Archive for July, 2009

U.S. Department of Transportation Secretary, Ray LaHood (former Republican Congressman from Ill.) pulled one of the more outrageous acts of arrogance I have seen from a bureaucrat in a long time.  After Sen. Jon Kyl criticized the lack of stimulus coming from the “Stimulus” funding, LaHood wrote a letter to Gov. Brewer asking if she agreed with Kyl and if she prefers “to forfeit the money we are making available to the state, as Senator Kyl suggests, please let me know.”

George Will had lunch with LaHood a couple months ago, and then wrote about it:

LaHood, however, has been transformed. Indeed, about three bites into lunch, the T word lands with a thump: He says he has joined a “transformational” administration: “I think we can change people’s behavior.” Government “promoted driving” by building the Interstate Highway System—”you talk about changing behavior.” He says, “People are getting out of their cars, they are biking to work.” High-speed intercity rail, such as the proposed bullet train connecting Los Angeles and San Francisco, is “the wave of the future.” And then, predictably, comes the P word: Look, he says, at Portland, Ore.

Riding the aforementioned wave to Portland, which liberals hope is a harbinger of America’s future, has long been their aerobic activity of choice. But LaHood is a Republican, for Pete’s sake, the party (before it lost its bearings) of “No, we can’t” and “Actually, we shouldn’t” and “Not so fast” and “Let’s think this through.” Now he is in full “Yes we can!” mode. Et tu, Ray?

McCain has now weighed in on LaHood’s childish letter to the Governor:

“That is one of the more arrogant and elitist statements that I’ve ever heard,” McCain, R-Ariz., told The Arizona Republic during an interview in his Capitol Hill office. “It’s not their money; it’s the money of the Arizona taxpayers. And they are making the money available to our state? Since when do they have that authority? Of course, we question the stimulus. It has been a failure.”

LaHood needs to go back to Peoria, Ill. and get back in touch with real America.  The Potomac fever is gone to his head.

Who knew that a picture could cause such a stir?

“Excuse me, I believe you have my stapler… ” — Milton Waddams (Office Space, 1999)

 The good news is that the staples have been removed from my stomach.  The bad news is that there is going to be a really visible scar for the rest of my life.

There was a real sense of freedom coming out of Dr. Casano’s office and realizing that the staples were gone.  I felt like I could move a little more freely, not worry about various twists, etc.  I was happy to be staple free.

*WARNING – GRAPHIC PHOTO BELOW – VIEW AT YOUR OWN RISK *

So now that I’m staple free, I figured I’d share a picture of what the staples looked like. Now, some people are going to think that I went overboard on my graphic photo warning.  But, if I hadn’t done that, some unsuspecting reader would have gone straight to the picture and “eeewwwww…” and then I would have gotten a nasty email about how inappropriate it was to show that picture.

Well, I suppose it could be inappropriate, but for anyone who cares about science, biology, etc. it’s actually not a bad little lesson.

And, maybe you should show your teenager what bad driving can do to you.

I’m now in what is considered the “recovery” mode of the consequence of rolling my car and having emergency surgery to remove my spleen.

Recovery is an interesting thing to consider.  I have 30 staples in my stomach holding together an incision that is just a hair over 8 inches long.  It’s difficult to function when you are worried you are going to pop a staple at any cough, laugh, bend, reach or stretch.  I have decided that I won’t really start recovering until the staples are gone – which, with any luck, will be Tuesday.

The other challenge of having been a bit out of commission is the catch-up – particularly with emails, texts, voicemails, etc.  There is something a bit daunting about firing up outlook and seeing 3187 unread emails.  Good grief.

So, if you have called, texted or emailed me in the last couple weeks – hang tight, I’ll try to get to you!

So much for “taking it easy.”

Every Independence Day, I try to find something that fits the somber and important nature of that day in 1776.  This year, Peggy Noonan nailed it in a Wall Street Journal piece that ran on Friday.  I’d have posted it earlier – like on the 4th, but was obviously preoccupied. So here it is… very much worth the read.

Making History

In appreciation of our country’s founders and its greatest living historian.

• By PEGGY NOONAN

Monday, July 1, was heavy and hot, and a full-scale summer storm passed through the city late in the morning. John Dickinson of Pennsylvania rose to speak. He knew he was endangering the respect in which he was broadly held, his “popularity,” but he once again counseled caution: Slow down, separation from Britain is “premature,” to declare independence now would be “to brave the storm in a skiff made of paper.” When he sat down, “all was silent except for the rain that had begun spattering against the windows.”

Then John Adams rose. He wished he had the power of the ancient orators of Greece and Rome, he said; surely they had never faced a question of greater human import.

He made, again, the case for independence. Now is the time, the facts are inescapable, the people are for it, we are not so much declaring as acknowledging reality. “Looking into the future [he] saw a new nation, a new time, all much in the spirit of lines he had written in a recent letter to a friend: ‘. . . We are in the very midst of revolution, the most complete, unexpected, and remarkable of any in the history of the world.’ ” Outside the wind picked up and the storm struck hard with thunder and lightning. Storms had in the past unnerved Adams, but he spoke steadily, logically and compellingly for two hours.

After nine hours of debate, the voting commenced. The yeses were in the majority, but there were more noes than expected. Someone moved a final vote be taken the next morning. Adams and the rest hastily agreed.

That night word reached Philadelphia that the British fleet, a hundred ships, had been sighted off New York.

The next day, July 2, the final voting began. It went quickly. This was a pivotal moment in the political history of man. A creative, imaginative, historically conscious person in the middle of a thing so huge and full of consequence will try to notice things, to keep them forever in his eyes and pass them on. Here is a thing John Adams would never forget:

At 9 in the morning, just as the doors to the Congress were to be closed, “Caesar Rodney, mud spattered, ‘booted and spurred,’ made his dramatic entrance. The tall, thin Rodney—the ‘oddest-looking man in the world,’ Adams once described him—had been made to appear stranger still, and more to be pitied, by a skin cancer on one side of his face that he kept hidden behind a scarf of green silk. But, as Adams had also recognized, Rodney was a man of spirit, of ‘fire.’ Almost unimaginably, he had ridden eighty miles through the night, changing horses several times, to be there in time to cast his vote.”

All of these quotes are from David McCullough’s “John Adams.” More on Mr. McCullough in a moment.

The vote was completed: 12 for independence, New York abstaining, no one opposing. “The break was made, in words at least: on July 2, 1776, in Philadelphia, the American colonies declared independence. If not all 13 clocks had struck as one, twelve had, and with the others silent the effect was the same.”

On July 3, Congress argued over the wording and exact content of the formal Declaration. An indictment of the slave trade was dropped. In all, Thomas Jefferson saw roughly 25% of what he’d written wind up on the floor.

On July 4, discussion ended, debate was closed, a vote on the final draft of the Declaration of Independence was called, and the results were as on July 2. Congress ordered the document be printed. They’d sign it in a month. For now, John Hancock and one other, Charles Thompson, fixed their signatures.

Those present thought the great day had been July 2—the vote for independence itself. John Adams, who’d emoted over the 2nd in letters to Abigail, didn’t even mention the 4th , and Thomas Jefferson famously went shopping that afternoon for ladies’ gloves.

But on the morning of July 5, the people of Philadelphia started getting their hands on independently printed copies of the Declaration, and the impact was electric: My God, look what they said yesterday—”We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” And on the 6th, a local newspaper carried the text of what had been agreed upon on the 4th. And so the celebration of the Fourth of July as one of the signal moments in the history of human freedom, was born. And so we mark it still.

* * *

On David McCullough: Almost all the details in the above come from his “John Adams” and “1776″. He is America’s greatest living historian. He has often written about great men and the reason may be a certain law of similarity: He is one also. His work has been broadly influential, immensely popular, respected by his peers (Pulitzer Prizes for “Truman” and “John Adams,” National Book Awards for “The Path Between the Seas” and “Mornings on Horseback”) and by the American public. It is not often—it is increasingly rare—that the academy shares the views of the local dry cleaner, the student flying coach and the high school teacher, but all agree on Mr. McCullough, as they did half a century ago on, say, Robert Frost and Carl Sandburg. He is admired by normal people and esteemed by the intellectual establishment.

Why? Here are a few reasons. He has the eye of a gifted reporter and the depth of a historian. He sees and explains the true size of an incident or endeavor, he factors in, always, the fact that we are human, and he captures the detail that is somehow so telling—it was a scarf of green silk, not soft muslin, that Rodney wore to the vote on American independence. He writes like a dream, of course. He is broad gauged and has range—the Johnstown flood, the building of the Panama Canal, the founders.

Mr. McCullough betrays no need to be contrarian but is only too happy to knock down history’s clichés, to wit George III, the mad doofus, who was in fact “tall and rather handsome” and played both the violin and piano. “His favorite composer was Handel, but he adored also the music of Bach.” He rendered “quite beautiful architectural drawings,” assembled a distinguished art collection, collected books that in time constituted “one of the finest libraries in the world,” loved astronomy, was nonetheless practical, and had a gift for putting people at their ease. He impressed even crusty old Samuel Johnson, who after meeting him called him “the finest gentleman I have ever seen.” As for the famous madness, he suffered not during the American Revolution but later in life from what appears to have been “prophyria, a hereditary disease not diagnosed until the twentieth century.”

One can’t know if Mr. McCullough is correct in his judgment here, or fully so. One can know he inspected the available data, pondered it, and attempted a fair-minded assessment. He is reliable. (Of how many can that be said?) And he loves America. His work has gone to explaining it to itself, to telling its story.

Almost two years ago, I was lucky enough to tour Mount Vernon with a dozen people including him. (If I were David McCullough I would know the date and time. But I know the weather.) At the bottom of a stairway leading to the second floor, we chatted for a moment, and I asked him how he accounted in his imagination for the amazing fact of the genius cluster that founded our nation. How did so many gifted men, true geniuses, walk into history at the same time, in the same place, and come together to pursue so brilliantly a common endeavor? “I think it was providential,” he said, simply.

Well, so do I. If you do too, it’s part of what you’re celebrating today.

Later, after dusk, an unforgettable moment. The Mount Vernon Ladies Association, led by Gay Gaines, retiring after three years as one of its greatest regents—she’d worked herself like a rented mule to solidify and expand the operation—gave us dinner on a long table on the piazza, the veranda overlooking the unchanged Potomac. It is where President and Mrs. Washington dined. It was hot, and now dark, and David McCullough rose to speak of Washington, of his courage and leadership. A storm had been gathering all day. Now it broke, and as he spoke of Valley Forge there was, literally, a sudden roar of thunder, and lightning lit the clouds over the river. Mr. McCullough continued, with his beautiful voice, and we all got a chill: What kind of moment is this? What could we possibly have done to deserve it?

Nothing of course. Some gifts are just given.

That’s what Mr. McCullough’s work has been, a gift, one big enough for a nation. So thanks today to the memory of John and Tom and George, and old Ben, and John Dickinson, and Caesar Rodney too. Good work, gentlemen. You too, David.

GOP operative Sean Noble on mend after wreck

Tuesday, 07 July 2009 16:24 Paul Giblin

By Paul Giblin
The Arizona Guardian

Republican political strategist Sean Noble is recovering from injuries he sustained in an early morning car wreck Saturday.

Doctors removed Noble’s spleen during emergency surgery Saturday after he rolled his 2000 Infiniti I30 sedan two or three times south of Cordes Junction.

The former top aide to U.S. Rep. John Shadegg has been recovering at John C. Lincoln North Mountain Hospital in Phoenix and expects to be discharged Wednesday.

Noble said he is getting along fine without his spleen.

“I don’t miss it. I really didn’t have much of a relationship with it,” he told the Guardian in a telephone interview.

He has been able to work a bit from the hospital, but his conservative political blog “Noble Thinking” has been uncharacteristically inactive in recent days.

Noble was returning home after speaking about tolerance and acceptance at a Mormon youth camp near Prescott. He decided to make the late-night drive because his teen-age daughter Kinsey recently had spinal surgery and he wanted to be with her.

He remembers the incident clearly.

He was headed south on Interstate 17, driving at 75 mph, listening to Tom Petty on the radio. It’s important to note, he said, that despite his well-earned reputation of being a BlackBerry addict, he was not using the device at the time. He had just checked the time; it was 12:20 a.m.

“I was sipping a soda and singing ‘Free Falling,’” he said.

It had rained earlier and he came upon a patch of water on the highway that caused his car to hydroplane, he said. The Infiniti spun and slid toward the edge of the highway.

Noble saw dirt next to the pavement and knew things were going to end poorly.

“The first thing that went through my mind is, ‘You’ve got to kidding me. The last thing I need is to be stranded here at this time of night,” he said.

The tires caught on the dirt and the car rolled two or three times – or more precisely, 2½ or 3½ times – stopping on its roof. Noble found himself hanging upside down from his seatbelt. Every window was shattered.

He unbuckled himself and crawled out a window. He couldn’t find his cell phone, so he walked back to the highway and waited about 10 minutes for another motorist to drive by.

Noble said he didn’t realize he was badly injured, though later tests indicated that his spleen was damaged and that he had internal bleeding.

“I was totally mobile. I was sore. What I thought was that I had broken a few ribs,” he said. “I’m just glad someone stopped.”

A motorist named Patrick stopped, called 911 and allowed Noble to use his phone to contact his wife. Noble sat in the Good Samaritan’s car until rescue personnel arrived. After the rescue team showed up, Patrick drove off. Noble never got his full name.

Noble said he’s thankful for the first responders and the doctors who treated him. And he’s been overwhelmed by the number and kindness of well-wishers who have contacted him since the wreck.

“I wish I hadn’t put myself in that position, but I’m glad I survived,” he said.

Shadegg said he’s spoken to Noble since the crash and has teased him about his poor driving.

“You can tell him I said the conservative movement needs bright and talented people like him and he needs to stop risking it with these car accidents,” Shadegg said.

Noble worked on Shadegg’s staff for more than a decade, finishing as chief of staff. Currently, he’s serving as a campaign consultant for 2010 GOP candidate Jim Ward in Arizona’s 5th Congressional District race, and he’s working on a national campaign opposed to President Barack Obama’s healthcare initiative.

Here are a couple photos of my car.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get enough good angles on it, but you get a sense of the damage.

Well, if you hadn’t heard, I was in a car accident early Saturday morning, which is why I have been silent on the blog.  Here is a quick rundown of what happened.

I spent the day Friday with the youth from my church at their annual youth conference.  I had been one of the speakers to the group and then late Friday evening met with just the kids in my ward.  Because my daughter had recently gotten home from her spinal surgery, I decided to drive home Friday night and be there to help out with her, since my wife had been doing the caring pretty much solo.

At 12:20 a.m. Saturday (I know the time because I had just looked at the clock and figured out how long it would be before I was home) with rain falling, I hit a big patch of standing water on the left lane of southbound I-17 just a few miles south of Cordes Junction.  I hydroplaned, couldn’t correct the spin, went into a total spin, crossing the right lane and hitting the dirt on the right side of the road and going into a multiple roll.

The car came to rest on the roof with me dangling from my seatbealt.  I got the seatbelt unbuckled and crawled through the driver’s side window (which had busted out during the roll over.)  I was a little off the freeway and it took about 10 minutes for someone to finally stop.  All I know about the guy that stopped is that his name is Patrick and he was driving a rental.  I don’t know where he is from or anything else. But I am extremely grateful that he stopped, called 911, let me sit in his car while we waited for emergency response and let me use his phone so I could call my wife and tell her that I was ok, but it was going to be a long night.  Turned out to be longer than I had thought.

The emergency response was a crew from the town of Mayer. Real salt of the earth, and very good at what they do. I don’t remember my paramedic’s name, but his family has a place in Linden – and we talked about Show Low and hunting in the White Mountains as I was strapped to a backboard, immobilized by the neck brace, riding in an ambulance to John C. Lincoln Deer Valley.   I had a pretty sore “lower quadrant” (left lower ribs/abdominal area) but the pain subsided by the time we got to Phoenix.

Once at JCL Deer Valley, I got a CAT scan and the doctor told me that I had a lacerated spleen and they were going to transport me to a Trauma center (John C. Lincoln North Mountain) to have it taken care of.  So, I had the second ambulance ride of my life.

Sidebar:   So I was obviously a little shaken up right after the crash, but I didn’t have a scratch on me – literally, not a mark, which was a common notation the next few hours.  Also, for the record, I did not fall asleep – I was loudly singing “Free Falling” by Tom Petty which was being played on 96.9 FM (rich irony, I know) and had a half-finished soda the balance of which ended up on my sleeve.  Also, I was going the speed limit and I was NOT on an electronic device.  In fact, both my cell phone an d my blackberry were lost in the accident – I’m assuming thrown out into the desert during the rolling since they were both on my console. End sidebar

As I was rolled into the Trauma center, I could sense a real change in the way things were being handled.  There was real urgency in the air.  The rest of my clothes came off (except my dark socks, which really bothered me for some reason), I was being asked a dozen questions by a dozen different people, both arms and wrists were being poked, prodded and taped and then  I see someone standing off to the side who says something and everything goes quiet – it was like being in the presence of a general. He was the trauma surgeon, Dr. Sam Casano.  I ended any ambiguity in what was going on in my mind when he said, we’re going in to take out your spleen and fix anything else we find. He asked a couple questions, and then the background noise started again and then the memory stops.

***

“Hey Sean. How do you feel?” It was my wife – what a site for sore eyes!  I felt pretty good – a little groggy, but very comfortable, but as I tried to say something, I realized that I probably didn’t feel all that great.  I tried to swallow, but my mouth was so parched and I felt like I had a pencil stuck down my throat. Oh, it hurt!

But I was happy to see my wife.  She said that surgery was over and that everything went swimmingly. It was mid-morning and I realized for the first time that my life had just changed – pretty dramatically in the short term (trips canceled, meetings by phone rather than in person, etc.) and to some degree in the long term (I now carry a card which tells emergency folks that I don’t have a spleen).  But I was alive, already recovering and realizing that I was both blessed and lucky.

I have a wonderful wife – who drew the short straw when she agreed to marry me.  And with my recovering daughter, her life was already complicated enough before having to deal with an invalid husband.  I have kids who love me no matter what – which I need to take advantage of because it isn’t always going to be this way.

And I have a big bunch of absolutely wonderful friends. From the phone calls, notes, emails, facebook comments, card, flowers, visits, prayers, to conspiring with me to get a blackberry activated without my wife knowing (our secret is safe Jack and team) and the outpouring of help with Julie, the kids, the house, scouring the accident site for lost and important items – I feel like George Bailey in “It’s a Wonderful Life” and it literally brings tears to my eyes.  

Thank you. To each of you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate the thoughtfulness, generosity and kindness.

So now I’m home, sporting a shining set of staples going about 7 inches up my stomach and less a spleen.  I know I need to take it easy, and I will (I can’t drive until next week, so I’m a prisoner anyway).  However, I have a LOT to catch up on with news and events and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking – so I’ll be back in blogging mode.

The first question is, how in the world is my having an accident considered news?  I don’t see it, but others apparently see it differently. Here and  here. And it was all started by Greg Patterson at espressopundit.  Paul Giblin at the Arizona Guardian actually called me, and his story was so detailed, I’ll post it next in its entirety.

Bill Gates is now a Phoenix city councilman.  By a 5-3 vote, he was appointed to the vacancy created with Maria Baier’s appointment to be Arizona’s State Land Commissioner.

Gates is a solid pick.  He has been active in the community and is a smart, thoughtful attorney who will bring a strong work ethic and common sense approach to city government.  There is no question that he will have an immediate impact on the council.

I’ve had the chance to work with Bill on a variety of issues and known him for many years. This couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Congrats Bill.