All this and Cracker Jack too

Times are tough all over, even in professional sports. Maybe not for the New York Yankees, based on the headlines earlier this week on C. C. Sabathia and A. J. Burnett (are they gonna hire anyone with actual first names this season, or we're just doing shorthand? And all those years ago, G. Gordon Liddy and H. Ross Perot were ahead of their time--who knew?). Is this the year we get to see the Kansas City Royals infield collecting cans and bottles by the side of the road to redeem for the deposit so they can pay Kyle Farnsworth? Strange Days Indeed (most peculiar, Mama).

Strange days as well here in the Rose City which has our very own Double A Eastern League baseball team, the Connecticut Defenders who are an affiliate of the San Francisco Giants (though, to my knowledge, neither GM wears flowers in his hair--which would be a stretch for Charlie D). They started out as a New York Yankees affiliate, transferred from Albany, New York in the middle of the last decade. We built a ten million dollar plus stadium in our then-Industrial Park to house them when they were called the Norwich Navigators (and Tater still wowed the crowd last Sunday at the Norwich Winterfest Parade) and for the first couple of years, fans flocked to the new attraction and then, as now, it was a great place to watch young baseball players chase their dreams, hone their skills, and have some fun for very little money.

If you've bought tickets for anyone's Major League team in the last decade, you know, before even getting to the ballpark and paying for the parking, you're out hundreds for four tickets, a soda, a bag of chips and a hot dog per person (and who does only one of each of those for nine innings?), so we've been lucky to have had great, reasonably-priced entertainment for close to a decade and a half. Attendance started to flag some years back in what is probably already the smallest market in the Eastern League (the Defenders play teams from Harrisburg, New Britain, and Trenton, as three examples, where not only is the host city considerably more than our 37,000 souls, but the surrounding areas put them over a quarter to a half million in population).

Jerry Seinfeld noted years ago, in light of the money involved in professional sports, we the fans are basically rooting for clothes. The Red Sox fans who loved Johnny Damon half a decade ago hate him now, now that he wears the most despised pinstripes in baseball. And so it goes. We have childlike and childish enthusiasms for our teams, but we lose sight that they are businesses and that means they have to make money. Same is true for minor league teams.

The Defenders had a lot of ink this past week for 'overdue' rent and other payments owed to the city of Norwich, to the tune of 310,000. It shouldn't have been as pseudo-newsworthy as it appeared in the newspapers. The Norwich Baseball Stadium Authority, NBSA, citizen volunteers appointed by the City Council to manage and monitor the relationship of Senator Thomas Dodd Stadium and its tenant, the CT Defenders, meets once a month with representatives of the team to review where all of them are and where they need to be going. The minutes of those meetings (and December is and was still 2008 for what it's worth) are shared with the elected and appointed leadership of the city.

The indoor batting cages and pitching mounds in the adjunct practice facility (I'm told it's beautiful, I've never seen it from the inside), the large screen video display and scoreboard, the the new playing surface, warning track and outfield fences and the to-be-completed-before-opening-day renovations to the concourse bathrooms, all funded by tax dollars (municipal and state) are all the result of those meetings and the collaboration between the volunteers and the Defenders' staff. And all of us who've ever been to the stadium are the beneficiaries and should be grateful for all of their work.

That said, $310,000 is a LOT of money. And it's good to read that the team will catch up by opening day, which is 16 April against the Trenton Thunder (with the proceeds of the game going to the Girard Family in Voluntown, CT), but how did they fall this far behind without the City's leadership NOT knowing. The NBSA, when you read their minutes, have done their job--but never had a means of enforcing rent collections. It was good to read comments by the City's Comptroller and City Manager on the resolution of the situation, this time, because, Gentlemen, that's your job.

I was a little non-plussed to read in the papers a note that the team will pay the back rent as well as interest on it, even though there's nothing in their lease agreement about having to do so. That's probably true, except I have to believe everyone involved in the lease operated from a belief that all portions of the lease would be binding on all parties and that both the city and the team would be as good as their word (judging from readers' comments in one of the papers, I wasn't alone in my reaction to the remark.)

Something I forgot I knew about, turned up in both papers on Saturday, the portion of the parking fee the Defenders donate to the Mayor's Food Pantry. One had the dollar figure at thirteen thousand and the other ten--three grand is three grand as my mother the accountant might say, so I'm curious as to which number is real, but even more curious as to where this number is in the Norwich City Budget (248 pages of fun, from cover to cover) as I can't find it.

Maybe because it's NOT a fixed, but variable, revenue stream it's just harder for me to identify-but that's not my bigger, or sole, question: where is this money, who gets it and for what? Somewhere is an accounting trail-it needs to be more visible-and the Defenders should be thanked and the Mayor applauded for creating and maintaining the fund, especially in these aforementioned tight times.

If I were to be $310,000 in arrears on my rent or mortgage, where might I be sitting right now while typing this? Orange crate under the Eighth Street Bridge (is that a Wi-Fi zone? How will I upload this to the site?) or seeking out a warm bed someplace? We all have obligations, to ourselves and to one another--that's sort of why we banded together as communities which, in turn, evolved into larger political-economic units.

I'd like to think we created government to better harness and channel the time and talents of some for the benefit of all-to do for one another as a group that which we couldn't do as individuals. Being honest and honorable with one another makes us better people and a better city and we improve one person at a time, one day at a time.
-bill kenny

See the USA in your Chevrolet

From what I see in the newspapers and the greater minds who write for them, we may, or may not, become owners of auto companies. Is this a great country or what? As a child I dreamed I'd grow up to be a baseball player and an astronaut and the President of the United States (I'd figured this stuff out-there would be no rocket launches during the summer, so I could play baseball and when I was in space, the Vice-President would be in charge).

It would be a full life-busy, of course, what with the World Series and all. Back in the day we had NO divisions and no playoffs. You had the American League and the National League. The National League's whole function was to send teams to lose to the Yankees every fall in the Series. We had DAY games, where you could skip school for an outing to watch real baseball on real grass and sit behind grown men whose behavior you didn't understand because your Dad didn't get stupid behind beer at home. And there were NO designated hitters-everybody batted and if one of our guys got thrown at, then our pitcher nailed their guy next inning. Even the guy selling the Cracker Jack knew the drill. (And now that the Yankees have C.C. Sabathia we might even go for a little 'tackle baseball.')

And even the big stars, and the Yankees had a ton of them, did other things in the off-season to make money (we kids didn't know that. I thought Yogi Berra actually liked Yoo-hoo; it was all he ever talked about), so one year when my parents had rented a bungalow in Atlantic Highlands we all went to watch a night softball game (wow! what an experience that was) we got to see Yogi and Moose Skowron, the Yankees first baseman, play in an exhibition before the softball game called 'donkey baseball' that was exactly what you think it was. I'm thinking about Scott Boras who's a super agent for Manny Ramirez and Alex Rodriguez, among others, and trying to guess how many shades of white his face would turn at the idea of one of his clients on a donkey. Probably the way he feels now when the Daily News has photos of his Bronx Bomber and Madonna. Vogue indeed.

Anyway, I never grew up wanting to own a car company, but it seems, thanks to the helping hand we're giving to the Moe, Larry and Curly of the automotive world, that's what we could be doing. I wonder if this will mean if I want to visit Washington D.C. if I get to use one of the corporate jets? Or do you suppose there'll be a sign-up for that? I'll bet Bob Lutz never gets told 'I don't think so, slick' when he asks to use one of the jets. I'd even get it washed and waxed before returning it.

I'd like to own my own home (I already own my own car, bought and paid for before I owned a car company. Bet I could've gotten an even better deal now. Heck with "Employee Pricing", gimme some of that Captain of Industry, 21st Century Plutocrat Discount action. That's what I'm craving) but I'll settle for the Fisher Body Works, I guess (beats going to the gym).

I'm thinking as a good first step to signify the emotional, and not just financial, investment each of us is making, we start naming the car models after the citizens whose money is going into the company. I have no idea what a LeSabre is (I took a year of audio-visual French in prep school and retained none of it), so tell me Buick is gonna start building four-door Bobs (Bills; modesty has NEVER been a virtue with me), with moon roofs and heated seats. Chrysler could have a Bernice mini-van as an homage to soccer moms everywhere and Ford can rename one of its crossovers, Pat, for obvious reasons. I'm not sure what the Hummer's new name would be, though Monica works from a marketing perspective.

Have your machine fax my machine and we can talk about it over lunch on the jet. -bill kenny

Where women glow and the men plunder

Dateline, Australia. This is the kind of story that makes you smile and then try to figure out how to apply it here and how much it would cost. Helps explain a lot, as far as I'm concerned at all levels of our government, local, state and national.

You don't have to be from Norwich, CT, or anywhere in New London County or elsewhere in Connecticut, New England or the USA. We each have the same 'you will not believe this, but' stories and each one is better than the last one, but cannot hold a candle to the next one. It's true at the state level as well, of course.

Disclaimer: I don't pretend to have ever been anywhere as 'interesting' as Illinois. If they make corruption an Olympic event, you may well find past Governors at the medals podium. That said, my adopted (kinda) home state had a governor in the not too distant past, who shall remain nameless (John R), resign after being caught with his hand, arm and most of his torso in the cookie jar of unreported favors and unrequited devotion. The state in which I grew old, but not up, New Jersey, had a governor who resigned and outed himself (or was it vice versa, Jim Mc?) and the state of my birth, New York, had a Governor, Eliot S, hoist by his own petard (that's what the kids call it these days? 'That little petard' wasn't really what I was thinking of calling him but it'll do).

I don't really think if we had breathalyzers or drug testing for elected office, it'd make that much difference. For how many more years do you suppose MLB will continue to NOT find ballplayers juiced up (George Mitchell and Demosthenes are in search of a utility infielder who hasn't experimented with HGH) and why does the NFL want me to think normal human can get to be 380 pounds without chemistry? Point in fact, I never attribute to malice that which can be explained by ignorance and while the Misadventures in Oz make for great copy and a fun read, and I whack elected officials in this hemisphere like they were piñatas, in reality we DON'T get the government we deserve, we get far better.

For every Rowland, McGeevey and Spitzer and their counterparts in every democratically elected government around the world, there are a hundred, more likely a thousand, and even more likely a hundred times a thousand, officials who are just like we are, trying their best on behalf of all of us. I'd imagine we don't have quite as many dirty dancing in their underwear, at least in New England in the wintertime, outside, as they may have elsewhere. A free hot tub has its price, as does the choice of partners with whom you share it, and/or other fluids.

Sometimes the punishment fits and sometimes it doesn't. The farther out in space you travel the more alike we look and act. "I said, do you speak-a my language? He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich." I asked for the crusts to be cut off, but instead something else was. G'Day.
-bill kenny

No Strings attached

This is embarrassing. I don't pay much attention and I don't use very many of them, anyway, but I just noticed this the other day. I was feeding a squirrel at home off my back stoop (landing is what we call them here in New England, 'stoop' is what we called them in Nu Yawk and Joisey and it's been a lot of years, and still hardly a day, simultaneously). Because my hand shakes (one of those 'when you buy a ticket, you get the whole ride' aspects of aging of which I'm so fond) one of the squirrels stood on its back legs and used its paws to hold steadier a finger and the thumb of my right hand, which was holding a peanut.

Despite the hundreds of Nails 'N' More places within the sound of my voice across this area, I am surrounded by squirrels who don't believe in manicures, or maybe it's pedicures. In steadying my hand, the animal inadvertently scratched me. And pulling my hand back very quickly in surprise didn't do much for those trust issues these rats with better press clippings and I have with one another.

There was the tiniest drop of blood, one on each finger but in just a goofy enough place to make getting Band-Aids on them important (and I can't believe anyone thinks the website needs a 'where to buy' button! Is there a store on earth that doesn't sell them?). I apologize if you do not call all adhesive bandages Band-Aids-you should. Unless, unlike me, you didn't grow up near New Brunswick, New Jersey, which is the international headquarters of Johnson & Johnson (don't ever use 'and' instead of the ampersand, okay?). When we were young marrieds and shopping in the BX, base exchange, out at Rhein Main AB, my German wife bought somebody else's brand of Band-Aids. I missed it at the checkout, but went back the next day and corrected the error.

I grew up with the thin red string that you used to open the wrapper on the Band-Aid whose "Sterility is guaranteed unless seal is broken" (or perhaps if the walrus is hobbled. I knew it wasn't that kind of seal, but always wondered how many people actually read the Band-Aid wrapper). So I opened the medicine cabinet (that has everything but, now that I think about it. I even keep my tie clip on the bottom shelf. The bathroom is where I put on my game face and work clothes and tie my tie (raffles always promise 'duplicate prizes awarded in the event of ties', but I've yet to get close to one of those raffles)) and grabbed the Neosporin and the box of Band-Aids, ready to give NO quarter to any bacteria as I repaired my fingers). I didn't know until just now, both are made by the same people. (I lead a very sheltered life, it seems.)

And, wow-maybe you already knew this. My wife reacted with a shrug and a 'it happened years ago' observation, but the J&J Band-Aids don't have the skinny red string anymore! What happened and when (and why)? Did I miss the memo--should I fire off a note to the J&J people (with my fingers in their current state, how much will that delay the healing process)? This is like discovering Lincoln's Gettysburg Address actually begins with, "Yo, Peeps!", that a kid'll eat the middle of an Oreo first and throw the chocolate cookie outsides away (it makes more sense my way) or that the AFLAC duck isn't related to either Donald or Daffy (proving, again, that while all ducks are birds, NOT all birds are ducks. Which way did he go, George?)

My chagrin at discovering the packaging change is tempered by the realization that in all of my years of scrapped knees and elbows-it was Mom who opened the Band-Aids. I never could figure out how to use the red string to open them and always wound up pulling it completely out, leaving me to tear the wrapper open with my fingers. If I'd saved those red strings I'd have enough, probably, to make a tunic like the ones worn by those Beefeaters we see in the pictures at Buckingham Palace. If they played soccer against the Vatican Swiss Guard, who do you think would win? (and do the latter have knives and do the former drink gin?) Would the match be decided in regulation, or would we have to go to Penalty Kicks? And do you hate PKs as much as I do? It's like deciding a baseball game, tied up after nine innings, with a home run derby.

Anyway. Yeah, I managed to pull apart the new (to me) Band-Aid wrapper, reassured that at least the warning is intact (it's like that other constant in my childhood universe, the 'do not remove this tag' from the couch cushions. I could have sent my Gramma and Grampy to jail for years if the Couch Cushion Cops had shown up, let me tell you). Of course, by the time I got the Band-Aid opened, my wife had the aerosol out, the one you just spray the adhesive bandage on and was back making dinner before I could even protest. You have to love that German technology, especially if you run out of places to store the red strings.
-bill kenny

from Ozzy Osbourne to Ozymandias

I'm fifty-six and closing on fifty-seven with each passing day. I've already had two members of my generational cohort elected to the office of the President of the United States (what's that look of feigned surprise? 'I didn't get that memo! I'd have run if I'd thought someone was keeping track.' Spare me, please), William Jefferson Clinton and George Walker Bush. I'd suggest, in the interests of keeping the union united, we forgo any more attempts at the Oval Office Ring.

I thought about this because someone the other day spoke about who should perform at (one of) the Inaugural Balls for President Barack Obama. He speculated it would be Bruce Springsteen in much the same way as Fleetwood Mac had performed at Bill Clinton's. Having preached from the Gospel of Bruuuuuuuuce! from his days as Dr. Zoom and the Sonic Boom as well as Steel Mill (I wonder if The Ledge still exists on the New Brunswick campus of Rutgers University?) through my days among the heathens and Hottentots of Western Europe (listening to German members of the Blue Jean Army annihilate Born to Run on his first tour to the BRD in April and May of 1981. Nothing screams 'go away!' like 'Beyond the palace, hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard...' rendered in an accent only Sgt Schultz could love, or understand), I just don't think so.

In a way, to steal a thought from one of his own tunes, it's the Price You Pay. Nothing personal, for him or for those of us of his generation. We're irrelevant to the process--which as part of the Baby Boom Generation, the post-World War II pig in a python (in terms of population impact), is kinda hard to take. Our time on center stage is past--it would have been anyway--how much longer should my (youngest) brother's generation (and that of his two older sisters) have to wait before we checked ourselves in at the Shady Rest?

Remember how we couldn't wait for our parents to move aside so we could finish remaking the world in our image and likeness? They'd created polio vaccine and the Marshall Plan and started us on our way to the moon and beyond. They left us to find our own way out of Vietnam and we found our way into disco, cocaine and the plague of Aids. I'd like to think someday that piece of the Berlin Wall I have in a plastic bag in my basement in Norwich, CT (Mark C, it was the VERY first thing I packed when I knew I was leaving Germany because I knew I'd never come back, at least in this life) will be part of my generation's legacy and not just those platform shoes and the side burns that went down to my thighs with moustaches that went to my ear lobes.

Perhaps I, and we, can use Percy Shelley as our map:

"I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled hp and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my works. Ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."
-bill kenny

Joy is contagious (despite the new vaccines)

My dad used to subscribe to Reader's Digest magazine (I often fantasized about having Campbell's (condensed) Cream of Tomato Soup (the one you make with milk, whole milk, not the 2% or 1% stuff which is more like water with white coloring) and having coffee lightened with condensed milk while reading a novel in one the RD Condensed Books series and getting up from the table four inches shorter. Ah, memories. Thank goodness for drugs and therapy, eh?

Anyway, Reader's Digest, or digress as I used to call it, as it had, even forty-five years ago, more advertising than articles, always had tons of little jokes and columns (of sorts) such as 'Humor in Uniform' (odd how I was to spend 8 years in the USAF, which often reminded me of Catch-22 but was not nearly as funny as the Reader's Digest editors made it out to be) or Laughter is the Best Medicine. Always good for a smile.

Reader's Digest is still around though not quite as ubiquitous as it once was. I explain to the kids these days (kids=anyone under forty, in my estimation; I am an old soul) it was as if Norman Rockwell had come up with a magazine. I was in my young teen years when it came to the house, like clockwork, in the mid-sixties a decade as turbulent in terms of Civil Rights, the War in Vietnam and other issues as you might find anywhere in American history, but you'd never know it from the pages of RD.

I thought about those little bricks of a magazine arriving via 'book rate' (does the USPS still offer 'book rate' or is that something one of the delivery companies now does?) while reading a story in The Harvard Crimson about Joy is Contagious (even though she still has no temperature).

My forever-juvenile sense of humor (trapped in this curmudgeonly body) is one of the reasons why my daughter, Michelle, isn't called "Faith", "Hope", "Patience" or any of the other virtues/attributes we inflict upon our children as names (Gwyneth Paltrow are you listening? Apple? Is there a little sister named Peach Cobbler in somebody's future?). We always think how cute that name will be, especially when they're teens and subject to non-stop universal observation and ridicule or when they're adults and have the chance to do to their children what their parents did to them. (Actually, when you go to The Crimson, spend a minute here. The depth of coverage, the degree of diversity of opinion and the scholarship and eloquence in almost every piece is marvelous to read.)

Cynic that I am, I was struck by one of the researchers quoted in the story who compared joy to a sexually transmitted disease, “(F)or example, in a network of sexual partners, if you have many partners and your partners have many partners, you are more susceptible to catching an STD.” Thanks for that, Dr. Fowler, Class of '92; I could put a fork in my front lobe and not dislodge that image. You can always tell a Harvard Man-you can't tell him very much, but you can always tell him. ;-)

Proving that one man's ceiling is another man's floor, the article quotes those who are also engaged in a research project on happiness and joy, whose results don't seem to be as cheerful and chipper. Makes me wonder what Hoyt Axton might have made of all of this. This time of year, a Flash of Fire could warm the cockles of even a joyful heart.
-bill kenny

Monday Musings on Norwich Meetings

You really should ask for a day/date reminder for Christmas. One with really big blocks on the calendar so you can keep track of all the extra-curricular activities that you'll be interested in as a result of one of those New Year's resolutions you're gonna make, if only you had a tool to track it all. Be of good cheer (to appropriate a phrase), here's what this week looks like for those of us in the Rose City.

Were you as surprised by the snow on Sunday as I was? Yeah, it helped make the Winterfest Parade look a lot prettier and it really didn't screw up the roads or the walkways too much (it seemed to bewilder a lot of drivers, judging from the number of sirens I heard throughout the day) and I shouldn't complain it is December and this is New England. And yet, ever since I stopped getting sleds for Christmas, the blush, so to speak, is off the Rose. It was nice to go by the old Buckingham School and see the kids sledding down that hill-I used to take my two there when they were little. Still try to, except the twenty-six year old (fourth item down) keeps falling off the saucer.

As for indoor sledding this week, the meetings in and around Norwich are many and varied.

Tonight at 5 PM in room 209 of City Hall is the Volunteer Firefighters Relief Fund Committee. The watchwords seem to be 'you can’t buy a loaf of bread with negative earnings.' I suspect that's true for more than just the bread buyers among us, even those on gluten-free diets.

Tuesday afternoon is a little less frantic as Mark B (as in "I Be in the Know") was kind enough to share that the Public Works and Capital Improvements Committee meeting at 5 at 50 Clinton Avenue is now CANCELLED. (Nevertheless, here's what they worked on last month.) Between us, I've concluded it may be until April or later before this committee has its full complement of City Council representatives, unless someone steps in for now former-Alderman, State Representative-elect Chris Coutu.

Also Tuesday at 5:30 in the Slater Auditorium at NFA the Norwich Historical Society is sponsoring presentation on Historic Neighborhoods of Norwich. Remember the firestorm in the fall of 2007 about the attempt to create a commercial overlay zone in the middle of a neighborhood? (Oddly, a former City Council member with higher aspirations, doesn't. Looks like we'll be trying the ABL logic during the next mayoral election. You're gonna need a LOT more than that, as far as I am concerned). Anyway this meeting is a lot larger and more far-reaching that its name suggests (and thanks to Martrese F. for the tip and explanation).

At 6:45 PM (who thinks meetings on the quarter-hour is a good idea?) Tuesday evening, the Downtown Neighborhood Revitalization Zone Committee meets at the Otis Library (hope no one is in need of handicap parking as there is none, zilch, at the library. How odd is that?). You won't find out who the members are from the City of Norwich Website, but here's the most recent meeting minutes (NOT from 11 November, but rather), 14 October's meeting.

And at 7 PM, at 23 Union Street it's the Zoning Board of Appeals. Here's their agenda from last month's meeting, though no minutes, as required by public law, are posted. (not meant as criticism--a lot of us only follow the laws we like, see cell phone use while driving as an example.)

On Wednesday, made possible by a grant of the 'We Love Meetings that Start on the Quarter Hour, Kenny Can Go Stuff Himself' ad hoc group, the Rehabilitation Review Committee meets 8:45 AM at 23 Union Street. Here's what went on at their November meeting. Later in the afternoon, the Norwich Housing Authority meets at 10 Westwood Park and there's a meeting of the Board of Review of Dangerous Buildings at 5:30 at 23 Union Street, though there's no current meeting minutes on line so I have little idea of their agenda.

The Baseball Stadium Authority meets at 6 PM in City Hall. I couldn't find their November meeting minutes on line, but I did find the October minutes to be well worth reading, about 239,000 dollars worth, point in fact. Also at six, across town at the New Asia Buffett on Boswell Avenue, is a meeting of the Greeneville Neighborhood Revitalization Zone Committee and that's it as Mark B has also shared the regular meeting of the Public Safety Committee (in Taftville Fire House) has been cancelled (we are all fortunate that he chooses to use his power only for good. I have a request already in for pony rides for my birthday-I'll let you know how that turns out.)

The 'days to' countdown is in full swing, and I hope you don't find yourself as roadkill under Santa's Sleigh as the days dwindle down. This time next month we, as a city will be talking more (and more seriously) about the Norwich SemiSeptennial (and what we can afford) as those who are thinking about running for office, be it Board of Education, City Council or Mayor, start to think harder. But there's some winter weather and a budget to get to and through before all of that becomes all of this. Otherwise, 'it's just a long long long lonely taxi ride. Going nowhere.'
-bill kenny