Joshua Mamis

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Justin Mamis, 1929-2019

If you have found your way to this site, you may have known Justin Mamis from his career as a stock market analyst and technician. You might have known him from his books on the stock market. Or you might have known him from his days as a novelist and playwright. It’s possible that you were a classmate of his at Yale, or played baseball with him in the low level of the minor leagues. You might have played him in a senior tennis tournament. In any case, as you can see from the headline, my father passed away early on the morning of September 22, 2019, at 90 years old, after a long struggle with Alzheimer’s Disease. The following are eulogies delivered at his memorial service by his four children in order of how they were presented that day, which just happened to be from oldest to youngest.

Toby Mamis

Thanks dad.  Thanks for imbuing in me a love for and appreciation of reading and writing.   Without that, I wouldn’t be who I am today, for better or worse. 

Thanks dad.  Thanks for teaching me to play and love baseball.   Patiently pitching to me in Vermont, when my age was still a single digit.  Taking me to Yankee Stadium so often. And taking me to Fenway Park and showing me where you’d buy the cheaper unofficial program and the cheaper peanuts outside

Thanks especially for taking me to my first World Series game in 1964 against the Cardinals, which unfortunately they won on a 10th inninng Tim McCarver homer.  I’ve been lucky enough to go to dozens of World Series games since, some very memorable ones, but that memory is the one that means the most.

A few years ago, we gathered together nearly all the Mamis guys – dad, me, Josh, Max and Noah – Sacha was unfortunately in Switzerland – and we went to a Yankee game together.  That was really special.

Thanks dad.  Thanks for supporting me, perhaps somewhat quizzically, as I became politically active in 8th grade and beyond.  And for supporting me when I started my own high school underground newspaper.  And for supporting me when I dropped out of Stuyvesant after my junior year to start, with some friends, my own high school. Literally.  A free alternative high school, a noble experiment in unstructured student-run education.  You were there for me every step of the way. 

Thanks dad.  Thanks for being there the two times I was arrested.  I was 15 and arrested for breaking INTO Washington Irving HS during the 1968 teacher’s strike, and he was at the precinct within half an hour.   And when I was picked up in Mequon, Wisconsin and accused of being a runaway (police harassment at an underground newspaper conference).  Dad later said they asked him if I had his permission to be in Mequon or was I a runaway, and he said “he absolutely has our permision, this sounds like something from Nazi Germany.” 

Thanks dad.  Thanks for all the days and weeks we got to ski together from 1996 into 2014, and for that fateful first ski trip to Deer Valley, without which I might never have ended up moving to Park City in 2004, which has been so life-changing for me.  I don’t think you ever thought, at 69 in 1998 that you would ski as much as you did for as long as you did, but you did ski all the way to 85, and there’s no doubt in my mind that it enhanced your life.

Thanks dad.

Lisa Obrist-Mamis

For dad

“It occurred to Pooh and Piglet that they hadn’t heard from Eeyore for several days, so they put on their hats and coats and trotted across the Hundred Acre Wood to Eeyore’s house. Inside the house was Eeyore.

“Hello Eeyore,” said Pooh.

“Hello Pooh. Hello Piglet” said Eeyore, in a Glum sounding voice.

“We just thought we’d check on you,” said Piglet, “because we hadn’t heard from you, and so we wanted to know if you were okay.”

Eeyore was silent for a moment. “Am I okay?” he asked, eventually. “Well, I don’t know, to be honest. Are any of us really okay? That’s what I ask myself.

All I can tell you, Pooh and Piglet, is that right now I feel really rather Sad, and Alone, and Not Much Fun To Be Around At All.Which is why I haven’t bothered you. Because you wouldn’t want to waste your time hanging out with someone who is Sad, and Alone, and Not Much Fun To Be Around At All, would you now.”

Pooh looked at Piglet, and Piglet looked at Pooh, and they both sat down, one on either side of Eeyore in his stick house.

Eeyore looked at them in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“We’re sitting here with you,” said Pooh, “because we are your friends. And true friends don’t care if someone is feeling Sad, or Alone, or Not Much Fun To Be Around At All. True friends (AND family) are there for you anyway. And so here we are.”

“Oh,” said Eeyore. “Oh.” And the three of them sat there in silence, and while Pooh and Piglet said nothing at all; somehow, almost imperceptibly, Eeyore started to feel a very tiny little bit better. Because Pooh and Piglet were There. No more; no less.”

I guess we all know who my father was in that story!

I could tell you about how much my father gave me: my love of literature, music, lots of music, theater (of course), his sense of whimsy and playfulness, his introspective and reflective nature — all those things — and more — would be true. But what I most treasure that he gave me, is a curiosity about and an understanding of people. When I got cold feet at the moment my husband Jürg and I were offered the chance to adopt an about -to-be-born baby after a long and painful battle trying to conceive — I called my father and expressed my sudden doubts. He replied: “How can you say no to a human life?

Well that clinched the deal for me. And so for you, all my family and friends, in dad’s spirit and in his memory, I quote Wordsworth:

“A child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts.”

Love you forever,

Lisa

Joshua Mamis

When I was helping put together my father’s obituary (posted at the end of this thread), I did something he would never do. I followed conventional wisdom.

I did the expected. I accepted the normal narrative. Even while writing it, I knew that it would not capture the essence of who he was.

What did I do? I started by writing about his career.

We all know that, with a few exceptions, people are so much more than what they did for a living. But my father’s life, like most of us, was more complicated even than that.

So yes, he was a stock market analyst. A technician. A master of the charts. A writer of books. Every weekend of my life until just a few years ago, he’d take out a stack of charts that map the ups and downs of individual stocks, take out his pencil and a ruler, and mark up the trend lines.

He did very well. But I don’t think it was his reading of charts alone that brought him to the attention of investors and financial pundits.

It was also because my father was a gifted writer, and, more importantly, an iconoclast, “a person who attacks settled beliefs or institutions,” according to Merriam-Webster. (He also used to call himself an anarchist, but that’s another story.) He was an iconoclast in his heart and in his soul, and he brought this sensibility to writing about the stock market. He integrated his thinking on world events, on literature, on philosophy, on contemporary culture. He was skeptical about conventional thinking on the markets. His writer’s voice made him unique.

I started with that because the career is the easy part. The man is much harder.

So I’ll just say this straight out. For much of his life, my father was, some would say, feisty. Others might use harsher words. There’s no doubt that he was, as they say today, “challenging.” He tested people with barbs and teasing, sometimes it seemed he would judge their character by the way they responded.  In later years he proudly called himself a curmudgeon. He was proudly right.

Sometimes I marveled at his chutzpah and insight. When I was young and impressionable, I’d watch him go to important meetings on Wall Street wearing an inside-out t-shirt.

When we were all devastated by the events of September 11th, he was the first person I wanted to call. “Well,” he said, with his usual insight, “We’re all Israel now.”

I could go on, but instead let me get to the one thing I probably know most about: My father was also iconoclastic as a parent — for many years he was our primary parent. During a time when men expected to have dinner on the table when they came home from work, he came home from work and put dinner on the table. But as was his wont, his parenting meant so much more than making sure there was food to eat. That was where his parenting began, but not where it ended.

The best way for me to illustrate what I mean by this is to read an excerpt from a blog I wrote for work a few years ago for Father’s Day:

“When I was 7 years old my father took me to see a Neil Simonesque Broadway comedy called ‘Luv.’ It was 1964. … I have vague memories of the show even today.…

“Watching the actors tell a story on a stage triggered my 7-year-old imagination. When we got home I sat down and wrote my own play, scrawled on a yellow legal pad. I showed it to my father and he immediately went to his rolltop desk and typed it up. Nothing could have made me feel more validated or taken seriously.”

That etched moment probably has more to do with who I became as a father than anything else. Without making the connection, I always felt determined to honor our son’s passions and tried to take them seriously. I tried in my own way to type them up.

There are other examples: When I was in high school and getting ready for a tennis tournament, he wrote notes to my school that said, “Please excuse Josh early today. He has an appointment in court.”

This was actually credible, because when I was in 6th grade he and my mother filed a lawsuit on my behalf seeking to establish that students have Constitutional Rights. I’ll never forget something he said to a reporter at the time, “They teach kids about the First Amendment, but then they tell them,  ‘This doesn’t apply to you.’”

Many years ago, when I was a young adult, my father told me he needed to talk. I met him down by his apartment near the South Street Seaport, where he was living after his divorce from my mother. We sat in his car during a torrential rain and he told me he was going to remarry. He told me he was going to have another child.

I’m not gonna lie. This wasn’t an easy moment for me. To me, my father was already an old man. Why would he want to do that? I was worried about him; but I was also freaked out about what that might mean to me. Maybe I was going to be replaced, no longer the youngest child, the receiver of his treasured attention.

He explained it all to me. He told me how he deserved to be happy. At that stage in my life I still didn’t get it. (I do now.) But somewhere in all the storm, I heard an answer that stuck with me. I don’t remember his exact words, but basically he said, “being a father was the one thing I was good at.”

What I said then wasn’t very nice, but the phrase that comes to mind now is a prompt from what I understand to be one of the rules of improvisation. “Yes, and…”

Yes, he was. And … he was also a talented writer and a playwright. And …. He was a well-known stock market technician. And … he was a husband. … And he was a reader of literature and philosophy and whatever else struck his fancy. And … he had a taste for contemporary atonal and dissonant music … And … he was an athlete, who played semi-pro baseball, senior tennis tournaments, and became, late in life, an avid skier.

He was a person who always challenged himself to learn more, dive deeper, and rarely took the conventional route. These paths almost always led to a worthy destination.

It hasn’t always been easy. Early in life he had to find the strength and will to overcome some difficult circumstances. He was quick to recognize wrongs and slights and injustices, and was compelled to confront them when he did. But as any iconoclast will tell you, easy is not what living a full life is about.

OK, well, I was going to end this piece here. But sitting next to him on Saturday and listening to his final breaths I thought of something else.

Losing someone we love is sad, and we mourn, and we miss. As I sat beside him, I wrestled with the terrible thought that this was not how I want to remember him. I want to remember how much he enjoyed the gelato in Florence. I want to remember our first Marx Brothers movie together. I want to remember the thrill of the time we played tennis in Central Park when, for the first time, both of us felt like we were hitting the ball really well. Or driving across country together — twice. I want to remember taking a walk in the hills around Palm Springs and talking through a tough time I was having. (I had decided to quit the tennis team in college, and was scared of how he might react. He said, “good,” and we ended up having a nice walk together.) I want to remember his life, not his death. I want to turn this sad occasion into a celebration of his life.

Perhaps one of the most important things of all that I want to remember is that despite all the emotional ups and downs and challenges and harsh words, somehow he did the least expected thing of all. He showed me, and taught me, how to love.

Noah Mamis

Noah spoke eloquently from his notes, about our father’s relationship with his birth name (Jacob) and his wrestling with what it means to be Jewish. Which is kind of the like the TV Guide synopsis of a complex, multi-season drama. I hope to be able to post something from Noah in the near future.

The Obituary

The following was published in the Newark Star-Ledger because, as my father would have wanted me to point out, The New York Times is insanely expensive.

Justin Enoch Mamis, a leading stock market analyst/technician, died at his home In Watchung, NJ on September 22nd.

The author of three well-regarded books on the stock market, When to Sell (co-written with his brother Robert), How to Buy, and The Nature of Risk, he was also the co-founder, with Stan Weinstein, of the influential stock market periodical The Professional Tape Reader. Later he founded his own Mamis Letter, before retiring in 2014. Barron’s called When to Sell “a classic among the cognoscenti who know that selling discipline is the least appreciated, and perhaps most difficult, of investment decisions.”

Mamis eschewed traditional stock market analysis, and instead kept painstaking records of stock activity through charting. He “saw portents of change in trend lines of stocks,” as Bloomberg News put it. When he retired, several market letters and columnists published tributes to his 50+ year career as a market forecaster and technical analyst.

Born Feb. 18, 1929 in Providence Rhode Island, and raised in Newton Centre, Mass., Mamis attended Yale, where he was named Scholar of the House, graduating in 1950. After serving as a Second Lieutenant in the Korean War, he published a novel, Love (Stein & Day, 1964) to excellent reviews. As a young playwright he was a member of the prestigious New Dramatists in New York City.

Mamis’ first marriage, to Nancy Braverman, ended in divorce. He is survived by wife Susan Fry Mamis and four children: Toby Mamis, Lisa Obrist-Mamis with husband Jürg Obrist, Joshua Mamis with wife Julie Fraenkel, and Noah Mamis with fiancé Jason Ziplow, and grandsons Max Mamis and Sacha Obrist.

Mamis was a semi-pro baseball player, a ranked senior tennis player, and an avid skier. An iconoclast and a fighter, Mamis fought hard against Alzheimer’s until the very end. Much loved, he will be sorely  missed.

Services will be Tuesday, September 24 at 11 AM, at Temple Sinai, 208 Summit Avenue, Summit NJ.

The family has suggested donations in Justin Mamis’ memory to the following non-profits: City Harvest and Part the Cloud, an organization that fund’s Alzheimer’s research.

To the Public Editor of The New York Times

The following is slightly edited from an actual email I sent to the public editor of The New York Times about a story in the September 23 edition about a community conflict in Brooklyn — a flash point for gentrification in the last decade — over the plan to send white students to a predominantly minority school.

From: Joshua Mamis <famis@snet.net>
Date: September 23, 2015 at 6:26:33 AM EDT
To: “public@nytimes.com” <public@nytimes.com>
Subject: Race and Class Collide

The New York Times is a great newspaper; I grew up reading it and still get home delivery at 58 years old.

But sometimes its quest for “balance” and neat narrative can be tortured and unsupported.

Case in point: this morning’s front page story “Race and Class Collide in a Plan for Two Schools.”

The story claims that the proposal to alleviate overcrowding in a mostly white school by sending children to a predominantly minority school has drawn opposition from “both sides,” white parents from P.S. 8 and, “Some residents of the housing project served by P.S. 307” who are “worried about how an influx of wealthy, mostly white families could change their school.”

But the story doesn’t quote a single P.S. 307 parent voicing that “worry.” What they did say is far more revealing, but does not fit the neat narrative of resistance to integration coming from both black and white families. The writer summarizes the concerns expressed at a meeting as parents voicing fears “that their children would no longer be allowed to attend P.S. 307,” not as a resistance to incorporating wealthy white kids into their classrooms.  And the only actual quote from a 307 parent at this meeting can be read in that context: The parent says she “has no problem working with anybody,” but says, “I’m not going to let anybody take from my daughter.” So she isn’t resisting integration; she’s fearful her school will be ripped out from under her.

The end of the story even quotes a parent at P.S. 307 inviting the white parents to visit, and to “stop looking down on one another.” Where’s the worry that white families will change the school?

This story hides the racism and entitlement of white parents behind a veneer of “both sides” having prejudices, and ignores the voices who are telling The Times that when white needs bump up against their community they lose. It is doing the P.S. 307 parents and Times readers a disservice.

Respectfully,

Joshua Mamis
Branford, CT

 

Will the Real Expressive Individualist Please Stand Up?

bernie-sanders-portrait-03

A recent New York Times op-ed column by David Brooks ponders the question of why four outside-the-mainstream candidates are causing such a ruckus. He considers Trump, Carson, Sanders, and England’s Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn “the anti-party men,” all pandering to a phenomenon he calls “expressive individualism” as opposed to a communitarian philosophy of building coalitions and “tolerating differences.”

Fair enough. Brooks can be an interesting observer. But I almost stopped reading when I came to this willfully uninformed sentence:

“These four anti-party men have little experience in the profession of governing.”

My editor’s red light lit up. Let’s review:

Trump? Check. Dr. Carson? Obviously. Corbyn? Maybe. (Though being dissed by Brooks as a “tolerated dotty uncle” doesn’t necessarily offset 30-plus years as a Member of Parliament.)

But why lump US Senator Bernie Sanders in with a pair of politically inexperienced party-disrupting American loud-mouths?

The subtle dig at Bernie Sanders has become something of a New York Times pastime, but this one is particularly mind-numbing.

Sanders has “experience” governing going back to 1981 through two of our three branches of government. I have written in this space before about how Sanders ran the city of Burlington, Vermont with stunning efficiency. I think he may even have surprised himself with his focused management, knack for hiring great administrators, and his buck-stops-here approach, making sure that streets were plowed, garbage picked up, and citizens’ complaints were handled and resolved quickly and respectfully. Say what you want to about his lowercase “s” socialism, but this guy proved in his stint as mayor that he knows how to run an executive branch – albeit in a small city.

I’m not suggesting that running one tiny, but thriving, city alone qualifies him to run the massive minefield known as the federal government. But Brooks is surely aware that Sanders has served a quarter of a century in the US Congress, which clearly qualifies as significant “experience” in governing. As a member of the legislative branch, Sanders distinguished himself for 16 years as Vermont’s lone US Representative and later as US Senator — always as a political Independent, which couldn’t have been easy. Despite philosophical differences with his colleagues in both parties, Sanders proved that he could work productively with people who don’t share his core beliefs, and that he could, well, govern.

So I had to take a couple of deep breaths before deciding to forge on. Brooks rewarded my persistence with more politically blindered hot air, when it finally occurred to me that he has it topsy-turvy.

After a few paragraphs rehashing some fairly obvious tropes about how we, as a nation, have always had a tension between what Brooks calls “self and society,” and about how “compromise and coalition-building” has become “a dirty and tainted activity,” the Times’ moderate house conservative concludes with this:

“I wonder what would happen if a sensible Donald Trump appeared – a former cabinet secretary or somebody who could express the disgust for the political system many people feel, but who instead of adding to the cycle of cynicism, channeled it into citizenship, into the notion that we are still one people, compelled by love of country to live with one another, and charged with the responsibility to make the compromises, build the coalition, practice messy politics and sustain the institutions that throughout history have made national greatness possible.”

In other words, someone who campaigned on the theme of bipartisanship, someone who repeatedly said: “We aren’t red states. We aren’t blue states. We’re the United States”? Someone who held dear to his belief, against all evidence and odds (and probably to a fault), that he could find common ground with his political opponents?

Did Brooks forget that guy already?

We’ve been living with this “sensible” leader for 7 years. We know exactly what happened: Compromise, coalition building, and bipartisanship were no match for the bullies and experienced loudmouths who see Brooks’ vaulted philosophy as naiveté and weakness, and put their own quest for power and riches ahead of “love of country.”

Perhaps that’s another reason these “anti-party” juggernauts have hit a nerve: even the most politically mature voters, those of us who understand the art of compromise, have seen how this plays out. Brooks’ nostalgic vision is as outdated as the old Kremlin Hot Line. If the last 7 years prove anything, it’s that the winners in Washington are the ones who shout the loudest. As voters, we’ve been taught, carefully taught, that if we want to elect leaders who reflect our own values, we have no choice but to align ourselves with the candidate with the biggest megaphone.

And that’s where Brooks has Sanders exactly wrong. He’s not an “anti-party” outlier. He’s an experienced — read that again, Mr. Brooks — politician running on the same platform he has always run on — and won. Brooks’ words above, so wistfully crafted about electing a leader with community spirit and a love of the United States of America, could almost be as accurately applied to how Bernie Sanders has acquitted himself as a politician, especially in terms of treating opponents with respect, as they could be applied to President Obama. (Though admittedly Sanders is less likely to compromise his core principles.)

Though I fear that the conventional wisdom is right — that Sanders is too far out of the mainstream to be elected — his surprisingly successful campaign to date isn’t because of some “expressive individualism” taking root among the rank-and-file. It’s a recognition by his supporters that it’s our standard issue elected officials themselves who have drank the “expressive individualism” Kool-Aid, and are behaving, not as some “citizens of a joint national project,” but as if they have, in Brooks’ words, “congregate[d] in an  ideological bubble,” convinced that “the purest example of their type” will win.

The anti-partiers are among the members and leadership of the House and Senate. Trump and Dr. Carson are just screaming to get in.

 

The Chutzpah Of Harpo and Keith

I never thought of Harpo Marx as a personal inspiration until recently. And this  jumpin’ jack flash of insight hit me with a revelation that also explained my fascination with the genius of Keith Richards.  Let me explain.

The other day I happened to see Harpo Marx make a guest appearance on a rerun of his brother Groucho’s game show, “You Bet Your Life.”

Harpo, of course, did not “say the magic word” and therefore did not win $100.

He did honk, smile, and nod all the while promoting his then-just-published autobiography “Harpo Speaks.”

HarpoAfter looking for a copy at the Best Used Bookstore in Connecticut, Niantic’s Book Barn, I did the next best thing: I requested it from the public library system.

Two days later I couldn’t stop reading it. From second grade on, when he dropped out after tossed from the first floor window of his school, Harpo, like his other brother Chico, could do nothing less than follow his own inner voice. He proudly describes a lifetime of gags, antics, practical jokes, imitating other people,  teaching himself how to play the harp …  all while becoming the best comedic mime of the 20th century.

The book is a tribute to damning convention and having fun while everyone else is, metaphorically at least, wearing a tie to work every day. (When Harpo has to wear a tie in order to get into a Monte Carlo casino he takes off his sock and fashions it into a bow tie.)

What does this have to do with the better half of the Glimmer Twins?

Since he learned to play guitar, Keith Richards never wanted to do anything else but play rock & roll. He didn’t pay much attention to social conventions, or follow anything close to a traditional path. Yes, it nearly killed him, but that isn’t the point. It also led to blending R&B, blues, country and British Invasion pop to creating one of the greatest bodies of work in popular music history.

Now here’s a quote from Keith Richards, from the easy-reading oral history, “According to theRolling Stones”:

rolling stones

“I’ve always felt totally blessed. I’ve never said ‘yes sir’ since I left school and people have paid      me to do it. Sometimes you feel like you’ve been given this license to lead a life that everybody else wants to lead or thinks they want to lead if they could  …”

Genius is like that. When I was in high school my father used to go to meetings on Wall Street wearing inside-out t-shirts. They were leftovers from my brother’s cast-offs of rock & roll swag. (The one I remember best had a photo of Paul Anka with the tag “I Don’t Like to Sleep Alone.”) Then he got so successful he felt like he had to dress the part. I always felt a little sad about that.

Harpo would have, too.

 

Talkin’ Bush at the Backyard Barbecue

It’s barbecue time. When you find yourself gathered with family and friends, sharing a glass of something cool and refreshing, someone is bound to proclaim that, as a moderate Republican, Jeb Bush is an acceptable alternative to the Democrats. After all, he supports the Common Core standards, and would like to pass some sort of immigration reform. They read that Bush is a moderate in the paper, or heard it on the news, so it must be true, right?

179120_421204541255166_762881055_n

Well, no. Here’s why:

Bush supported the Iraq War. Bush was in the news this week, back-pedaling from a statement he made on Fox News in which he said that had he been president in 2003, he would have invaded Iraq. But don’t be fooled by his claim of having misunderstood the question. Jeb Bush was and still is ideologically in line with his brother’s zealously hawkish foreign policy team (some of whom are on a list of his advisors for his presidential run). In the late ‘ 90s Jeb helped found the Project for a New American Century (PNAC) that called for the overthrow of Saddam Hussein. Founding members included Donald Rumsfeld and Paul Wolfowitz. Remember them?

Jeb Bush is against raising the federal minimum wage, and has questioned the need for national standards at all. He argued at a campaign stop in South Carolina in March that “We need to leave it to the private sector. … I think state minimum wages are fine. The federal government shouldn’t be doing this.” He went on, “The federal government doing this will make it harder and harder for the first rung of the ladder to be reached, particularly for young people, particularly for people that have less education.”

Bush doesn’t believe that mankind is responsible for global warming. Bush says he is a “skeptic” on the idea that global warming is caused by human activities, and says that the scientific assessment is not “unanimous.”

He opposes Obamacare. He calls the Affordable Care Act a “job killer.”

He would approve the Keystone XL Pipeline. He says that approving it is a “no-brainer.”

He is anti-abortion. As governor, he was proud of passing restrictions on abortion rights, including regulating abortion facilities, because he wanted “to create a culture of life in our state.” In early May, an advisor declared that Bush advocated de-funding Planned Parenthood.

Jeb “Stand Your Ground” Bush loves the NRA. “I will match my record against anyone else when it comes to support and defense of the Second Amendment,” Bush said at the National Rifle Association convention last April. According to a story in USA Today, Bush’s speech included a swipe at President Obama over gun rights: “Why don’t you focus more on keeping weapons out of the hands of Islamic terrorists and less on keeping them out of the hands of law abiding Americans?,” he said.

For Bush, education reform has been fueled by corporate profits. Bush’s much-hyped education record in Florida has had mixed results, according to this in-depth story in The New Yorker. It also reveals that it is deeply entwined with helping his corporate backers make lots and lots and lots of money. As Watergate taught us, the best way to assess a politician’s true colors is to follow the money.

new yorker

A good summary of Governor Bush’s record can be found in this Salon interview with University of Northern Florida professor Matthew Corrigan, who wrote a book on Governor Bush called “Conservative Hurricane: How Jeb Bush Remade Florida.” Here’s a revealing quote from the Q and A:

“While he was governor, [Bush] called himself probably the most pro-life governor of modern times; he had the Terri Schiavo intervention. He was very strong on gun rights; ‘stand your ground’ was passed under his time as governor. He started a faith-based prison in which prisoners — who, I believe, volunteered and were put through religious counseling as a final step toward rehabilitation. Oh, and of course he ended affirmative action by executive order, in a very controversial way, on a state level. If you take all that, that’s a fairly robust social and cultural agenda.”

 

 

Watch This

Beer isn’t wine. Watches aren’t computers. Chamber music should be played in Volvos.

Three wonderfully creative ads have popped up this year, each lampooning pretension. Knocking  elites has always a good strategy for politicians looking to woo working class voters, so these ads from Budweiser, Shinola, and Dodge are very likely foreshadowing a major theme of the guaranteed to be interminable 2016 presidential campaign.

You don’t swish and sniff and sip and spit when you sample beer. And if you do, well, you’re not going to be drinking “macro-brewed” Bud anyway. Yes, Budweiser knows its brand well — that’s why its controversial “Brewed the Hard Way” Super Bowl ad is now running during baseball games.

Even more brilliant is this wonderful hijacking of the Apple watch rollout that ran in The New York Times. Shinola, a company at the epicenter of the Detroit renaissance, produces inspiring classic designs of watches, leather goods, and bicycles.

shinola-apple

Shinola is appealing because it makes things right here in the USA, simultaneously representing the heyday of American manufacturing, and a new, creative-class driven future. It’s a tomorrowland in which a $550 watch that doesn’t connect with your pocket-sized computer is more desirable than a $375 watch that does. At these prices, the target consumer here isn’t exactly blue collar, but the ad nevertheless joyfully thumbs its nose at elitist trend-followers.

Apple watches? We don’t need no stinking Apple Watches, the ad essentially proclaims. Our watch “can tell you the time just by looking at it.”

The ad is a masterstroke of anti-elitism elitism — poking fun at Apple’s design snobbery in order to attract people so hip they can afford to reject it, both culturally (it’s a badge signifying the wearer’s do-good bonafides) and economically. I’d take my hat off to them if only Shinola was also reinventing the Fedora.

I’ve been guilty of anti-snobbery snobbery on occasion, too, labeling someone or other as an NPR-listening liberal (somehow the worst kind).  Shinola clearly has someone with my taste and politics in mind (only with an extra digit or two in their bank account) when they design their retro-yet-modern product lines, and especially when they develop their marketing plan.

 

Finally, we come to the Dodge Challenger “Not So Fast and Furious”  TV spot, in which a hapless male driver confesses to a cop that he is listening to chamber music after being pulled over for driving too slow. This one could be an ad for Ted Cruz: you can almost hear the cop sneer, “I bet you support Hillary, too.”

Anti-intellectualism and anti-elitism are the common thread among the far-right populist uprisings, especially among those who are too glibly described as Fox-news-watching conservatives.  While to that crowd Obama is extra uppity because he is an unabashed egghead, the urge to thumb our collective noses at smart people doesn’t always recognize cultural divisions. Kids in all kinds of schools reportedly worry about being too bookish. And expertise is derided from both libertarian-leaners and the loony left: Climate change? What do those Ivy League scientists know anyway? Vaccines? Not for my kids.

But anti-intellectualsim and anti-elitism are not the same thing. George W. Bush is as elite as they come — son of a president, and Ivy League educated. But his, and Karl Rove’s, particular genius was that you can market these candidates any way you want. Bush, a smarter man than most on the left give him credit for, is no intellectual, which somehow made him immune to the charge of being elite.

Now come the politicians and their highly paid consultants  rushing prematurely to 2016.  Liberal smarty pants elites like me will be the point-blank target for both camps, either as an object of derision, or, where Hillary is concerned, as a would-be Shinola customer capable of bundling a few dollars toward her coronation. After all, I must confess:

  • I prefer local, micro-brewed beer, especially Thimble Island Brewery‘s American Ale. But I have never sniffed it.
  • I like Shinola’s watches. I’d probably buy one, too. If they were more affordable.
  • I’m a proud Mini Cooper driver — no Dodge Challenger for me.  And that’s not chamber music you hear when you pass me with my sun roof open, it’s Sondheim.

Just to rub it in, when the Mini  salesman was helping me set up the radio buttons, I asked him to set one to 90.5, the local NPR station. He looked at me knowingly.

“What,” I said. “Am I that obvious?”

His smirk said it all. He didn’t have to answer.

Memo to said salesman: I do not support Hillary Clinton.

There, I feel better.

 

Rosa Colored Glasses

During my years editing the New Haven Advocate I was not a fan of our elected (and elected and elected, etc., etc.) member of congress, Rosa DeLauro.

I arrived in New Haven in 1993, when the promise of the end of Cold War was still fresh. There was actually buzz about how we would be able to redirect military spending and invest in our infrastructure, build homes for the homeless, feed the hungry, reduce teen pregnancy.

Yet somehow the military spenders soldiered on, hoisting the banner of “preparedness.” We had to maintain our capacity to build nuclear subs, was one of their arguments — thus saving jobs at Groton’s Electric Boat. And there was our Rosa DeLauro among them, saving jobs by maintaining our ability to build bigger and faster and better weaponry.

A few decades (and elections and elections and elections) later, I have done a 180.

My experience at United Way of Greater New Haven has shown me that DeLauro is an effective advocate in Washington for issues that matter: ending homelessness, feeding hungry kids, protecting workers (especially women), keeping our food safe.

I had the opportunity to cover a panel discussion Monday night featuring DeLauro and Maryland Congressman John Sarbanes (at left in photo) about publicly financed elections, for the New Haven Independent. Sarbanes’ “Government By the People Act” is certainly a step in the right direction.

DeLauro was riled up at the panel, raising her fist against the march toward fast-tracking the Trans-Pacific Partnership, another dastardly trade deal engineered by “new” Democrats, including the Obama administration, in concert with their corporate and industrial masters and their paid lobbyists, with plenty of Republican support. The negotiations are proceeding largely in secret, and the leaked details have shown the potential for the deal to weaken our environmental and food safety regs, and displace still more workers.

I checked the Independent story a few minutes ago, and I hear my old inner voice in some of the comments that have been posted in response: a deep cynicism that says that publicly financed elections can’t work, a similar distrust of DeLauro herself, especially since she has proven pretty adept at building an enormous war chest.

There’s some truth to these critiques. But there’s truth, as well, to the Rosa DeLauro who is unafraid to challenge President Obama on free trade. Who has delivered on food safety, family leave, and homelessness, and more.

Last November was the first time I was proud to pull the lever for Rosa DeLauro.  Last Monday night reminded me of why.