I Pity the Fool

Poor Greg Welsh. Poor Chestnut Hill Business Association. And Poor CHCA board. After years of throwing their weight around, pistol whipping their perceived enemies into submission, they finally have adversaries with enough pull and nerve and support to bitch slap them into their first defeat since we stopped them from firing Pete Mazzacarro.

As I have reported so often, you don't need much to beat this bunch, just a little nerve , and sometimes a lawyer. And in a response from Greg that anyone could have forseen, he cried "foul."

"It's a shame that the process that's been in place in Chestnut Hill for years.....has been usurped."

That's right Greg, because your Process, of Real Estate Insiders and Business Owners who have made the Hill into the Bank Ridden Mausoleum that it is, that fall all over themselves to get at the Teats of Snowden, only to find them barren and then ask for seconds, then attack the Local as "negative" for having the temerity to report that John Capoferri, one of their own inner circle, is a felon who cheated his friends and the Hill businesses out of hundreds of thousands, is crumbling.

Your Process allows all of this to happen, then tries to silence those who report it.

Your Process serves only those involved in its perpetuation for their personal enrichment.

Your Process ignores the Near Neighbors.

Your process ignores Democracy.

Now Democracy kicks your ass and you cry foul.

Your use of the word "usurp" is so "Hilly" I wonder if if it's actually on loan from one of your ethnic betters.

It was so much easier when all you had to do was get some Tool to shout "point of order" at a meeting when someone objected to your Process.

It was so much easier when all you had to do was send a thug to the Local to frighten the Help

Now you have a Rival. The Chestnut Hill Residents Association. They can play your game and Win. They have Allies and Pull and Connections. And Lawyers.

It won on Zoga, and now people are seeking its help in the Chestnut Hill College fight, rather than the CHCA's. That big sign you see coming into view reads " CHCA=IRRELEVANT"

Snowden picking you as his Front man was a Mistake. You're not Hilly enough. The Jew part doesn't help.

Walter Sullivan is seen as a Buffoon, and his wife as an embarrassment of Colossal Proportion.

The CHCA has always done its dirty work behind closed doors.

But now, with you and Kristina, two very un-Hill like personalities as its public face, more and more formerly disinterested people are beginning to become repelled. Kind of like with me only different.

I once wrote that your personality was a type of which I was quite familiar. The pride in the ability to lie with a straight face. The egotistical combination of sly street kid and and savy businessman, the Sharpie, the Tony Curtis character in "Sweet Smell of Success," always able to fool the "straights."

But now you're getting squeezed from two ends. Snowden is your JJ Hunsecker, the Burt Lancaster character from that film. He can buy and sell you, sees you as his tool and you both know it. You think you can play him, but with the differences in your respective holdings, whatever you can get from him is beneath his notice, and therefore your victory over the Shagetz negates any meaningful kvelling.

And your act is just too Showy for the Protestants. And as for trying to fight the Democratic Machine; well, be my guest.

The kicker is this. Greg, I think you're dirty. And all this attention is gonna bring an awful lot of light to bear on your other operations, in all your other pies, in all the other neighborhoods in which you operate. Remember bragging about it all to me before you started lying to me about your connection to Snowden and we stopped talking?

Two years before Cappoferri went down, I exposed him. He was a Snowden lackey too. He's gonna get the big Nickel, at least.

Chip Butler, same thing; A.) Snowden Bitch, B.) Feldman exposure, C.) Jailbird

The Moyl can't save you. I'm on the case.

Anyway, come on my Gtownradio.com program, 9-10 AM, Mon-Fri and we'll be like Jack Benny and Fred Allen. Feuds are good for ratings. You can even sponsor the show. Any pub is good pub. And the station is right down from Takers. Remember? I know you do.

Ed (Morning Feed) Feldman

PS.- Join the Chestnut Hill Residents Association. Don't Worry, I'm not in it and I don't come to meetings.

Avenue of Broken Dreams

by Ed (Broadway Baby) Feldman

Fall at its' most iridescent. Some things change, while some stay the same. The foliage falls (don't say it) into the first category, with an anti-Al Gore chill making trees run up their yellow surrender flags. The Hill Fall for the Arts Festival falls into the latter, with a sameness so comforting to the Culturally Frozen and so stifling for anyone with a functioning memory of so many identical events.

But amidst the relentless sameness of the usual suspects' third rate trinkets and Kettle-Corn-Funnel-Cake-Carbo-Quaaludes, how many noticed that rarity of rarities, a New Hill Commercial Tenant?

Yes, in the old Express property, the shop girl's synthetic uniform supply company, now dwells a much more flamboyant purveyor of reasonably priced apparel.

Halloween Adventure, where all the Hillers with secret Super Hero and Fantasy Fetishes can now shop and, later, don their alter ego outfits in private. After the economics lesson, I'll start to match the local celebs with their costumes for Halloween, or Whatever. And you kids can all join in too!

Halloween Adventure is a store whose annual existence begins a few weeks before its eponymous Holiday, and ends, at the latest, after New Years, the better to supply Santa and Sexy Elf costumes during that time of year when the number of drunken revels increases the amount of casual sex with provocatively dressed co-workers and acquaintances by a factor of nine.

The store then vacates its location until the following September, with rare exceptions, like neighborhoods with high numbers of budget-minded tranvestites, with tastes for shoddy Chinese Exports. (That Rarest of Demographics).

Most every H. A. functions as Commercial-Squatter, Rent-Paying Bottom Feeders, who scavenge temporarily in vacant properties that have no hope of a viable, long term tenant.

Keep your eyes open kids. Where have you seen H.A.'s? Half vacant Strip Malls, places where the Plant Shut Down, near where the guys stand and wait for someone to pick them up for yard work.

H.A.'s aren't signs that the Buzzards are circling, they ARE the buzzards.

Remember L'il Richie Snowden's Signs? The ones that advertised his vacant proprties as available for "Check Cashing, Discount Electronics, and Nail Salons? He meant those signs as a Racist Scare Tactic to punish the Hill for its' non-fealty to his Authority, its' questioning of his Grand Plans, and its' occasional criticism of his Middle Aged Tantrums and Tax Schemes.

But even I didn't think he meant to rent to tenants who would, in his words, "turn Chestnut Hill into a Ghetto." After all, why would His Whiteness live in the most pigmentally-challenged neighborhood in Philadelphia if he wanted to hear car radios blaring something with a bass line?

But even without any real attempt at rental eugenics by Strip Mine Dick, the first line has just been crossed.

All those years of his self-enforced vacancies, of renting to banks but not restaurants, of antique and gimcrack stores that depended on visitors for survival, while commodities for residents were bought elsewhere.

The Panic by the weak Hill Biz crowd that followed Dirty-Coal Boy to board autonomy should have told you something. If they weren't desparate, their real opinions of him would have kept them home, and busy behind their counters. Now you can see the daily, physical manifestation in all its Dracula-like Horror: Halloween Adventure = Depressed Area.

All the Kettle Korn in the World won't help.

'Til next time, send in your suggestions for Costume Selection for Your Favorite Hillers. I'll have mine.

And More Fall Festival Follies with Ed, Rob Remus, Sanjiv Jain, the Hillers who Shun. Like the Amish but with Cable.

Jewstradamus Nails Another One

The repeated dull thump. The unremitting pain, that could be stopped, if only the attempt were made to confront the offense. If only those who might do so, would do so. But the compact of silence is so strongly inbred that breaking it would deny the strength of the tradition that made us what we are.

We discuss the issues of the world in the abstract, and so many of us come down on the side of justice, of the common good. But when confronted with it in our lives, under circumstances that we could address and rectify, we fall silent. This inaction explains everything; multiplied by millions, it creates the world we lament, but that we create, by the inaction of our own lives.
We speak out against the evil on pages, in newspapers, but when we have the opportunity to look into its' eyes and say "no", we shrink.

"What can we do?" We hear it every day. A letter to the President? A shout from the rooftop? "I'm only one person."

Some buy a Prius to combat global warming. Some contribute to the ACLU to support the first Amendment.

But the triumph of greed, of arrogance, of disregard for human rights and human life must be met every time you see it, only then do we have a chance.

That is why I do what I do. It might just be one twig in the wheel of evils' progress, but what if were a branch? What if you helped? What would you lose? And what would you gain?
If you knew that the Government was trying to tell your Newspaper what to write, and who it could print, what would you think? If Cheyney had hung around the Washington Post, instead of the CIA, and exerted his influence there, what would you think? More importantly, what would you do?

What could you do? You couldn't do much, after all, you're here, and they're there. But what if you could walk in on your way home from shopping and, without confronting security or even taking an elevator, give support?

What if you could stroll into the Senate and confront someone who was doing wrong, and stop them? What if you had the right to?

What if you knew where the person who sells land for strip mining lived? What if you knew where that man went on the third Thursday of every month? What if you knew where he would be , what he owned, and what he was trying to use his money for?

What if you could tell him what you think of him to his face?

On September first, on these pages, I wrote that those "reasonable" people who voted for Rob Remus' payment for a threatened lawsuit against the Local had not thought their actions out. They had told me they did it to put the past behind them. I told them that it would only make things worse.

Those same people were on the losing side of a CHCA board vote to put Rob on the CHCA Budget and Finnance Committee, that oversees the Local's budget. The reasonable people spoke out against his appointment, stating the obvious, that anyone who had tried to obtain money from the Local under such circumstances would not be a proper steward for its' future finances.
These people were naive, and were played by the board. Their sense of fair play was a detriment in confrontations with those who do not share their values. They have been taught in the abstract by others who have no experience with the types of people they now confront.

I told them that they blew it when they gave Rob the money. Their "reasonableness," their desire to make a new beginning for the board was interpreted as nothing more or less than weakness, and as license by those who wish to do what we have now all seen them do.

It took three weeks to prove my theory. Their "new beginning" will bring about the end.
The only time that they were stopped is when thirty people in the audience refused to let them fire the editor of the Local. They never tried that again. Their tactics have changed, and I have predicted each one. Starve the Local, and deprive them of any staff that might write anything they don't want you to know about. Then all that would be left to print is what they are fed by those who have created a newspaper of, by, and for the CHCA board and businesses that now control the board.

A partnership of Richard Snowden, small time Hill businesses, and the leftover old, lonely board members have done this.

But they were helped by those who, while telling me they thought Rob Remus and Dina Hitchcock were psychopaths, voted to give him money.

What kind of people give money to psychopaths? And what kind of people confront wrong when they see it when they share a room with it? And what kind of people do nothing?

The Howling

"Shoot me if I ever go to another CHCA meeting!" I told my wife. This was last Thursday, after the opening of the Fall/Winter Board Follies for 2009--10, held, strangely, at St. Paul's instead of in the Library.

I hadn't gone for awhile, but I'd heard Hitchcock and her goons were tightening the noose on the Local further by nominating Mark Keintz and Rob Remus to the Budget and Finance Committee. These guys made up the Ad Hoc Committee (along with Hitchcock) from last year, that pushed for Jimmy Pack's firing; pushed for Pete Mazzaccaro's firing; cut Sonia Leounes's ad sales commissions in half, and after Keintz had abruptly resigned as Treasurer, installed David Mansfield to replace him.

Mansfield, a fiscal conservative who swept in with the Positively Chestnut Hill gang last Spring, is a partner to out-of-his-depth associate publisher Larry Hochberger, in radically altering fiscal mechanics at the CHCA. They've decided to cut $200,000 out of the Local's budget, and to facilitate the bleeding, got Keintzy to shove off. Now they've brought him back by appointing him to Budget and Finance, along with Remus, whom they've similarly rewarded for being a good soldier by paying him $3500 for not suing them last winter -- though his attorney hadn't moved to do so! And, I guess, for hanging in through all the sturm und drang.

Anyway, when I got to the Library, where most meetings happen, it was dark. A bunch of people were milling around, slapping at mosquitos and cursing in the moist weather.

"Didja see [Walter] Sullivan?" demanded one guy I didn't recognize. "He forgot to notify the Library Manager that we were coming, so she locked up and went home!"

"Yeah", said his friend. "So then Foghorn wanted to hold the meeting right there on the steps!"

"Thinking all the time!" said the first guy.

Finally somebody said he had a key to St. Paul's, so we hump over there. And the Board began its usual obfuscations. Hours of sliding around on zoning matters left over from the 8/27 meeting, followed by stalling on former President Ron Recko's questions on why Mansfield, Hochberger and Hitchcock seemed so set on forcing the Local to pay rent for its office space, and repay a loan from the Trustees the Local incurred in 2006, during Recko's presidency, for a three-month printing bill that was in arrears.

"How was it that Jean Hemphill 'forgave' $180,000 for Maxine Dornemann [during her administration, 2005-6] , but nothing can be done for the paper during these tough times?" Recko wondered.

At which point a weird howling began from one side of St. Paul's . It was Christine Sullivan, Walter's wife, who despite the humidity, seemed strangely furry and werewolfian: "OOooohhh!" she howled, dragging it out and pointing a long finger at Recko. "I haven't forgotten yoouuuh! We'll get to youuuh !! But FIRST I wanna know what's going on with Mr. Hochberger, here! It's put-up or shut-up time for yoouuhh, buddy! What happened to all your grand pllaaanns and proomisses?? OoohWOOooh!"

Recko tried to get things back on track, but was overwhelmed by Mrs. Sullivan's Whhoooing! He bolted for the door. Former president Tolis Vardakis, who'd been trying to interrupt Recko's line of questioning on debt relief, yelling "Point of order!", now turned to Mrs. Sullivan, but was howled down, too. "RRrrWhooor!!" she snarled, adding some pointed sharps to her flats, that sounded really dangerous. People started rushing the exits . . . I'd seen the battles over Lombardi, Sturdivant and Mishak, I remember the Walsh surgery unpleasantness, the 2008 election thefts . . . but this lycanthropy seemed beyond the pale . . . I headed for my Chevy, too.

"Never again!" I told my long-suffering wife, after I'd locked the door.

"At least next time, go armed," she said dryly.

-- Charlie Partana

High Anxiety

Open Note to Walter Sullivan

Since I've been banned from corresponding with the Local in any form, I'm replying here, on home turf, to your current opinion piece in that paper.

We haven't yet reached the point in the U.S. where strongly-held opinions need to be phrased like legal torts to prevent their being described as raising the question of "malice".

In the instance you cite, I was characterizing a much rougher description, reported and alleged to me, which I took care not to repeat literally, precisely because I wanted to avoid malice, and slander.

When we reach that point where journalists all have to write like lawyers, I expect you'll call a special session of the Exec Committee, & break out the whiskey and firecrackers.

Until then, I'm sticking with the First Amendment.

John Lombardi

High Anxiety

Notes on Shtick
by John Lombardi


Since Fast Eddie Feldman has seen fit to advise Jim Foster and myself on how to write our columns, I figured I'd return the favor, a little belatedly. That's because he's begun operating like a northern snakehead now, filing practically all the posts on the blog, answering most of the comments too, circling back on his own instructions about avoiding national politics and pop culture and so on, instead of sticking to the crucial backstage news of CHCA goofiness that he finally admits the Local isn't providing . . .

For you non-fishermen out there, snakeheads are awful fish from Southeast Asia that somehow got into Florida waterways and ate all the other fish out of their streams, then wriggled into more streams -- crossing land to do it, and sometimes dying in the attempt! -- just because they were frenzy-eaters, like running blues. Hogs, really, "chozzers" I'm told it's pronounced in Yiddish, though FEF may correct me as a mere goy who has no business using Jewish idiom . . .

In all candor I should report that I paid for Eddie's roundtrip air-ticket from Berkeley last winter, when I thought there was still a chance to fight the Exec Committee's slow strangulation of the Local. The remnants of the old Lawrence Walsh/Ron Recko gang were all worked up about the Jimmy Pack firing and the move to get rid of the Local's "Editor" -- even though I kept writing that he'd copped out shortly after heroically criticizing the Spring 2008 election. I thought Ed might juice him up again if he was around, yelling and sweating in the old Jerry Rubin/Ira Einhorn (pre-murder conviction) mode. It didn't work out that way.

There was a strong movement involving the most conservative folks in the CHCA, the CHBA, and, it developed as the winter slogged into pre-election spring, a concerted effort by Richard Snowden to unify the "pro-business", anti-journalism crowd -- who'd felt since my day (in 2000-1), that any sort of imaginative reporting should be shunned the way the sparrow shuns the hawk -- "negative" writing, all that blood, barking dogs, yechhh . . .

The provincialism of Chestnut Hill still amazes me sometimes. The sheer old-fashioned pettiness, love of gossip, religiosity -- though nearly all the old ladies whom I called "the Lloydettes" are gone now: Marie Jones, Helen Moak, Nancy Hubby and Mary Anna Ross (Cowper I believe she was called, in the end?) . . . blaming the ills of the Hill on rabble like me, Fast Eddie, Recko -- ethnics coming in and trying to change the old White Mischief colonial traditions of pointlessly long board meetings, Local Management meetings (as they were then called), and all the other uncoordinated groups treading on each others' toes, changing regimes annually, so that no courses of action were sustainable -- dense numbers of dysfunctional suburbanites with unhappy home lives barking at each other for three and four hours at a shot, then heading for Campbell's to slosh some beer and bourbon over the whole mess and keep on trucking . . .

Market forces are what undid the Hill, people. The Germantown Avenue Bridge repair, which lasted for years, changing Montgomery County shopping patterns by interrupting old commuter habits of visiting the "Village" between the Top of the Hill and the flower market near the Mt. Airy line, for cheese, hardware, shoe repair, antiques, fine prints, dry cleaning, haircuts, Caruso's, lovely, 19th century strolls . . . Given the Malling of America & Philly taxes, real estate rental along the Avenue grew too steep for realistic profit-making, and psuedo-businessmen like Snowden, Sanjiv Jain and Rob Remus screwed things up further, leaving empty storefronts (for tax writeoffs) that are beginning to resemble the Yosemite Gold Rush ghost-towns of the Sierra Nevada. And there is racial liebesraum--pushing from Germantown proper and the North Philly ghetto, too, which some Hillers are too hypocritical to talk about . . .

But what saddens me is the journalistic waste. The Hill and surrounding communities are full of smart readers with taste and vision who aren't members of, say, Carolyn Hausserman's former cast-iron committees, or the CHCA at all. No one's addressing them. They're not listening to foolishness like the Local's happy reports about how swell everything is; or Fast Eddie's baroque shtick on Snowden's "master plan" to force everyone else out of the picture so that he can build condos in the Hill parking lots, or start soft coal strip-mining operations in Pastorius Park.

The Hill's ideal readers know that Snowden, for one, is no real threat. He's just a rich dilletante. What corporation would employ a guy who buys buildings as tax writeoffs on a permanent basis? What's the profit margin there, bro? But Ed knits & purls this conspiracy stuff -- adapted from Lloyd Wells's old obsessions, by the way -- like a vaudeville trouper. His themes are Snowden -- about whom he hopes to write a book, without, apparently, doing any real research (if he'd just read the old Inky series on S's Germantown misadventures before he even got to the Hill, FEF would realize how futile a project that is, saleswise) ; race -- though he always leaves crime out; and character assassination -- he was recently sadistic on Len Lear and Walter Sullivan, just because he thinks they're vulnerable. And smarmy sex -- to prove, I guess, what a naughty boy he is: here's what he had to say about Rob Remus in "Curiouser & Curiouser" in this space, August 30:

"So Rob, who once told a gay man that he wanted to insert a body part into his body [sic], now offers, then denies, access to his children to me for some reason. He dangled his kids in front of me for a reason I can't even imagine."

Sure you can, FEF. It's just sick shtick.

Live on Tape This Weekend...

This unabashed promo brought to you by Waylaid Pilgrim on behalf of Rev. Chris.

It's Beatles Night this Saturday. The Reverend will be performing solo from 6 to 9 PM with the band joining him afterwards.

The show takes place at the Tavern on the Hill, 8636 Germantown Avenue, at the very top of Chestnut Hill.

And don't forget to tip the staff.

Do You Read the Local?

Do you read the Local? I do, on line, so it's free. Do you read the quotes from prominent Hillers that are printed in the Local? I do. Here are some.

Concerning variances sought by Richard Snowden's Bowman Properties:
Board member Dina Hitchcock commended Richard Snowden for sticking with his plans for the property "This is a far cry from 2004 when near neighbors of the property wanted to oppose development of that property at any cost." Dina, not a near neighbor, nor a resident of Chestnut Hill or Philadelphia, but of Malvern Pa., should read the Local's reporting of the process, in the August 12 and 26 2004 issues.

Turns out that she's full of shit. Read it yourself. The neighbors were quoted as supporting the project, but had concerns about parking during construction and wanted to know about the tenants and construction duration. L&I had already refused some aspects, and even the rubber stamp DRC had questions.

Katie Worrel reported it all. "Any Cost" was not a metaphor used. Richie withdrew, quoted then as saying he was "waiting for the phone to ring" from the neighbors. And Richie would not agree to a time limit, as proposed by the DRC, not the neighbors. Look it up, Dog Lady, I did.

Richie waited, and now no one asks him anything, cause he owns them.

Dina also doesn't mention when she fought Richie, tooth and nail, over his purchase of the 8431 property. I remember when she and her pal Carol (Smith College and Lithium-Great Together) Cope told ME to not worry about a vote on the subject at a board meeting. They brought up items for discussion that no one had ever thought about before, in order to postpone the sale indefinitely. It was the ONLY time we ever worked together. Convict and CHCA trustee Chip Butler overode their anti-Snowden plans with a Christmas recess property transfer - and who knows what other kind of transfer - against board orders.

After the meeting where Dina thwarted Richie's plans, she told me that Richie was a"sick puppy" and gloated whilst tippling at the bar with Carol.

Now Dina sits next to Richie at the board meetings and defends him in print.

Dina saw what Stewy Graham and others did, a new order coming, but while Stwey and his followers left the board, Dina just couldn't. It's her Life. So she buried the hatchet and now eats Snowden Shit. The price of the unbridled power one can retain as an ex-executive committee member of a community organization in a community she doesn't live in. Huh?

I smell a fat contribution to Dina's Pit Bull Rescue from a certain realty company. If not well, who's the sick puppy now? You mean you didn't do it for the other sick puppies?

Now to Richie's quotes. Get ready for the comedy, kids.

The Local reports, "He did not elaborate on his reasons on halting the project (back in 2004) "Instead , he said the "investment climate was not suitable for the project back then."
Here's where it gets wondrous. If you shake your head in response to that statement, remembering a booming economy and real estate market in 2004, and a depressed one now, I forgive you. That makes Richie's statement sound illogical. But actually, it makes it super logical, and fucked up evil, all at the same time.

Richie is in full control of the board and his projects now BECAUSE of the economy. It's what got the business association and all the bottom feeder merchants to swallow whatever he asked them to swallow, and take the board. You have to be a coal mine leaser to get projects going now, and that's just what Richie is.

It's more wondrous. Richie waited for Hill businesses to be weak enough financially, and the board weak enough organizationally, for him to take over. He didn't have to wait for any moral weakness. That one was always there. But Richie and his family have always preyed on the weak.

Some of them couldn't take it, but Richie thrives on it. His knowledge of Dina's past attitude towards him doesn't anger him, her turnaround is his victory. He waited, and won. He may comfort himself with a metaphor concerning the length of time it takes for coal to become coal, but probably NOT one about how long it takes for a glacier to melt.

But my favorite line from this week's Local is one that will go right next to the Pulitzer prize winner's "Snowden Should Die".

It's Richie saying,"I lose sleep thinking, What if we get it wrong?"

Richie, if you haven't lost sleep over leasing land your ancestors tricked farmers out of for strip mining, destroying their lungs, leaving rubble to contaminate their watershed, and spewing black filth into the blue sky, I think you'll be able to leave the Seconal in the medicine cabinet over the Gravers Lane thing.

Crime Pays - You Read It Here First

by J. Edgar Feldman

I have been told the Local will report this, but maybe not. They certainly won't give the background I have already given you.

Rob Remus, coattail candidate from Sanjiv Jain's membership buy in the '08 election, has been paid off by the Chestnut Hill Community Association after threatening suit for some things that were printed about him in the Local, regarding an argument he had. I guess Robs' feelings were hurt.

Big bald burly Rob, who threatens women, and men whom he thinks, because of his attitude towards gay men, can't kick the shit out of him, who just offered me his children over the phone, and then thought better of it, just got paid off for being a thug.

Luckily for Rob, this time he picked an adversary with even smaller ones than his. Yes, the CHCA, in his debt for the bullying he has done to employees of the Local, now has given him $3500.00 of CHCA members' money to pay off his debts, or to get his children some therapy.

The suit was never brought, it was just threatened TO be brought. I could have saved you all the money by telling you that Rob has neither the cash or the balls to have actually brought the suit.
But while some of those who voted for the payoff did it for reasons of expediency, it was really a fee for services rendered.

Some folks just want the past to be buried, to make another unpleasant year go away.

Sound familiar? It should. I called it the "Let's Move On Tabernacle Choir." They've been singing the same tune for six years now.

Here's how it works. Someone on the board gets caught with their hand in your cookie jar. The Local, through letters, opinion pieces or reportage, would tell you about it. I would confront them about it at meeting. They would never deny it. They would say "Let's Move ON." "Let's not Dwell on the Past," followed by "You're Out Of Order." Election rigging, hush money payoffs, trustees dragged off to prison without any questions about their tenure watching your money.

I finally figured out that the only way I could get anyone punished is if I could rig up a Time Machine and get them BEFORE they committed the crime, then they couldn't say the "Past was Past" 'cause it wouldn't be the past yet. I'm still workin' on it.

I used to tell you in the Local. Now I tell you here.

No one ever threatened me with libel. But they would threaten the Local, and the Local would have to take it. The CHCA owns the Local, you see, and it wouldn't do for their financial circle jerk to be reported in their own newspaper. What's the point of owning a Paper if it tells people the dirty truth about you. It doesn't make sense!

After being dragged through endless evaluations of his work, threatened with being fired, bullied by punks like Rob, and John (Flight Risk) Capoferri before him, all brought on by vengeance-seekers in retaliation for their exposure, Pete the editor got tired of the fights. I can't blame him. It's all about the groceries. I know what it's like.

That's why you see my work here now. Our circulation is growing, and I get mail on my website nationwide for more details.

Here's some. To the reasonable folks who just want to end the unpleasantness, I have two communiques.

Legal expediency insults the law if administered unequally. You have not settled the Jimmy Pack claim. Jimmy Pack was a Local employee, who got into an argument with Rob, where, as reported by Jimmy, Rob threatened him, with the added flourish of anti-gay hate speech. It was reported in the Local by, among others, a man who is a reporter by trade, who got it from Jimmy, the victim.

Jimmy lost his job over this. Jimmy has brought a claim. The CHCA is fighting it. Rob just threatened to bring a claim. And now Rob has gotten paid. That's expediency or fair play or whatever you want to call it to the CHCA board.

To the reasonable, expedient ones, who thought this would put the past behind you, you have only succeeded in ripping off the scab. Unless you settled with Jimmy simultaneously, you have, in that famous court of public opinion, taken sides in these matter. And the Defendant's attorney in the Pack suit will note this.

You have sided with Rob, who has a history of contentiousness and bullying, all documented, against an openly gay man in a case that has an element of anti-gay hate speech.

Does litigation expediency ever account for publicity - or public opinion - or the story being juicy enough to be picked up by the wider press? Shouldn't that factor into your Realpolitik interpretation of the incident and its resolution?

The Irony here is in the amount of closeted gay men who have and do hold posts on the board and in the CHCA. Their silence is the most troubling of all to me. It is easy for me to interpret the bullshit marketed by the board and accepted by an uninterested neighborhood as the latter's Karma. But individuals whose fear deprives them of the voice that has been given them through struggle and sacrifice just saddens me. I would here ask for someone to send in the the gay version of Uncle Tom, but I won't hold my breath.

My second message to those who voted for the Remus payoff with good intentions is this, and I'll put in a way in which I have heard so many other preface their endless remarks in board meetings.

Ahem! I have been in the Hill for long enough to know - Harrumph! - that while your heart may be pure, the majority is using your "reasonableness" as a tool for their greed and their pathological vengeance. They got you to agree to pay off their stooge. He was Sanjiv's stooge before that-and to screw Jimmy further. They have always worked this way, only the helpers change.

And here's the capper. The money paid to Rob, who threatened a Local employee, will be taken out of the Local. The whole affair has already been blamed on "lax" mangement by Pete and he'll take another hit for the actions of his enemies. That's how it will work. Which weakens the Local even more. So while Jimmy just gets threatened with an anal assault, the Local actually gets to experience one.

Those who thought this to be the expedient play did not think this through.

Curiouser and Curiouser

As Flounder said, "Oh Boy, This is Great!"

I just got a call from Rob Remus. You may remember Rob. He managed real estate for Sanjiv Jain's Legacy realty. Sanjiv tried to use him as muscle at some meetings, but it turned out that Rob was all talk. Rob got on the board when all those memberships were bought for out of state relatives and friends of people who worked for Sanjiv. Mr Patel, another employee, resigned from the board. Rob got to stay. No one knows why.

He tried to tell journalists how to run a newspaper, and used used some colorful language about a persons' sexuality to cover what I pecieved as an obvious attraction to him. ("The Love impulse in the Male often manifests itself in terms of Conflict" - Dr Fritz Lehman).

Yesterday, I was told that Rob had been given $3200.00 by the CHCA for something to do with the Local. To find out more about it, I called Rob. No answer. I didn't leave a message. But, follow-ups being the core of any businessman's trade, he Star69ed me-on a Sunday-to see if anyone wanted to pay him anything for anything.

I asked him about the money. He replied,"Hey Ed, want to talk to my Kids?- Hey kids-say hello to uncle Ed." I heard childrens voices and then then Rob returned. "Are you kidding, Ed, I would never let you talk to my kids." (I had said nothing) He then said "You know you're as smart as my kids." I continued to try and ask him about the money, and surprisingly, he hung up.

So Rob, who once told a gay man that he wanted to insert a body part into his body, now offers, then denies, access to his children to me for some reason. He dangled his kids in front of me for a reason that I can't even imagine.

Maybe someone should talk to Robs' wife about her husbands' interesting offers. Not me. I'll find out about the money, but I don't really want to know about the other stuff that goes on in that house.

Now that Rob has used his kids inappropriately, I guess I should be allowed to tell them all about their Daddy. But I'll let them find out on their own. The Odds Makers have Rob down as the next domino in the Chip Butler-John Capoferri-Frog Walk Parade.

Thanks Rob!

The Children's Hour

Hey kids, I just found out something I should have found out already that proves my point some more. Stupidly, I figured that when Mark resigned from being CHCA Treasurer to spend more time with his family, or at his job, or because the sun was in his eyes, he was resigning from the board as well. This is not the case.

It seems as if Mark has enough time with his family to stay on the board. Maybe he can be on some other committees so he won't be able to spend that family time he used as an excuse.
Mark, you idiot. The only way this fantasy had any credibility at all, enough to fool - well, I don't know who you people can fool any more - was if you booked from the whole damn thing.

Thank you for fortifying Theory #4 - You were patted on the head, told you could stay up late and watch the adults have their party, but you had to watch from the top of the stairs. Good Boy.

The reason I didn't report this was a failure that I, as a writer, feel badly about. I'm supposed to able to put myself in the the place of my subjects, in order to give life to actions and emotions that they are doing and feeling.

That I am sometimes unable to synthesize the depths of child-like stupidity that these people exhibit over and over again makes me feel a little embarrassed.

Mark, this resignation-but-not is akin to hiding your shitty underpants under the couch and thinking no grown-up will ever follow the smell.

They Do Herd /The Morning Line

Territoriality Among the Chromosomally Engineered by Dr Benjamin (Benny Southstreet) Leakey

Mark Keintz may well be spending more time with his family, because I reached him at home at 11:30 A.M. on Saturday. I told him I wanted to help, but he politely declined.

But I do. Because his resignation was not an act of free will, and I thought I could offer him some.

So let's go through the possibilities. John Lombardi's conjectures serve well as a starting point.

Theory# 1 Mark's given Reason. Odds 100-1 Where have YOU been?

There is no way in hell Mark would have given up a post that he worked so hard for, licked so many nether reasons for, and lied so much to keep, for any reason approaching free will. If you saw him gamely defending the CHCA, the group that just took a shit on him, at the Chestnut Hill Residents' meeting, you might just cry for the little fella. Mark gave up that free will stuff long ago, to be able to escape the Dilbert Cubicle of the Eternally Ignored he has occupied since childhood.

He was finally allowed to play with the bigger kids. They even gave him a title. Treasurer. That Mark had no professional experience in any financial arena only increased his usefulness.
Although a charming personal experience may indicate his willingness, if not his expertise at budgetary exploration.

While teaching at Penn, I would occasionally observe Mark and a co-worker comparing prices at the food carts, searching for the best lunchtime deal. My criteria being culinary and service quality kept me loyal to two or three dispensers of Mobile Cuisine, Aluminum Clad Division.

I know the reason for this bargain based odyssey, because I asked him, and he told me. He was still speaking to me then. When I expressed my confusion on the subject, due to the fact that the lunch carts were the same ones every day, staked out at the same spots every day, with the same dishes and the same prices every day, he replied, "Well you know, something might change."

That response always indicated a kind of longing in Mark. His days of hunched computer genuflection, where nothing ever changes, his lunchtime freedom to hope for something to happen outside the bounds of zip code 00110111000110110.

No, Marks' willingness to do whatever it took to be in the greatest, most prestigious job he ever had would not have been relinquished for anything as tired and overused as personal or professional reasons.

Theory #2: Investigation Fear. Odds 8-1. Don't Go near this

The ongoing investigation, springing from the findings of the oversight committee, duly constituted by the CHCA board during its' brief tenure of being run by folks who were not lining their pockets, padding their resume's, or feeding their pathology, has been the reason for a number of resignations.

The first to hide were the profession/political climbers. Their financial sights were set on larger amounts of fish than Hill business could ever provide. Big white shoe law firm/City money makes Hill lettuce comically small time. I chronicled the exodus of Jeremy Heep and his bourgeois treadmill partner Tia Burke as they went from the CHCA's prom King and Queen to undisclosed location dwellers, literally overnight.

Dropping off the face of the earth is not an overstated metaphor. No explanation in the Local, not even one blaming official "evil ones" (including me), or board disfunction, nothing. When you don't even have an official story, the only motive is one of self preservation, where every minute out of spotlight increases your chance of escape.

More recently we have the cheese eaters of the money and pathology groups who saw a duck and cover strategy as a way to not only wait out a potential legal shitstorm, but as deep cover for their real Darwinian reason.

Back to Mark. He knew about the investigation, but stayed all this time. He has no pipeline whatsover to any inside timetable that may tell him that the gettin' out time is now. And the longer he stayed, the more he did as he was told, the more he implicated himself. Even he knew that.

Since I know you read this Mark, let me say that even you know this move will not help you. That's a compliment, right? And here's another one. I don't think Mark stayed on to line his pockets. If you want to ascribe that non-action to a particular category of ethics, go ahead.

But as one who ascribes to instinct above intellect, I see it more plainly. If Mark ever tried to take a pencil home from work, he would have a diaper full of shit before he hit the parking lot. To be kind, I'll just say, "It's not in his nature."

No, as we now see on the board, the great partnership is the one between money and the balls you need to do anything to get it. It's what makes the world spin, and reek like garbage and decaying flesh. If people lied and died for principles like they do for money, we would all still be naked and avoiding One particular Tree.

Those that are left at the board are there for the money, or following inner demons that they can't control, or both. Along with a few innocent innocents who, I hope, are enjoying the Theater.

Theory #3. Punishment for Telling some version of the Truth. Odds 3-1 Place bet as part of the Daily Double

While this theory has its proponents, it's just part of the big bet. Mark's minor financial faux pas as smoking gun is overstated. The emperor has been naked at board meetings for so long we have given names to every one of his venereal warts.

Any truth, especially a bit as insignificant as the one Mark let slip, would have been acted on as aggressively as; two purchased elections and counting, one case of bank fraud, tax cheats as trustees, nonresidents as vice presidents, ( I get tired telling you this so often), and everything now controlled by a middle aged Village-of-the-the-Damned cast member who, if Mother Earth had boots, would lodge one so deep in a particular locale of his, three board members would have "Timberland" embossed on their foreheads.

Theory #4. Richie's House Cleaning. Odds-Even Money- Bet the Coal Mine

As I have stated on these electrons before, the exodus of those who saw the future was almost complete before the last "election." Stuart Graham, Man of Litmus, lead his Children out of the Library in silence, as he had so often during his tenure as Chestnut Hill's own Karl Rove. Hey, I know the comparison is easy, but it's worked so well, why stop now? Always the power behind everyone except the reformers, hogtied as a republican in Philadelphia, this was Stewey's power base, albeit one where the base was the only place on which he could assert any power. See, I told you it was a good comparison!

Stewey saw a little danger coming with badges, and he is a cautious type. But he has kept so many personal and professional secrets for so long, he could have toughed out any storm. So while his, Ned (proud of my racism) Mittinger, and Frau Becker's retreat have an element of line-of -fire to it, its' real reason was the Darwinism I mentioned earlier, with a healthy side of finance.

Stewey is not only an incredibly minor Pol, he's also owns real estate in the Hill. How he got it is another story and a pip. (Thanks Lloyd!) But any minor player knows who daddy is. And guess who Daddy is?

When Richard Snowden (start typing employees-but use grammar check this time) created Positively Chestnut Hill, with Zondercommando Greg Welsh as Dov Landau, Stewey knew it was time, and he gave his usual sage advice to those who had always followed him before.

But so much of the world functions like the children's board game, chutes and ladders. As one who has reached the top of certain area of endeavor, I saw that, in so many ways, how its' pinnacle was located directly under the ass end of another.

Politics, particularly city politics, has such a relationship with business, particularly business that has a stranglehold on the same district as the politician in question.

Frankly, that Richard had to see how another local realtor bought an election before he figured it out doesn't speak well for his intellect. But he's got it now.

Stewey and his people got out of the way, knew they couldn't win, Stewey hoping for later consideration, and there you have it. Velociraptors leave when T-Rex shows up. Of course the real players, the Ultrasaurus' in 19118 can't be bothered with Richie's obsession and, if they pay any attention at all, probably giggle just like I do.

But who was left? The fools like Kientz, the crazies like Dina, and the useful puppies, like Piatrowski. Dina is still the mystery. Has she made a deal, or does Richie just consider her Jane with an extra Y? To be privy the unspoken interplay between the two, I would give my leather bound copy of Krafft-Ebing's Psychopathia Sexualis.

But Treasurer is too important a job for someone not completely in Richie's pocket. All the other positions are window dressing, like the new Treasurer's business.

So someone gave Mark a choice. Like Rommel, only with a better retirement plan. Resign or we will toss you. Since Mark has always thought this childrens' play he was involved in had something to do with the world of duty and honor he has seen in old movies, he "took the honorable way out." A living parody 'til the end. The only thing left for him to do is dress up in his Treasurers' Uniform and get the Lugar out.

Now a man who got his lovely house decorated for free, just 'cause he likes animals, is gonna figure out how to throw the final shovel full of dogshit on the Local. David Mansfield installs windows. Richard owns buildings that have windows. God bless America.

Pete, I told you. Doing what they want only makes them do it harder. You had a chance with Mark. Yet another sentence I never thought I would ever write. But as Boswell said, the more more you discover, the freakier it gets. Observing Snowden, it wouldn't surprise if his real punishment for you does not come in the form of termination, but in the humiliation of firing all of those who have been loyal to you, as you say nothing.

If I were what I perceive him to be, that is exactly what I would do. Exquisite sadism.

High Anxiety

Choking the Local
by John Lombardi


A few weeks ago, Mark Keintz, then the CHCA treasurer, published an Op Ed in the paper which was surprisingly frank about the state of the CHCA's finances -- the fact that the paper had turned a few thou profit -- wow! after 51 years in business; that Quita Horan was about to knock off her $40,000 annual stipend next year (presumably because she was sickened by the inchworm mentality of CHCA officials and their repeated errors of judgement); and about the state probe into CHCA financial records, still ongoing though unremarked by the scribes of the Local -- who've been "prevented" -- according to their defenders -- from writing anything serious about the behind-the-scenes atmosphere in CHCA .

But Thursday night, Keintzy, not exactly a Brave Heart when it comes to standing up in controversial situations, resigned his position, reportedly reading from a letter to Philip LeCalsey, and citing the need to spend more time with his family -- the usual rationale. Were the members of the Executive Committee angry with him for his truthful blat in the Local -- after all, they've succeeded in getting pretty much everything else in the weekly "news" hole closed down to happy "stories," like the recent one on the refurbishment of the Chestnut Hill Hotel --attagirl Jenny Katz! (And if you hang on long enough, you may get that "Editor's" job after all.) Or pieces about Snowden's success getting easements for his latest setback exception requests -- thrillorama!

Darker rumors have Keintz scuttering away before the State of Pennsylvania finally bestirs itself on bookkeeping peculiarities -- not that he was responsible, but just that he didn't want to be on the line defending them. Or, to give the man his due -- maybe he truly did disagree with the Choke the Local to Death mania that the new Exec regime seems to subscribe to. Knowing nothing at all about journalism and caring less, the Execs first emasculated editor and staff, and are now -- the word is -- turning to production. David Mansfield, who replaced Keintz Thursday, and who swept in last Spring with the Snowden forces, has reportedly been noising it around that the paper just costs too much, and could take a cut of $200,000! It's production department should be outsourced! A ludicrous idea, said to be born of Mansfield/ Larry Hochberger "business pragmatism."

Far from being "a full participant" in the running of the Local, as has been claimed by Walter Sullivan, the "Editor" is said to know so little about this that he is reduced to working back channels of source info -- just like a common blogger.

News flash for the Execs and their several staffs: Newspapers are groups, like teams or tribes. If you reduce them relentlessly to "efficient" blocs of workers, just in it for the money, like Walmart employees, and operating at minimum cred with the community -- you end up with a disaffected staff, indifferent readers, and a "McNewsburger". Or with a sale to a McNewsburger chain, like JRC.

Or you just close up.

The old rule was to hire a genius crew of reporters & editors, and killer squads of ad sales & circulation staff. And never let 'em near each other. Abandoning that notion has resulted in the kind of journalistic Mogadishu we have now.
•••
For Michael Vick, the kindness of dog lovers among Local letter writers:

"This man who hanged them and shot them & held them under water until they were dead, should get the same treatment." (Frank Heffelfinger, Wyndham); "The only second chance Michael Vick should get should be . . . as a trash collector, picking up dog poop." (Lillian Rosen, Wyndham); "Dumb old Andy Reid has a soft spot for felons (his sons' drug troubles)." (Chris Bacheler. Drexel Hill); "[He] fell to the bottom of that fetid sewer known as dogfighting. He is a monster, completely without mercy. . . therefore, no mercy whatsoever can be shown toward him. Punitive guidelines are grossly insufficient." (Bridget Irons, Chestnut Hill).

High Anxiety: Dog Day Journalism

by John Lombardi

A cool blast of air-conditioning, like walking into Bill Kilian's place 10 years ago, out of the stifling August shmutz of Germantown Avenue. That's what it felt like to read Len Lear's "Get Over It" Op Ed on the Huntingdon Valley swim club flap a couple of weeks ago, in the Local. And then Jim Foster's "Where's the money going?" blog lede in this space the other day. Two guys of a certain age, with common sense and libertarian leanings, commenting on the goop of PC non-think that's becoming characteristic of American journalism exchanges from the Times, to the networks, to PBS & NPR, to the Local and Northwest Notebook, too.

One guy here says we can't criticize the exaggerators going for a couple of lucrative lawsuits against the swim club because the children of Creative Steps, Inc., who happened to be black, were "irreparably scarred" by being asked to leave the pool -- even though they got a trip to Disneyworld, all kinds of apologies, goodies and worldwide publicity, as a result. So why not let 'em back in the water, after the club operators relented? The sweating kids would have probably jumped right in. It's hot. But the media event was paying off better.

Foster's point is that the Obama administration isn't starting WPA-style "job stimulus" operations in massive road repair, bridge and tunnel upgrades, inner city clearing and rebuilding, or National Park refurbishment -- as promised back in January -- but instead is just giving billions to bankers who caused the problems in the first place -- Reagan's old "trickle down" nonsense. And of course O did this without having established any oversight structure to prevent repeat greedhead depredations -- as FDR once had the strength & foresight to do. And which still causes hisses of "That man!" among senior Republicans, and the rich generally. Nobody wants to talk about this, though, in the spirit of giving the nation's first black president "a chance."

The deal is, you can't take care of organic problems with P.R. solutions. Life isn't a matter of sound-bytes, camera angles and breathless star talk on Meet the Nation and Charlie Rose, or The McNeil/Lehrer Snoozehour. Anyone who believes Henry Louis Gates wasn't at least partly to blame for his own arrest in Cambridge by Sgt. Steve Lowrey , should check out the endless, smug, star-crossed chit-chat among Gates and a group of mostly white academics in the recent PBS documentary on Abraham Lincoln's "racism" in the 1850s, and during the Civil War. While the professors dined in period taverns on the Southern battlefields of yore, dragging out their musings over pheasant and Cote' de Beaune, Gates held sway, lecturing with raised eyebrows & querulous looks about Lincoln's plans to repatriate millions of former slaves to Africa. . ,

Marcus Garvey and some others seemed to feel it wasn't a bad notion at several points in U. S. history, and Gates condescended to leave the question of Lincoln's prejudice open -- after all, millions of blacks stood along the railroad tracks after he was shot, and not to curse him as a racist. But Gatesy makes a good living at Harvard now, and making documentaries on African-American subjects like Phillis Wheatley, America's first black poetess, forced to endure the prejudice of the founding fathers, and uplifting stuff like "From Great Zimbabwe to Kilomatinde," which isn't too harsh about that paragon of humanism, Robert Mugabe.

But PC/PR rules. Internationally and nationally, we're supposed to buy that Bill Clinton somehow snatched two minor reporters for Al Gore's TV stations, without White House involvement (except for an "attaboy"), on a couple of days turnaround , from Kim Jung Il's dire North Korean clutches; that an old Bush plan to assassinate the leaders of Al Qaeda and the Taliban was heroically dismantled by old Clinton hand Leon Panetta (the CIA kill teams were never operational, and the news broke just in time to counteract GOP propaganda against Health Care reform). But given all the Clintonites in the White House now, what are we seeing? . . . A demonstration that Bill, Hill and O are Chill? That if Hill had won, we'd be getting the same inchworm consensus media strategy instead of real policy? . . . Boring scoops for the long, hot summer.

Locally, we have Minibrain Keintz in for Foghorn Sullivan as Op Ed commentator this week, admitting how bad the CHCA financial picture is -- a 50 year-old weekly yielding a few thou profit, and calling that an upturn; a cockadoodle rooster scream because the Hitchcock gang has finally got a stranglehold on Local spending through Hochy, and a slightly more scary one because Quita's $40,000 annual grant only has a year to go . . . Let's see: strange speculations as to why the "editor" allegedly remarked before going on vacation that his Deputy News guy might be looking around; that either Walter or Hochy mentioned another "belt-tightening" was likely at the paper soon, because of an unexpected $20,000 loss in revenue (unconfirmed); that Lou "Ratso" Aiello was behind a push for Marie Lachat to head the Aesthetics Committee, a quid pro quo involving his little home repair business -- the "Chestnut Hill Way" of doing things.

And that numerous readers of the Local and the blog loved Lear's blasts in "Get Over It!". But were too chicken to say so.

Everybody's Guilty, But Some More Than Others

To honor my suggestion to Mssrs. Foster and Lombardi, I will change the subject. Besides, people get the leaders they deserve, and that goes double for the Hill. Eternal vigilance to ones self interest always ends badly. It's always easier to fool those who fool others for a living. They think they're the only ones who are playing the game. Roll the Maloumian-Capoferri video for instructional purposes here. Greg Welsh should watch the tape very closely.

So, as it turns out, the election of a black man to the presidency seems to have incited a race war, hasn't it? NOT what we expected. Remember when ecstatic black people were interviewed in the streets on election night? So many said, " I still can't believe it!-It still hasn't sunk in yet!"
It didn't sink in for some others until much later. They REALLY couldn't believe it . They still seem to have a hard time believing it. Mind you, most of this latter group doesn't know how a toaster works either, but that hasn't stopped them from being experts on health care, or birth certificates, or the history of black racism in America.

But when the idea of who was elected finally got through their Miracle Whip and Budweiser soaked thick skulls, they blinked their eyes and said what the citizens of Rock Ridge said when Sheriff Bart came to town.

Except they can't say it out loud. For what they want to say, what they want to call President Barry is forbidden to them. They can taste the word. They can feel the hard "double G" consonants between their tongue and the top of their mouth, the gutteral "R" at the end that literally turns the last half of the word into a growl. White people always like to pronounce the "R" sound in that word. The white Southerners just put it in front of their self invented "a" sound at the end. The word is stuck in their craw like Barry is stuck in their House.

It's the most important word in our culture today and they can't say it. It's the word that hangs in the air, like Ezekiel's Wheel. It's the word freighted with such importance that its very use is accorded to certain groups and forbidden to others, like a rare commodity rationed in times of national duress.

It's a word that has it's own official euphemism, one that takes its name from the first letter of the word itself. I refuse to use that euphemism, for the same reason I do not use the official term used to describe the Nazi Death Camps. Because facts are facts. As a kid , I knew some with the tattoos of the numbers, and they always just said, "the camps." The camps. The imagery was stark, not poetic. When PR types start to give official terms after those events have happened, it portends the marketing of those events. It signals the packaging of those events for the benefit of those who have named them. And sometimes packaging causes trouble. Any country that had two groups, one who called themselves the chosen people, and one who called themselves the master race, well, you knew there was gonna be trouble. Now the Israel Pac uses the word it helped invent to finance its own racial expansion.

Another example. As I watched the first tower smoke, and as I watched the plane hit the second tower, I counted down. I told my daughter, "Now it is real. Now we are all witnesses. As soon as they name it, the conjecture, the fill, the spin, the lies will begin." And when "America Under Attack" came up under the pictures, I knew that the marketing had begun. Some marketed that event to their own news show, others to their own war, others to their own fortune.

So I don't use official euphemisms. But some people are allowed to use the word itself. Yes, it turns out that black people are given some rights in America that white people do not have. They have explicit permission to use that word to describe each other. They also have permission to describe black females as bodies for hire or as animals. How thoughtful of white America to have accorded the special privilege of demeaning yourselves to all of you. You owe thanks. And to those who make millions on the unending, repeated imagery of the killing of black men and the demeaning of black women, I think I can speak for the whites who once owned you. Thanks for doing our work for us. And if doing the massa's work for him isn't the definition of an Uncle Tom, I don't know what is. So I just called all the gangsta rappers Uncle Toms. That makes Len Lear and Rush Limbaugh seem like a couple of Pussies, doesn't it?

I would here illustrate the time line between rap music's beginnings, when it sprung out of black nationalism, the forceful and proper responses to police brutality, followed by senate investigations, followed by industry pressure, followed immediately by a change in the direction of the bullets mentioned by rappers from their real oppressors to their brothers, followed by no more senate investigations or industry pressure, but it's been done already and anyway, I just said it.

The difference here is that rappers use their anti-black imagery to make money, and most whites just use it to "get off'. Except for Rush. He has that in common with fifty cent.

But to the whites who can't use the word it must be hell. They need to use that word. Not being able to use it is driving them crazy. Not figuratively crazy, but literally, demonstrably crazy. That's why Rush, who, without question, gets fan letters from members of the Aryan Nation, is calling the president a Nazi. People who celebrate Hitlers birthay, and who wear brown shirt uniforms and march around their shit kicker compounds, who do they listen to? It ain't Rachel Maddow.

And that's why they want to see the certificate. They don't really want to see it. What they want is for a black man to have to "come to them" and give them something that they have asked for. It's the ACT they want, not the item. Perhaps the certificate could be on a little silver tray, accompanied by a glass and a pitcher of iced tea. And the president could wear a uniform and have white hair. The proper response to anyone with such a request would rightfully be, "And just who the fuck are you?"

And now the town hall disruptions. What kind of a person disrupts meetings? Hey wait a minute, you thought I was gonna trap myself! But my little boy's dream is for me to find out that Bill McGuckin, who was so offended by my manners that he almost had a heart attack right in the OP-Ed section of the Local, is being bussed to one of these events by Dick Armey. Then I can show up and beat the livin' shit out of him. Better stay home, Bill. I can guess whose side you're on. Isn't your business tied to Papa Med-Pharma?

I think we should let this trash say the word. It may calm them down. I often say it over and over as I listen to Fox News. Like Tourettes. It drowns them out and it conveys their real meaning so much better. Try it. A charming personal reminiscence. I used to get to say it a lot, with love, when I shared an apartment with three black guys. We all were in the same situation, all living the high life and having sex with black and white women who we NEVER called any bad names EVER. Why would you ever want to call any woman a bad name who you got to fuck, weren't married to, and who had girlfriends with the same attributes? I respect the shit out women like that. Still do.

Did I leave anyone out? See, I never even mentioned Richard. Anonymous, I'm ready for your comment now. Bitch.

Little Eddie Feldman

To All My Readers

Note to Jim F. and John L. This blog should be used to do what the Local has been pressured into not doing, reporting the movements of a small group of greedy Hill business people, power addicted suburban psychopaths, and their one or two manipulators, whose profiles fall into both categories, as their shenanigans are too entertaining to miss.

To be reasonable, let's compromise. For every piece about evil Obama or Crazy Pop stars, you write one about what's going on in our favorite chintz appointed halfway house. How's that?
Now back to my delightful obsession.

The desperate ones, the ones who - by their own admission - are losing money in this economy, have followed the lazy way to stop the bleeding. They believed a messiah. Rather than change their own failing business models, read the marketplace, improve their mediocre product or just pack up, they believed someone who, up 'til now, has treated them with the same regard he has for all the "help." The same regard he showed for them when he put up signs that, while in his foot-stamping-spoiled-rich-kid mind punished the Local and others, hurt the businesses of the Avenue more than anyone.

I'm talking to you Richie. I see you read this blog most every day. I know because people you trust tell me so. They also tell me that your attorneys read it. And also your Mother. So you must all be interested in what I have to say.

I have exposed your plans to pack the board with employees, tenants, friends and ass lickers to get control for your upcoming zoning and for your continued revenge on the neighborhood that does not give you the love you deserve.

Don't get me wrong, Richie, my darling, for Ass Licking, as I have said before, is something that, both figuratively and literally, is weird at first, and then, when you get used it, quite pleasant. It only becomes unsavory when you come to expect it, and demand it, as you do.

But what can we expect from someone whose fortune is built on the ravaged bodies of West Virginia coal miners, tricked out of their land by your ancestors, their mountaintops ripped to expose your fortune below, while the debris pollutes their steams for generations unborn. And all it takes for the Williamson, WV, newspaper to take your picture and thank you is a $40,000.00 scholarship for some local college students. Extrapolating that out for the early death and misery caused by the strip mining you finance, no wonder you hate the Hill. Fran O'Donnell, Greg Welsh, and the board are much more expensive, per capita, than those simple mountain folk you play tricks on.

Fashion note: Richie wore a pink shirt for one of the Mingo county photo op's. What WERE you thinking? Them thar folk ain't as broad minded as we'uns concernin' our sartorial symbolizin'.
But more about Richie later. Much more. Because I have been doing my research. On Cotiga, Tigaco, and other companies Richie uses to line his pockets with green, while lining other peoples' lungs with black. Tales of the sewing machine "salesman" - a key player in obtaining mineral rights from West Virginia Hill People, and of the King Coal Highway, of a desperate visit to the EPA in Philly, by the Governor of West Virginia, to allow mountain top removal, attempting to beat a moratorium by the pesky Obama people. That Richie's two groups of victims are both identified as "Hill People," yet separated by hundreds of miles and thousands of dollars of per capita earning is an irony that may earn it a place in a book title someday. Soon.

Richie, do you array your toy soldiers in dress rehearsals for these real life maneuvers? If so, who plays me? And do I stay erect, and if so, for how long?

This is the stuff the Local should cover. It's the stuff that gets you readers, recognition, and awards. But I guess paychecks are important too. So just be quiet, Local folks. Cash your paychecks, use your health care. And lose your souls.

Me, I ain't got no soul, so full speed ahead.

Jim Albrecht, who used to live next door to me, and who was warned by me about the weak DNA strain that governs Hill ethics, mentioned a "circle" that closed with the arrest of John Capoferri. John was part of the consortium of Hill "players" who helped get Richie his committee to mediate his dispute with the Local. John's buddy Richard Maloumian was involved too. John and Maloumian were joined at the hip back then. They used to go into the Local's office together and tell Pete how to run his newspaper, as a Real estate goniff and a rug salesman who married well have a right to do. Dick Doyle was part of the "let's get Richie his apology and he'll thank us somehow" club too. Hey fellas, what exactly did Richie do for you in return?

Now Maloumian and Capoferri aren't friends anymore. I've never known whether I should be happy or sad about the phrase "There is no honor among Thieves." Maybe I'm ambivalent about it 'cause I ain't got no soul.

Will Richie be a character witness at Johns' trial? Is it something that a call to Donna Reed can fix? Do you think he'll make that call for a guy who tried to be such a good friend to him in the past? If you can hold your breath that long, you should go work in one of the mines leased out by Richie and his Momma.

Was Richie a character witness after they led Chip Butler away? After all, Chip did sell the CHCA property to Richie, contrary to the boards' instructions. How did Richie repay that favor?
See, Richie doesn't pay back, he only leaves you the change, and he deducts the change. Coal dust kill your husband? I'll send six kids to community college, with my tax breaks included. Mountain rubble in your drinking water? I'll build a road with what's left, again with deductions, so my product can be transported. I'll screw the ungrateful Hillers by not renting my properties, and deduct those losses off my taxes too. Do any of you Keanu-bright pawns see The Matrix yet?

So Wendy, Art and the Missus, Greg and Fran, do you really think that you can trust him? I know Greg thinks he can outsmart Richie, that's in Greg's DNA. But you're stepping way up in class here kids. Greg, this guy and his family were screwing Americans out of their land and then sending them to their doom beneath that land when your people were still ducking cossacks. And Fran, your people were digging potatoes when Richie's forefathers had their hand up the back of the Irish maids' uniform while she served them Au Gratin. So read up Richie. You'll never guess who told me about your interest in my work. But try.

I. F. (Izzy) Feldman

Reviewing the Reviewer

I was happy to read the opinion of the Local's newest columnist, Len Lear, on the Valley Swim Club Incident. Happy because, up 'til now, I had held my tongue about his work, out of pity. Len has been kicking around the lower levels of Philly journalism since I was a kid, and once came within hailing distance of what might have been called "promise." But that was some years ago. That past , and his innocuous position on the Local, lead me away from some pretty obvious observations.

Another reason is more delicate.

But since Len has now written what is probably the most overt expression of Racial Insensitivity I have ever read in the Local, I get to open him up a little.

Here is where the betting line is set on whether any Hiller contradicts Lens' "Walk a Mile in my shoes, Colored People" tale of the discrimination he has personally observed and experienced.
The morning line is 8 to 5 against. In the Hill tradition, which Len violated, I'll guess complete silence on the subject.

I let Len alone. He has his own little office. He writes what are supposed to be restaurant reviews for a neighborhood newspaper. When I read restaurant reviews in a neighborhood newspaper in which I am (was) a resident, I have two reasonable expectations. One, that the review, being in a newspaper whose readership outside the neighborhood was minimal, would attempt to review restaurants within that neighborhood. And two, that the reviews would try to describe the food being served in that restaurant.

But Len, perhaps hewing to the Hill tradition of thinking that its (his) influence is somewhat larger than it actually is, left the sampling and critique of Hill establishments to some other, imaginary paper. In the last twenty-three Local issues, one Hill restaurant has been reviewed.
Another unorthodox feature of Lens' reviews is the amount of words he actually devotes to the description of the food itself. He typically uses his inches to back story the life and struggles of the owner, usually getting to the food around paragraph twelve, calling the dish delicious, and then finishing off these distracting details in two or three paragraphs. Check the archives. I did. Lens' percentage of column space devoted to the description of the dishes sampled tops out at sixteen percent. The words most often used to describe the food are "delicious" and "tasty."
I always thought I knew why, and Lens latest work convinced me.

Len assumes his writing ability is above the Roget-hunting-for-flavor descriptions that he never seemed to tackle. His talent was in those compelling backstories that we all cared about so much more than finding out if someone served food we wanted to eat.

Lately, Len has jumped into the recession-news-you-can-use- business, taking special care to describe price busting offers at the establishments he writes about. The key point of going to a restaurant for the food, rather than the cost, or the compelling story of its owners has apparently been lost in his haze of two for one specials.

A few weeks ago, he reviewed Applebee's. I can't really add anything to that statement. Yes, I can. Anyone who reviews Applebee's for any reason other than as a case in point for the decline of Western Civilization should have his W-2 changed from food critic to Teenage Hillbilly Asshole.

That he described the food as "Yummy" and the unlimited salad and breadsticks as "quite tasty" makes me want to purge RIGHT NOW.

But now we see Len's ambition. Social Critic and advice giver. To Parents. Black Parents. Take your children to Libraries, museums, and lectures. Because, I guess, Len thinks that they don't do that already. Because Len, as a White Man who has never had children, feels comfortable in telling a Black Parent how to raise children. And that his experience in observing discrimination in 1963 is enough to counter a lifetime as a Black person in America.

It's the Sociological version of telling us that Applebees is "Yummy."

Len might have an issue with self identification, and that's understandable. For if ever he looked in the mirror long enough to know that his color precludes his understanding of this situation in the most profound way, he might notice that the thing on the top of his head resembles no human physical attribute, and that it is a symbol of denial as equally profound as his ignorance on the subject he has addressed.

So my advice to you Len, is to get rid of the bad wig, and devote yourself to writing about local restaurants and figure out how to work the food onto the articles before the twelfth paragraph. As for your taste, I can't help, so here's a tip - Review the Chestnut Hill Grill - It's so close to Applebees, you'll feel right at home. As for the baldness - Get over it.

Not Everything in America ...

Bill Maher at Huffpost offers a new rule on which enterprises should be profit-driven. CHCA, take note.

Public Conversations ...

Conversation 1.
A man in a key position of authority with a community group is talking with an acquaintance on the Avenue. Remarks that his group's key money-making enterprise lost $20,000 last month. This is within earshot of business people, community members and others. Is it wise of this person to be speaking in a public setting about this private business issue?

Conversation 2.
A man and a woman, both board members of a community group, are riding a train back to their neighborhood. Their loud conversation, overheard by a number of people on the train, includes discussions about outsourcing work at the aforementioned (See Conversation 1) enterprise as a way to cut costs. Recall that the group has already cut out 401 (k) contributions and reduced medical benefits to veterinarian levels for employees of the enterprise. Also, said organization siphons off more than $30K a year just rent from this enterprise and uses another $34K to subsidize the non-Quita Horan ($40,000 a year, thank you) employees of the non-enterprise division. In addition, the male speaker has decided that the key hire recently added to the company may have been loose in his resumé, is not what the masters of the mini-universe expected and would be better supplanted by a former employee who pissed away $100K or so several years back. Hey, guy. They don't love you in the morning. We ask, do these corporate officers understand that business conversations should not be conducted in a public setting?

Discuss: WTF? Do they not get it?

For a free subscription to Northwest Notebook, name the people.

Update and response: Because play is important to healthy living.

Writers Respect One Another

As a semi-responsible journalist, I followed up my first person account of Buzz Bissinger's end-of -presentation Snowden statement with a call to the speaker himself. I had accurately recounted my time at the event and I had accurately recounted the statement itself. But I wanted to get any backstory and clarification on Mr. B's experience. We had a pleasant conversation.

Mr. Bissinger told me that the statement was glib, and in jest. Knowing his style, I had felt so at the time. Mr B told me that he retracted his statement soon after, and should not have said it. He wishes no harm to anyone. To clarify, as his statement was worded, the death of Mr. Snowden might well have come from natural causes at an advanced age. So violence is not a component to be addressed.

But Mr. Bissinger was clear that he regrets the statement and I believe him. Toothpaste and tubes being what they are, and speaking as a man who licked varnish on a live television show once, I know the depth of his regret. He added that his entire presentation was peppered with humor and its attendant exaggeration. I get that too. My work, including my extensive reporting on Mr. Snowden's activities in West Virginia and the Hill have been laced with humor. That, and the law regarding public figures keep me out of court. And although I have never wished him ill in print, in our one extensive meeting, I did suggest that he sell his properties in 19118 and leave.

So the lesson here is clear. Context and style. They count. But my Mom used to say something about words said in jest, and she ought to know about such things, because she called me a bastard almost every day. So to those who soiled themselves following a silly comment, lighten up. And next year get the guy who writes the "Thomas the Train" books.