Massacre at Newtown: A Defining Moment for America
• December 20, 2012

It seems to me that there were so many things on our mind before last Friday afternoon. The newspapers and television news and blogs were full of talk about the approaching appointment with the Fiscal Cliff. We buzzed here locally about who was going to start at quarterback for the Washington Redskins on Sunday—and who was going to be the next Secretary of State, this town being what it is.

People were out Christmas shopping. The streets and many shops were clogged, and the highways were full of irritations. Burl Ives once again ruled with his Christmas song on the radio, and people had already folded in a shooting-with-casualties at a mall in Oregon as if it was the latest among many such horrors that were now part of our daily lives. We were getting used to news like that.

On AOL news in the early afternoon, there was a vague, undetailed reference to gunfire at a school in Connecticut, and that the shooter was dead. I saw it briefly, it nagged at me as a kind of “another one already,” and I promptly forgot about it.

About an hour later—precision was not the mainstay of the day—that little note had become a big headline: 28 or 27 dead in elementary school shooting; 18 children dead. (It ended up to be 20 children dead). I stared at the headline, and there was a picture of I don’t remember what. The numbers were staggering, shocking, almost impossible to take in. And so that day truly began, and we were swallowed up in it whole.

The details only got worse: 20 children, ages six and seven, more girls than boys, and six teachers and administrators had been killed, gunned down by a young man armed with an assault rifle and more in the space of a few minutes at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn., a small (27,000 plus) commuter town were such monstrosities are never imagined even in the darkest of nights.

Initially, the story emerged in half-truths and confusion, misinformation that seemed to be coming from the shock and fog of a kind of war in which small children and their protectors were the victims of an act, which so far defied any real clues as to motivation and appeared to be beyond understanding.

It pinned us all to our hearts, as we watched and listened. I think and suspect that even in our sleep we saw the children, all the children we knew and thought about them, and embraced them and comforted them and tried to save them in a dream we never dreamt. We saw anguished parents rushing to the parking lot of the school, as if driven by demons. We saw children rushing out. We heard conflicting information about the killer, first misidentified as his brother, and about his mother, who was first believed to be a kindergarten teacher at Sandy Hook, but turned out to have no connection to the school. She was killed by her son in the home she shared with him before he embarked with grim purpose on his journey to the school, dressed in video death game black, armed with two handguns and the semi-automatic weapon.

His name was Adam Lanza and his mother’s name was Nancy. He killed himself when he heard approaching policemen enter the school, but he had enough ammunition to do much more damage than he did. What he did was bad enough. Just days before Christmas, he robbed parents of their children, and everyone else’s hopes for the season.

No point in dwelling on him, beyond the morbid curiosity that sparks such interest. I remembered my son, now in his forties and living in Las Vegas, when he was that age. I still remember how it felt when he bit his tongue in a spatter of blood when he was only two or so, and how for some seconds, I could not breathe. I could only imagine the pain of the parents—because when your children are that young, you want them first and ever to be safe and because you think a breath will knock them down. A paper cut looks like tragedy, and you love them more than yourself.

Immediately, the television chorus read the litany of other names—Aurora, Colo., the shootings at Fort Hood, the killings at Columbine, the precursor of every shot fired in calculated madness on school grounds, the killings at a Sikh Temple in Wisconsin, at McDonald’s, in work places, in parking lots and malls.

But this . . . this man targeted children, the children of Newtown, to be sure, but all our children, just the same. I live now in a neighborhood of new children, if you will, there’s been a baby boom of new young parents in the last decade. I’ve seen a generation growing up, from the ground up, so to speak—a new baby across the street. Samantha and her dog Edith down the street, Patrick around the corner and all the kids at the daycare center. I thought about them through the weekend.

The tragedy was a reminder that the President of the United States is a parent as well as a president, no more so than in his initial reaction to the tragedy, when he was speaking of the children and said “they were beautiful little kids.” He stopped, for a few second obviously stricken. It made headlines on the news—the president cried.

We all did, in one way or another. We forgot ourselves and thought of others, what consolation might come and when. And in the chronicles of the Newtown Bee, the local newspaper, there were tales of vigils, and pictures of stuffed animals, and glasses with candles, and services and memories of the victims, and the heroic sacrifices of the teachers and the first responders. All of this has been chronicled and don’t bear repeating by me, but none of it will be forgotten.

And now—and if not now, then when?—the debate, the cry for legislation, for gun safety, for a great national debate, or even—with great hope—a grass roots, parent-led movement that might take on our culture which has variously been called a culture of violence, guns or death. It should include from the view of non-but-not-un-Americans a puzzlement at this country’s attachment to guns, its almost defiant embrace of shooting targets, beer cans, critters and human beings—or as one congressman from Texas suggested that if the principal of the school had had an automatic pistol, she could have blown his head off.

This we know: the National Rifle Association, somewhat like a Grover Norquist on no tax increases, have a mysterious power to exact political allegiance on pain of losing elections in support of the right to bear arms, which not coincidentally benefits the manufacturers of guns enormously. We know for a fact that we lead the world in mass shootings, and homicides by gun, automatic or otherwise. We know that as the president and any number of people of good will have said in the wake of this slaying, that “enough is enough.” It is not “guns don’t kill people, people kill people, or even people with mental problems kill people.” Every person who has slaughtered others is different from every other person who has slaughtered people—they lost their jobs, they have been diagnosed as mentally ill, they’re seeking fame, they’re loners, they hate (the U.S., the country, the people that bullied them, their girlfriends, their employees, Batman and Robin, pick one). But they all have one thing in common: they killed numerous people and in this last case, innocent children, with guns. Look for the connection, and there it is, the pop pop sound at various volumes and speeds of guns.

How sad is this, that children should leave their blood in classrooms. How sad are these days: from the pulpit at the Washington National Cathedral, a minister called for action, and children in Christmas red sang “Silent Night” at a TV show’s opening and in a Newtown church fathers hugged their children who hugged their stuffed animals.

Newtown First Selectman Pat Llodra said at the service that “it is a defining moment for Newtown but it will not define us.”

It is a defining moment for the rest of us, also, and what we do—or fail to do—will define us.

Read Globally, Tax Locally
• December 14, 2012

Imagine my surprise.

I was sitting in the lobby of an elegant hotel in Florence, Italy enjoying a glass of wine, listening to a pianist who could make his grand piano sound like an entire orchestra, and reading the International Herald Tribune.

On the front page was an attractive woman, a chiropractor, wearing a forlorn expression. She lives in McLean, Virginia, the Washington, DC suburb where Ted and Bobby Kennedy lived and where finding a condo or house for less than $1 million (or $2 million) is challenging.

She and her husband were worried that taxes on their taxable income above $250,000 might increase by 3.6%. They were wondering whether to close their practice temporarily and take a vacation to avoid higher tax rates that might take place next year.

I thought, “Huh?” until I saw the next paragraph quoting a friend of mine – let’s call him Edward. Edward owns a successful company that his father started 60 years ago. His parents and he have contributed deeply to the fabric of Salisbury, Md. Edward is a really smart guy with a great education. He worked with one of the nation’s largest financial institutions before returning to the family business. He has testified before Congress, served on national boards, and written articles in Washington newspapers about the hazards of regulations and taxes.

Edward said that he wanted to hire four new employees but that he was only going to hire three because his tax bill will increase $100,000 if the Bush tax cut expires.

Come on, Edward. You know better than that. First, an employer hires a new employee only if that employee produces more than he costs. If a new employee’s salary is $50,000, an employer will only hire her she produce at least $50,001 in benefits.

Second, taxes are admittedly complicated. I was a college professor for almost 40 years. Student often thought that “saving taxes”’ was the answer to any question about corporate strategy.

I’d ask, “Do you have $1.”

“Sure.”

“Give it to me.” The student would hand me $1. I’d give him 35 cents, put the $1 in my pocket, and say, “Thanks.” Then I’d ask the class, “Anyone else want to trade $1 for 35 cents?” No one would. No one trades $1 for 35 cents. Students always asked for their $1 back. “No,” I’d say. “That’s the best $1 you’ve spent on your education.”

Edward must be earning over $3 million per year. Here’s the math: how much income multiplied by 3.6% equals $100,000? The answer: over $2.75 million. Since Edward’s taxes won’t increase on his first $250,000, his net income (after expenses) must be over $3 million.

Edward is undoubtedly a terrific businessman. He probably doesn’t want the world to know that he’s making over $3 million per year. But if his taxes are really going up $100,000, he is.

Come on, Edward. Hire that fourth employee. If he’s good, he’ll make you more money than you pay him. And if you’re netting $3 million, you can afford it.

Near-Death Experience Exposes Healthcare Abroad
•

A heavy dizziness like a black cloud engulfed me in a matter of seconds.

“Dad, are you ready?”

Blackout.

“Mom, he’s dead. Wait, he opened his eyes. He’s breathing again.”

A stretcher. An ambulance. The siren. Rolling through a hospital strapped to a bed. A sign that said “Triage” passed above.
Two IV tubes, one in each arm. Connected to machines measuring my heart rate, the oxygen in my blood, respiration, blood pressure (74/36). How low can that go?

An electrocardiogram. Blood being taken from both arms.

A brain scan. A chest X-ray. An abdominal X-ray.

Six hours later, another electrocardiogram. More blood tests.

Two doctors examined me. A half dozen nurses.

Talking to my daughter, Sasha, in Italian.

My daughter, Sasha, is studying art history in Florence, Italy. I visited her and rented an apartment about a half mile from her apartment. (Incidentally, www.homeway.com is the most incredible website if you want to consider an apartment instead of a hotel.)

We had walked six to eight hours a day all over Northern Italy and Paris for two weeks. My legs were sore. Our plan for my last day was to walk the hills around Fiesole, a famously scenic area overlooking the magnificence of this two thousand year old city.
With a sip of orange juice, I took an Aleve to ward off the soreness that was sure to follow. My head started itching. Then my body started itching. I glanced in the mirror. My face was flush red. My hair looked white. Sasha called at that precise moment. “Dad, are you ready?”

Blackout.

I knew I was dying and was out before I hit the floor. She heard my phone drop, ran down three flights of stairs, called an ambulance, found a policeman, and ran the half-mile to my apartment. She was in a panic but didn’t panic. Proficient in Italian after ten weeks, she convinced the police to break the door down.

A medic gave me a shot and I awoke out of anaphylactic shock. Had Sasha called two minutes earlier or one minute later, instead of packing to come home that night, I would have been the baggage.

My doctors in the U.S. are terrific, but my experience in Emergency Rooms has never been good. I’ve waited in pain or nervously four to eight hours to see a nurse or a doctor . . . or to do paperwork. In Italy, the attention was immediate.

The U.S. healthcare system is the only private-insured, employer-based in the world. We seem intent on keeping this system though less than half of U.S. citizens are now covered by employer insurance. In fact, an increasing number of employers are dropping or reducing or shifting the cost of healthcare to their employees.

What nation would create a system that costs almost twice as much as every other nation on earth and expect employers to pay for it – and wonder why its companies face competitive disadvantages in world markets? And results in shorter lifespans? Only the U.S. With average wages in the U.S. being $42,000, few employers can afford to pay $6,000 per employee, or $15,000 for an employee’s family health cost.

Luck smiled on me twice. First, my daughter was alert and decisive. Second, my medical care was incredible.

When we left the hospital ten hours later, the same woman who directed patients entering the hospital prepared my bill. She was embarrassed by how much it was – $525. Frankly, I’d rather pay cash in Italy than deal with insurance in the U.S.

Twelve hours later, I boarded a plane to come home. When I landed in the U.S., I suddenly started to cry. Sasha had saved my life and was now 6,000 miles away. I needed to be near her and couldn’t stop crying.

That was six days ago. Each time I’ve woken since, I’m surprised. Wow. I’m alive.

Letter to the Editor: Jack Wills Union Jack Doormat ‘Disrespectful’
•

To the editors:

This is written to express my concern that a business on Wisconsin Avenue, the first block south of M Street, chooses to use as their doormat at their front entryway, The Union Jack, the national flag of Great Britain. I am writing to say I think this is disrespectful and distasteful — and should be replaced.

Perhaps my point could be better made if the reader considers this: suppose a business in the heart of Georgetown were to use a Stars & Stripes as its front doormat. How long do you think that would last?

Maybe the merchant could shrug in response and reply, “We were trying to complement the historic feel of [Francis Scott Key] Park just up the street.”

Whereupon, I rest my case. Now come on, guys. Really! Doormats are for trodding upon. National flags for honor.

Trevor S. Goodchild
Washington, D.C.

Jack Evans Report: Looking towards 2013
•

We have one more legislative session in Council Period 19, on Dec. 18, and then our year will be over. I wrote in my last article about the dangers of considering over 70 bills at a single sitting, but I think at this point the field has been sufficiently narrowed for a more careful consideration of just a few bills with outstanding items needing resolution.

As I write this, I am also gearing up for another oversight hearing involving our Chief Financial Officer and the Lottery. The hearing will focus on real property issues, the implementation of a newly-created central collections unit, the lottery contract and other matters. Before we know it, we will start a new year and begin our official oversight process in advance of the mayor’s budget submission in March. I am particularly focused on funding additional library hours this year, as well as making sure all our schools have a full-time librarian, music teacher, art teacher and physical education teacher. While I am the first one to say that the District needs to act in a fiscally responsible manner, I want to reiterate that I do not support any public education plan that involves closing Garrison Elementary School or Francis-Stevens School.

Even though I’m elected to be a legislator, I always say half my job is working in the neighborhoods—perhaps the more important half and often the most rewarding. In addition to my focus on education, working to facilitate projects such as the Georgetown Waterfront Park, streetscape enhancements throughout the ward, the convention center hotel, the O and P Streets project in Georgetown, and responding to a tremendous volume of constituent requests is something I really enjoy. Please don’t hesitate to reach out to my office, if there is anything we can ever do for you.

Thank you for your support in reelecting me to my Council position. My swearing in will take place on January 3, 2013, at the Washington Convention Center.

In closing, my family and I, as well as my staff, would like to wish you and yours a happy holiday season. This is always a wonderful time to spend with friends and family and to be thankful for all the blessings we enjoy. This is the last Georgetowner for the year. Happy New Year, and we will see you again in January.

12/12/12: Not for Another 100 Years
•

Wednesday is a big day. It could be a really, really, really big day.

It’s 12/12/12. Or dozen, dozen, dozen, doing the dozens, or December 12, 2012, the 12th day of the 12th month of the 12th year of the 21st century. Don’t you wish you’d been around on 12/12/12 of the 12th century? Just Google it.

In any case, this sort of convenient, coincidental but easy to plan for date doesn’t happen often—this particular series won’t occur again for a hundred years, when the great-great-grandson of the last official member of the tea party goes to his grave, whispering “no new taxes.”

For some, it is also a date in the Mayan calendar, and some people believe that this date, or Dec. 21, will signal the end of all things, or in the very least, no new taxes, and a new hairdo for Miley Cyrus. Dramatic things could occur tomorrow including: the end.

As it is, we’re heading over the cliff, or so it seems, although rumors abound that a deal is in the making, that the key people in the negotiations are having lunch, holding secret meetings that are apparently not secret, and, you know, joy to the world, don’t you worry about a thing, even if it ain’t got that swing.

Tomorrow will see the most significant rock concert in quite a while-the Concert for Sandy Relief, by which New Jersey rock stars Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen and (Gov.) Chris Christie will show up with a few of their friends like Paul McCartney, the Rolling Stones, the wonderful Alicia Keyes, Stevie-Is It Any-Wonder, Eric Clapton, Billy Joel, the Who less two original band members and a host of others, including Brian Williams—who will not sing— at Madison Square Garden. It could be the greatest rock concert ever—and also the last if we believe the people who believe the Mayans. It could be true: there is evidence of a recent archeological find of what are believe to be statues of Mayan or Aztec High Priests, one of whom resembles the current incarnation of Keith Richards, with of an inscription advising believers to go to higher ground. This could, of course, be a spiritual admonition, and certainly should not be taken as a sign to get high.

Be that as it may, it seems 12-12-12 is an encouraging date for wedding planners, who have indicated that it’s a day many more people than usual decided to get married. Possibly, it’s because it’s a day easy to remember which means you cannot ever, ever forget your anniversary.

Oh, happy day, then, tomorrow for brides, grooms and bridesmaids and the makers of “Bridesmaids II” which is bound to happen. Or maybe not, if we go over the cliff, or, if per the Mayan believers, the cliff goes over us. What a honeymoon.
Now how does all this play out in the ongoing cliff debate and the politics of the day.

Well, let’s see:
Dateline—12/12/12. The White House phone is ringing. No answer. The president’s hot line is ringing. No answer. Eric Cantor’s phone is ringing. No answer. Nancy Pelosi’s phone is ringing. No answer. Grover Norquist’s phone is ringing. Taylor Swift’s phone is ringing, and gets only a recording setting out the rules for any future boyfriend. No answer, not even a dial tone. It’s as if the rapture has already begun.

House Speaker John Boehner leaves a message: “Hey, where is everyone? I’m really starting to worry. We’re going over the cliff, if we don’t do something. I’ll do anything. I’ll even raise taxes on Trump … and be glad to do it. You’re fired, my butt. But hey, seriously. Where are you guys? What’s happened? Somebody locked the door to my office, and I can’t get out. What the hell is happening? Somebody call me, please.”

At the White House, President Barack Obama, Eric Cantor, Nancy Pelosi, all the Republican tea party members, the Democratic as well as Republican senators, and Grover Norquist and Taylor Swift are listening to the message. They are all laughing their heads off. “I can’t believe he bought it,” Cantor says. “That was the deal,” the president says. “I’m glad you guys finally agreed. Let’s get this done.” “You mean, you don’t really want us to raise taxes on the rich, right?” Norquist says. “The hell I don’t,” the president says. “You all agreed and you signed the legislation.” Norquist and the rest hem and haw and start to argue.

“That’s it,” the president says. “I’m out of here. Do you want to go to the Sandy concert or not?” They all agree and sign the agreement, which even has a name called The Screwtape Agreement.

They all head out the door. The building starts to shake a little. “What’s that noise?” they all ask.
It’s 12/12/12.

Prepare for the Galactic Alignment.

Fiscal Cliff: How Did It Come To This?
•

Suppose you owed $15,000 and earned $15,000. (Multiply those figures by a billion, and that’s almost what the US economy looks like.) In two weeks, your loan payments are going to increase, and your salary is going down.
That’s a personal fiscal cliff – less income, more expenses.

In federal government budget speak, the fiscal cliff is about taxes going up and spending going down at the same time. Unless something is done to stop it, this will happen in the U.S. on New Year’s Day.

How did this happen?

Twelve years ago, the U.S. economy was generating surpluses – more revenue than spending – for “as far as the eye could see.” In 2001, President George W. Bush pushed a tax cut through Congress that was set to expire in ten years. Why expire? Because a ten year tax cut “costs” less than a permanent tax cut. The ten-year cost was $4 trillion. A permanent tax cut would have cost a lot more. It was the largest tax cut ever. Government revenues decreased. Not until 2006 did income tax revenues catch up to what they were in 2000.

Then, the world changed. The country entered two wars that have cost $1.5 trillion. Congress also expanded Medicare to pay for medications for seniors, another $1 trillion.

The Great Recession that began in 2008 was costly. The Bush bank bailouts cost $800 billion, the Obama stimulus mostly to state and local governments facing massive tax decreases cost another $800 billion, and recession driven unemployment and other safety net costs increased $500. Revenues also declined. Tax receipts declined more than $1 trillion compared to 2007. In fact, in 2012 tax revenues were still lower than they were in 2007.

In 2010, because of the fragile economic recovery, the Bush tax cuts were extended for along with a new payroll tax cut. Price tag for two years: $1 trillion.

The total: $6.5 trillion. A lot of money to be repaid when income tax revenues are only $1.1 trillion per year.

In 2011, Congress imposed a “sequester” automatically cutting $1.2 trillion in spending over the next ten years beginning Jan. 1, 2013. Congress thought it would replace that with a better plan within a year, but it couldn’t.

When New Years 2013 arrives, the Bush tax cuts expire taxes and the sequester spending cuts kick in. $500 billion more revenue. $100 billion less spending. That’s the cliff.

That was the plan, but, now, no one wants it.

Economists say that raising taxes and reducing spending – the ways to resolve the deficit and the debt – that much in one year may cause a recession because 70% of the economy is consumer spending, and people will have less to spend.

Democrats and Republicans agree that the deficit must be reduced by $4 trillion over the next ten years. They don’t agree how to do that. Since doing some now and more later hurts less, that’s what will happen. Taxes will increase a little on the rich and spending cuts will be reduced.

Like pulling off a band-aid slowly, this is going to be painful for a long time.

D2 Bus Operator Caught Reading Newspaper While Driving
•

Hey, we love to see people reading a newspaper . . . but safety first, right? Traveling west of Dupont Circle into Georgetown on Q Street Dec. 3, a commuter at Metrobus’s D2 route photographed the driver of the bus reading the newspaper (looked like the Washington Post or Post Express) with it on the steering wheel as he operated the vehicle. The rider contacted the Washington Metro Area Transit Authority, responsible for the bus in question, and then posted this entry on blog, Unsuck D.C. Metro:
“During my commute last Monday morning on the D2, the bus driver was reading a newspaper for a long stretch of the route, both while the bus was stopped and while it was in motion. I emailed WMATA about this and asked for a specific response, which I thought was reasonable given the seriousness of the safety issue (I mentioned that I’d like to provide them with the attached photos and video). This was a westbound D2, leaving Dupont at 7:30 a.m., bus #3077. [It took a while, but WMATA finally got back to the rider.] I got a call from someone in WMATA customer service this morning, telling me they’d started a proceeding against the driver in question. The guy gave me the name and number of the person in charge of investigating the driver, and an email to send photos and video to. So, at this point I’m satisfied with the response. It sounds like they’re actually taking this seriously, and I’d like to give them credit for that.

Council Approves Sunday Liquor Sales, Greater Say for Neighbors
•

Soon, after attending Sunday mass at Holy Trinity in the new year, you will likely be able to stop at nearby Dixie Liquor and buy that special cognac. The District Council has approved Sunday sales at D.C. liquor stores among other changes to the alcohol beverage control bill.

The move to open on Sunday is resisted by some stores because they are small business run by families. Sunday is the only day they can take off, as Steve Feldman of Potomac Wine & Spirits told the Washington Examiner: “Basically, none of us want to work on Sunday. By Sunday, people have already done most of their partying for the weekend. . . . How much scotch and vodka are you going to buy on Sunday when you already have a hangover from Saturday night?”

“If they are going to let us open, we will open,” said Sean Clark of Dixie Liquor at 35th and M Streets.

“If I don’t open on Sunday, I might lose a customer who comes in during weekdays.”

While advisory neighborhood commissions have priority in governmental or legal comment, D.C. residents may organize into a group of at least five to protest any liquor license application. An increase in the number of ABC inspectors is proposed as well as new training programs for bartenders and waiters. The council also approved the use of growlers – half-gallon refillable containers used to carry beer home from a brewery or bar.

Ward 1 Councilmember Jim Graham led on the alcohol bill changes especially the compromise on Sunday sales instead of extending bar hours to 4 a.m, all in a bid to increase sales tax revenue for the District. Nearby Arlington and Montgomery counties already have sold liquor on Sundays for a few years now.

You Get to Choose the Colors for D.C. Taxis
•

Four different color schemes for District taxis were announced by Mayor Vincent Gray Dec. 10, as part of the new taxi law, passed by the Council. The four choices are on display on vehicles that can be viewed at the Verizon Center and will later be seen at Washington International Auto Show. Visit the Taxicab Commission website for more information: DCtaxi.dc.gov.
[gallery ids="101106,138277,138274" nav="thumbs"]