and hurt for a week.

So what does all this have to do with the title of this post? It is this: Since leaving sportwsriting for medical writing a couple of decades ago I’ve had similar experiences. Sufficeth to say that some medical specialties have their own Howard Cosells. But most of my experiences have been good….and sometimes they are very good indeed.

That was the case December 4-8 in Boston, where I attended the annual meeting of the American Epilepsy Society (AES). The AES meeting draws several thousand neurologists and other healthcare professionals from around the globe, all dedicated to the prevention, treatment, and cure of epilepsy and its complications.

Much progress has been made in recent years. Advanced imaging technologies have provided new insights into how seizures affect the brain. Breakthrough research has led to new adjunctive drug treatments and innovative devices. In one of the most exciting and well-attended sessions at the AES meeting, findings of a pivotal multicenter trial of an implanted programmable responsive neurostimulator were reported. Findings suggest that this little gizmo is safe and effective in adults with certian types of intractable seizures. It is the first implanted device that is able to detect and abort seizures before they happen.

Ah, but here is the rub. All this progress in epilepsy management has not reached most of the 50 million people around the world, including many of the three million in the United States who have the disorder. The consequences are not insignificant, says Steven C. Schachter, MD, president of the AES, because uncontrolled epilepsy leads to a diminished quality of life and a greater risk of disability and death.

“An astonishing three-quarters of the global population with epilepsy get no treatment whatsoever for their seizures,” says Schachter. And, he adds, “While most patients here in the U.S. receive some form of therapy, there are racial, ethnic, and socioeconomic disparities in access to treatment, surgery in particular, and significant under-diagnosis and treatment of associated complications of mood, memory and cognition.”

Even with the plethora of epilepsy therapies now available, says Schachter, “the CDC estimates that at least 45 percent of people with epilepsy here in the U.S. continue to experience seizures. Complete freedom from seizures is not a possibility for everyone who has epilepsy. But it is important for patients with continuing seizures and their healthcare providers to make every effort toward that goal.”

The heavy toll that undiagnosed, untreated and sub-optimally treated epilepsy imposes on the millions of people with epilepsy in the U.S. and worldwide has led the World Health Organization to raise the international campaign against the disorder to its highest level. Closing the wide gap in treatment will require major efforts on the part of governments, as well as healthcare professionals, affected individuals and family members. But, with people’s lives at stake, says Schachter, there is no other course.

Michael can be reached at michael@zestoforange.com.

By Michael Kaufman

Thanksgiving at our house will be a little different this year as it comes at a time when my wife and I are facing a critical point in our marriage. After more than 21 years together, we are now forced to deal with one of the burning issues of our time: Can an obsessively compulsive woman and a man with attention deficit disorder live together in peace and harmony?

We have successfully evaded the question all these years because one or both of us has been working fulltime so we were rarely together long enough for the other’s annoying habits to get on our nerves. Now, thanks to a spectacular hiking accident that shattered her ankle in several places on November 7, and a less-than spectacular economy that has rendered me without a fulltime job since February, we are home … alone (except for when the kids come in for a weekend or holiday) … together (except for the dog and cat) … all day long. Our love has never been so greatly tested.

Under orders from a renowned ankle surgeon in Manhattan (so renowned he doesn’t accept insurance) she is unable to put any weight on her right foot. She has only been outside once since her surgery — to attend a performance by our daughter in a school play — and it was a fiasco. She said the wheelchair we rented that day was uncomfortable. After the show I loaded the chair into the car but forgot to load the crutches. Backing out, I ran over the crutches. The ride was bumpy. As we neared home a large deer darted in front of the car and I had to brake hard. The sudden stop nearly sent her crashing into the dashboard and sent painful tremors through her entire leg. She hasn’t been outside since, nor has she used the wheelchair. Remarkably, the crutches sustained only minor damage and remained serviceable.

Stuck at home with nothing to do but sit or lie down with her leg elevated (“Toes above the nose,” was the emphatic mantra from the nurses) she has little to do. She hates TV except for “Jolly Widows,” the Korean soap opera we watch together Monday through Friday nights on WMBC (Channel 20 on Cablevision … you should watch it, it’s great, really) from 9:20 to 10 p.m. And maybe a little Keith Olbermann (sorry Gaydos) and Rachel Maddow.  She reads. And she obsesses.

She says, “Could you put that glass in the sink?” She says, “Can you bring me my reading glasses?” She says, “Can you straighten out that cover on the ottoman?’ She says, “Oh, and when you bring me my reading glasses can you bring the quilt and the water bottle?” She says, “Thanks, but you forgot the quilt.” She says, “Can you bring me my notebook computer, my hair clip, and the quilt you forgot before?” She says, “Can you bring me my pillow?” She says, “That’s not the right pillow. I want the white smooshy one. And can you bring me my Blackberry?” She says, “That isn’t my Blackberry. It’s my cell phone. Can you bring the charger, too?” She says, “That’s the cell phone charger.” And so it goes.

To be honest, we got on each other’s nerves a litte bit at first, but we’ve gotten pretty good at laughing at ourselves. It may be a cliche, but laughter is still the best medicine. The answer to the burning question is yes. 

NOTE: Special thanks from Eva-Lynne and our entire family to the wonderful rescue workers from Greenwood Lake, who carried her safely from the treacherous site of the accident on the Appalachian Trail. And thanks to a hiker named Roger, whose kindness and assistance helped ease her ordeal throughout that long and painful afternoon.

Michael can be reached at michael@zestoforange.com.

By Michael Kaufman

I admit it. I love it when an umpire makes a bad call, especially in a big game. The worse the call, the more I enjoy it.  I like to see an enraged manager rush from the dugout, waving his arms, snarling , kicking dirt on home plate or the umpire’s shoes. I like when a home-plate umpire angrily rips off his mask and gets in the guy’s face.  And there’s nothing wrong with a little flying spittle now and then.  I wait with anticipation for the moment when the ump has finally had enough and signals the old heave-ho by raising his arm, pointing at the offending party, and shouting, “You’re outta here!”

And sometimes it doesn’t stop there. The guy who got thrown out may turn and  yell at the top of his lungs as he is leaving. Maybe he will continue his tantrum and throw things onto the field when he gets to the dugout. Or maybe he’ll put on a disguise and watch the rest of the game from the stands. Sometimes others will continue the argument with the ump until they get tossed too. It’s all good.

Few things are more entertaining to me. The great old-time announcers like Red Barber used to refer lovingly to these tete-a-tetes as “rhubarbs.” Controversial calls and the ensuing rhubarbs have been almost as much a part of baseball lore as the all-time great batting and fielding achievements. If you are a longtime baseball fan you can think of a few off the top your head.

But you don’t hear much about rhubarbs any more. Advances in video technology have given us the ability to quickly assess the accuracy of a call. Was it a strike or a ball? Home run or foul ball? And now, the Lords of Baseball, in their infinite stupidity, have joined their counterparts in the National Football League, by introducing a video review process.  It started this year during the regular season and was used the other night in a World Series game to determine that Alex Rodriguez had indeed hit a home run and not a double, as originally called by the umpire. And so the game, already beset by lengthier delays than necessary to accomodate television advertisers, was delayed again so the umpires could shamble off the field, go into the clubhouse, and watch a video.  They looked pathetic.

And just what is so important about making the right call 100% of the time in a baseball (or football) game? Umpires and referees have a tough job and it is amazing they get the calls correctly as often as they do. Here is one football referee’s take on the subject, but it applies just as well to baseball:  “Yes, officials are supposed to get it right, but then again, so is that $5.5 million wide receiver who has dropped 60% of his passes this year, and so is that multi-million dollar coach who is 0-7 for the start of the season. Oh, and I guess we should mention the sportscaster who doesn’t really know the rules but yet feels totally comfortable second-guessing and sounding like an expert.” I’m with you, pal.

And don’t forget we are not talking brain surgery here, where the use of advanced video technology might save a person’s life. It is just a ballgame for crying out loud. Still, sports play a huge role in our society, which is why I fear the day may not be far off when a conversation like this takes place at the dinner table:

“What is this, chicken? You told me you were making the lamb chops tonight.”

“No … I said I was making chicken. You asked me right after you brushed your teeth.”

“No … you said lamb chops and it was after I came back from walking the dog… Let’s review it!”

“We can’t review it. You already used your three challenges for the week.”

Michael can be reached at michael@zestoforange.com.

By Michael Kaufman

Whenever things got to be too much for Chester A. Riley, played by William Bendix on the old “Life of Riley” TV show, he would exclaim, “What a revolting development this is!” I uttered those same words last week as a I came to the yellow blinkers and four-way stop signs that now disrupt the flow of traffic on Grand Street in Warwick. 

The stop signs and blinkers were deemed necessary thanks to the location of Liberty Green, the handiwork of millionaire developer Jonah Mandelbaum and enabled by his accomplices among the local powers that be. The name Liberty Green is something of a misnomer, sort of like the way they name places built in the broiling, treeless sunlight of South Florida: “Welcome to the Shady Maple Motel.” Take away green space and replace it with a garishly lit, hideous brown building and call it “Green.” Populate it with older women and men who are not at liberty to afford the more expensive adult condos at Warwick Grove and voila…the perfect name.

Mandelbaum, as noted in a previous post,  is a member of something called the Warwick Development Coalition, where he is joined by the likes of Robert Krahulik, vice chairman of the Warwick Republican Committee and head honcho of the Chamber of Commerce. Krahulik is a lawyer whose office handles real estate closings. What a coincidence. (His office also orchestrated the infamous “stealth” campaign that unseated Village Justice Richard Farina in the last election. )

More recently Krahulik published a letter in the weekly Warwick Advertiser in response to a brief letter by resident Jerry Sander. Sander wrote about the checkered and violent antics he had observed on the part of followers of Lyndon LaRouche in the 1970s. He did this after several LaRouche followers set up a table in front of the Wawick Post Office, brandishing pictures of President Obama with the word “Nazi” beneath it, and similar offensive materials. Near the end of his letter was this sentence: “Local Warwick Republicans might consider this before they offer these nuts their support.” 

Sadly, there had been more than a few passersby who signed petitions, donated money, and otherwise expressed support for the hateful depictions of the president, as well as a degrading poster targeting Nancy Pelosi. It is reasonable to assume that at least some of these passersby were Republicans, perhaps unaware of the history of the LaRouche cult, which Sander had briefly elucidated in his letter.

Krahulik responded with a sledgehammer.  First he accused Sander of attempting “to tie the Republican Party to the anti-Obama rhetoric of the LaRouche PAC.” This, he added, was “but a feeble attempt to advance his [Sander’s] agenda and that of the left. Those on the far left do this often when they can’t win an argument on substance. They resort to personal attacks or distortions of fact.” And, he added,  “I have faith in the intelligence of the reader to understand and comprehend the truth.” Me too. The truth is that anyone looking for personal attacks or distortions of facts will find them in Krahulik’s nasty letter…not Sander’s.

“Mr. Sander’s advocates did the same thing when they dismissed those of us who took time from work and family to spill onto our Nation’s Capitol Mall and Plaza to peacefully protest this government’s radical reform of our health care delivery system,” continued Krahulik. It seems like Krahulik thinks he deserves a medal for his sacrifice and heroism in going to Washington for a demonstration.  And what exactly does he mean by “Mr. Sander’s advocates?”

All that was just part of the opening sentence of a long paragraph detailing the demonstrators’ complaints about such things as “over regulation into major industries.” He also said, “They called us angry white racists rather than debating the issues.” And, “Of course we all would like to see health care reform, but at what price?” Funny, he didn’t mention tort reform anywhere in his diatribe. But just where does Jerry Sander’s letter fit into all this?

“Sadly, Mr. Sander and his minions don’t like dealing with the facts,” concluded Krahulik, “and worse yet, are now attempting to hide the facts and the truth from the American people.” Mr. Sander and his “minions”? All Sander did was offer a word of caution to local Republicans about associating with the LaRouche cult.

The last time Krahulik had a letter in the paper it was to announce the support of the Chamber of Commerce for the firing of school bus drivers as a way of keeping school taxes down. By then it was already a done deal but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to pile on, offering his sympathy (of course) to those of our neigbors about to lose their jobs and benefits… while  explaining that it just had to be done.

There’s an election coming up Tuesday. A local Republican campaign sign says, “Preserve our agricultural heritage.” These are the  same people who opposed PDR, the purchase of development rights, that has preserved some–but not enough–of our local farm land. (But notice how the elected ones always show up for the PDR photo ops?) And for all their complaints about large national issues, they have done nothing locally to help our dairy farmers stay afloat. 

With guys like Mandelbaum and Krahulik calling the shots for the Republicans, the only way our agricultural heritage will be preserved is in a museum. What a revolting development! 

Michael can be reached at michael@zestoforange.com.

By Michael Kaufman

Hunter Thompson would have loved this one. I’m in the press room at the Georgia World Congress Center after making the rounds of the exhibits at the Annual Meeting of the American Society for Reproductive Medicine (ASRM). The peach cobbler at the Schering-Plough booth was scrumptous!  Boehringer-Ingelheim has some delicious capuccino made fresh and served by a cheerful young woman named Tresica. Other companies are giving away clever little egg-themed tschotchkes.

I feel sorry for the doctors from Vermont, Minnesota and Massachusetts though. Right next to the peach cobbler and elsewhere throughout the exhibit hall are signs advising them to refrain from accepting any of these freebies in accordance with the laws of  their home states.

This phenomenon, which one wag has dubbed the “tschotchke intifada,” is government’s response to the lavish meals, travel and other gifts that pharmaceutical companies used to lay on healthcare professionals, especially ones deemed “thought leaders” or “key opinion leaders” (KOLs in today’s jargon).

It was a not-so-subtle way of trying to influence them to be favorably inclined toward the company’s products, thereby driving up the number of prescriptions and increasing the profit margin. And by all accounts it worked: More than a few unfortunate patients experienced deleterious effects from drugs that were overprescribed as a result of these nefarious practices. But, mercy, does this mean your local doctor can’t have a little bit of peach cobbler or a fresh cup of capuccino when they go to a medical meeting?    

Meanwhile the companies have found other ways to drive prescriptions, most notably by direct-to-consumer advertising on television, radio, and in mass-circulation publications.  “Ask your doctor if [fill in the blank] is right for you.” Viva Viagra! Thank you, Novartis.

The biggest news to come out of the ASRM meeting can be summed up by one of the headlines: “Octo-Doc Gets Seal of Disapproval.” Doctor Michael Kamrava, who runs the West Coast IVF (in vitro fertillization) Clinic in Beverly Hills, was kicked out of the ASRM for his “persistent failure to live up to our standards,” explained Sean Tipton, spokesman for the group. Kamrava is the fertility specialist whose teatments led to the birth of Nadya Suleman’s octuplets as well as her six previous children. Those last eight were probably the last straw.

News of Kamrava’s expulsion has completely overshadowed coverage of some interesting medical advances presented at the meeting, including promising stem-cell research with implications for prevention and treatment of cancer. Kamrava was second only to Beyonce in Monday’s “Most Popular” searches on Yahoo.

Also widely covered was a story reminscent of one of the classic routines on the original “2000 Year-Old Man” album made by Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks. Brooks, plays a renowned psychiatrist discussing one of his famous cases, a woman named Bernice who compulsively tore paper. “I cured her,” he says proudly. When Reiner asks how, he replies, “I told her, ‘Don’t tear paper…What are you, crazy, tearing paper? Don’t tear paper!'”

The headline Monday from Reuters was, “Want to get pregnant? Just relax.” The story led, “Old-fashioned common-sense advice to just relax may actually work to help some women get pregnant, doctors reported on Monday.”  Just relax. Don’t tear paper.

You might also want to listen to a little harp music, according to results of a randomized clinical trial reported at the meeting. Patients undergoing IVF were randomized into two groups, one  of which listened  to 20 minutes of live harp music during the procedure. The researchers concluded that harp music therapy “significantly decreases self-perceived anxiety levels.” There was also a trend noted “towards improved clinical pregnancy rate in the harp group…” I’d like to see a study comparing the effects of live harp music versus 20 minutes of listening to a Jimi Hendrix album.

I miss Hunter Thompson. And I’m about ready for some more peach cobbler and maybe some more of Tresica’s capuccino. Later.

Michael can be reached at michael@zestoforange.com.

By Michael Kaufman

I got a phone call the other day from Greg Ball, the 2010 Republican candidate for Congress in the 19th Congressional District. It wasn’t a real phone call from Mr. Ball. It was one of those “robot” calls with a recorded message of his voice. I usually hang up on those kinds of calls…even the always cheerful holiday messages from Meir Borenstein, the local Chabad rabbi. For some reason he gets on my nerves even though I love his Brooklyn accent. “Hello! This is Rabbi Meir and Rivkie Borenstein calling to wish you a Happy Purim and to tell you about…” [Click]

But I listened carefully to Ball’s message and when it was over I felt a chill, because if I didn’t know better, based on what he said in that phone call I would vote for the man. It was an artful piece of demagogy crafted to appeal to anti-war voters like myself. No doubt he has a far different message for telephones that ring in households of his Republican base. 

In my phone message Ball never identifies himself as a Republican. He begins by reminding listeners that they voted for change last November, including the election of our “current Congressman,” who ran as a peace candidate. John Hall’s name is not mentioned. Ball observes, correctly, that Hall….er, the current Congressman, has been something of a disappointment because of his support for the Obama administration’s continuation of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. By the end he sounds more like a Peace and Freedom Party candidate than a Republican.

This is the same Greg Ball who spoke not long ago at a Republican fundraiser at the Warwick estate of Jonah Mandelbaum, the millionaire developer who never met a green field he wouldn’t like to build on…unless it was close to his house. As noted by fellow Zester Jeffrey Page, one of the big-name guests at this shindig was Bernard Kerik, the disgraced former police commissioner of New York City.

When it was Kerik’s turn to speak he defended the use of torture when questioning suspected terrorists. “Imagine if we could have prevented 9-11 with enhanced interrogation techniques like sleep deprivation, loud music, and even water boarding,” said the soiled ex-cop. “Would we have done that to save 3,000 lives? You bet.” This takes quite a bit of imagining, especially since no evidence has been presented that a single life was saved by the extensive water boarding that took place after 9-11.  We do, however, have Dick Cheney’s word for it….and also Peter King’s.

King, a right-wing Republican Congressman from Long Island, was the main speaker at the Mandelbaum gathering and he blasted the United States Justice Department for announcing plans to investigate the legality of such practices by CIA interrogators. King called it “a declaration of war against the CIA,” adding, “the information we obtained saved thousands of lives.” A newspaper report of the event noted there “appeared to be little disagreement” among the attendees. Needless to say, there was nary a peep on the matter from candidate Ball.

A photo accompanying the news article showed Ball addressing supporters and offered a glimpse of one of the spacious rooms at the Mandelbaum home. It reminded me of a scene in Mel Brooks’ “Silent Movie:” Above the urinals in the well-appointed men’s room of the fancy corporate headquarters of the Engulf and Devour corporation is a sign that says, “Our toilets are nicer than most people’s homes.”

Mandelbaum’s spacious estate is a world apart from the apartments at Liberty Green, the senior housing complex he recently erected near where I live. The apartments, though small, seem nice enough inside, but the exterior qualifies it as one of the ugliest residential buildings in Warwick. It has already increased traffic on Grand Street to the point where several new stop signs have been added.

Liberty Green

Liberty Green is one of several Mandelbaum projects enabled by a $10.5 million grant awarded to his company by New York State last year, the largest multi-project award of its kind ever granted. “We’ve been meeting the demand for well-built, safe and affordable senior housing since 1996, when we built Devon Woods,” Mandelbaum was quoted in a local newspaper article reporting on the grant. “This award is an honor and we are committed to continuing to meet the housing needs of our senior citizens.” The article goes on to say that Mandelbaum is “well-known in Warwick for his contributions to civic and charitable organizations.”

I don’t know about his contributions to charitable organizations but he has donated many thousands of dollars over the years to local, state, and national  political candidates. With the exception of a $5,000 donation in 2007 to the Democratic Senatorial campaign (an election in which the Republican candidate had no chance) all of his donations were to Republicans. The most intriguing is a 2005 donation of $1,000 to Senator Ted Stevens of Alaska. 

I suspect the local and state political donations have at least as much to do with the grant award than Mandelbaum’s commitment to quality, affordable housing for seniors. They also likely have something to do with the ongoing glut of development in Warwick. The Liberty Green home page links to a popup promoting the proposed “Community Business Zone” on Route 94 and to the official Town of Warwick Web site, which promotes the virtues of the recently formed Warwick Development Coalition. Mandelbaum is a member, of course, along with local elected officials and other Warwick luminaries. Do you think maybe I am on to something or am I just being too cynical?

Michael can be reached at michael@zestoforange.com.