SUPREME COMMON SENSE

Donald Trump nominated Brett Kavanaugh to fill Justice Anthony Kennedy’s seat on the Supreme Court. Republicans exulted. Democrats vowed a bitter fight against the nomination. Odds are, Judge Kavanaugh, who appears to embrace strict interpretation of the Constitution, will be seated. I hope he’ll bear in mind a 2010 Supreme Court decision and the common sense of two Torah portions.

Ten years ago, Citizens United, a non-profit corporation founded for the purpose of“restoring our government to citizens’ control” utilizing “a combination of education, advocacy, and grass roots organization,” sought to advertise a documentary film it produced critical of Hillary Clinton. Mrs. Clinton was running for the 2008 Democratic presidential nomination. The 2002 Bipartisan Campaign Reform Act (aka McCain-Feingold) restricted corporate-sponsored advocacy communications from naming a federal candidate 30 days before a primary election and 60 before a general election. Citizens United sued the Federal Election Commission, declaring a violation of its free-speech rights under the First Amendment. Citizens United insisted that it was merely presenting information about a candidate, not endorsing or opposing one.

The issue went to the Supreme Court where liberal justices would have upheld McCain-Feingold. During initial oral arguments, soon-to-retire Justice David Souter read aloud some of the film’s narrative: “She’ll lie about anything. She’s deceitful. She’s ruthless. Cunning. Dishonest.” He concluded, “That sounds to me like campaign advocacy.”

Chief Justice John Roberts asked for additional arguments addressing broader grounds. These were made three months following Souter’s retirement. The court voted 5-4 in favor of Citizens United. Justice Kennedy’s majority opinion referenced a lower court’s decision upholding banning books published or distributed by corporations or labor unions if they promoted or opposed a specific candidate. Banning books was un-American. Under the rubric of free speech, enormous sums of money from super PACs—political action committees—began flowing into election campaigns, though not to political parties.

There’s a strong difference between speechand reach. I point to Justice Souter’s post-retirement comments in 2012: “If I exercise my liberty to the greatest possible extent, I can suppress the rights of a lot of people.” Corporations and the wealthy can spend millions of dollars promoting their views. They enjoy reach—distribution—average Americans cannot match.

The court’s decision seems based on Originalism—interpreting the Constitution exactly as written. That’s difficult. The Constitution’s writers knew of newspapers and soap boxes but not television, the internet and social media. Lack of context and adaptability can make a travesty of justice.

Here I cite Torah (Bamidbar—Numbers). In the portion Pinchas(Phineas), the five daughters of Zelophechad, who died without a son make their case to Moses that they should inherit their father’s portion of land in Canaan. God assures Moses this is just. The laws of inheritance are amended. In Mattot(Tribes), the tribes of Reuben and Gad ask Moses permission to settle in the cattle country east of the Jordan River rather than in Canaan. This alters God’s plan, but Moses says they may do so after participating in Canaan’s conquest.

During this November’s mid-term Congressional elections, voters will be bombarded by messages spread via huge sums of corporate and individual money. Such communications will give their sponsors—usually unidentified—unequaled power to sway elections. Common sense tells me that free speech will not be served.

Many thanks to Ron Laupheimer, a retired lawyer, for clarifying some issues. I am not a lawyer or legal scholar but am exercising my right to free speech—even if my reach is limited—based on, well, common sense.

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“THE ALIBI”—A FABLE

Wearing an orange jumpsuit, Joe follows the bailiff into the courtroom for his arraignment. He sits next to a haggard public defender, who nods. Joe smiles. Sure, he committed the crime. But he knows he won’t be indicted.

Joe admits he came to the end of his rope. He’d worked a good job in a shop manufacturing auto parts. But the Great Recession and foreign competition drove sales down. They let him go. It took a while, but Joe found a new job. For lower wages, yes, but jobs were scarce. His new employer faced the same business challenges, only worse. The company folded.

Joe hated collecting unemployment, but he had a family. And he did look for work. Until he figured there wasn’t anything out there for him and stopped. His wife got a job in a bakery. Minimum wage, no bennies. But something. Joe became a househusband.

He drove the kids to school then his wife to work then picked up everyone after. They once had two vehicles, but his wife’s SUV got better mileage and cost less to insure, so he sold his truck. The money went fast. At home, he cleaned a little, did laundry then watched Fox News. Under Obama, America was in deep trouble.

Once a week, Joe shopped a specialty market with low prices on dented cans, torn packages and produce a little less than prime. He still left cooking dinner to his wife.

No slacker, he occasionally dug up odd jobs to help lower their debt. It kept rising. The economy picked up then got hot. But the way Joe figured, it still left him out in the cold. He voted for Trump.

America being made great again, he reentered the job market. Automation and the skills that went with it had passed him by. When a guy got beat down like he’d been beat down, he just couldn’t get up.

Then the lightbulb went off. One afternoon, he went to the mall. Crowds were smaller given how many people shopped online, but it still contained a nice jewelry store. He reached into his backpack, pulled out a small hammer and chisel, broke a glass case, scooped up expensive watches and diamond bracelets, and walked out. An alarm sounded. He ran. A security guard tackled him. Joe wasn’t worried.

“How do you plead?” asks the judge. Joe’s attorney is about to answer when Joe stands. “Not guilty, your honor. You can let me go.” The judge scowls. “You’ll have your day in court.” Joe smiles. “Don’t need it. If I say I’m innocent, that’s all the proof you need.” The judge tilts her head. “And that works how?”

“Trump’s getting ready to meet Putin in Finland, right? Some U.S. Senate committee just said the Russians interfered with the 2016 election. All of America’s intelligence agencies concluded that before. But Trump tweeted, ‘Putin says the Russian state had nothing to with it.’ He tweets that a lot.” “So?” asks the judge. “So, Russia gets away with it. I’m just saying, I had nothing to do with that robbery, so—”

The judge bangs her gavel. It booms like a rifle shot. Joe grins in response to the resignation on her face when she announces, “Case dismissed.”

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ONE DONALD IS ENOUGH

The retirement of Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy aside, the nation remains focused on Central American children separated by the federal government from parents who have crossed our borders illegally, claiming refugee status. Democrats anticipate leveraging this issue during this fall’s midterm Congressional election campaign. But some have forgotten their goal: to beatDonald Trump, not beDonald Trump.

Congress has yet to address immigration law and policy in a coherent and comprehensive manner. Its occasional attempts at problem-solving resemble Band-Aids affixed to holes in the hull of the Titanic. Yet some Democrats seem to copy the behavior attributed to the late Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat: he never lost an opportunity to lose an opportunity.

Last weekend, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, the White House press secretary, was booted from the Red Hen restaurant in Lexington, Virginia. Owner Stephanie Wilkinson related that her wait staff felt uncomfortable serving Sanders’ party. I assume her staff leans Democratic. Certainly, it’s anti-Trump. But expressing differences of political opinion in this way does a disservice to our political process. And to Democratic candidates. Ms. Sanders picked up on this.

Addressing White House reporters, Ms. Sanders explained in level-headed, straightforward, un-Trump-like terms that harassment of people who work for any administration does not represent the American way. I agree—the first time I’ve ever agreed with anything she’s said.

President Trump, not surprisingly, took the opportunity to miss an opportunity. Statesmanship? Fugeddaboudit. His response included an observation that the Red Hen needs a paint job. This was the comment of an angry ten-year-old hurling insults in the schoolyard. Countering Ms. Sanders intelligent words, it offered another smidgen of hope for Democratic victories.

Still, at least one Democrat may have dimmed the party’s hopes by also responding like a ten-year-old.

Los Angeles congresswoman Maxine Waters, who works the far-left side of the aisle, went Trump. At a demonstration against current immigration policies, Ms. Waters told protestors, “If you see anybody from that Cabinet in a restaurant, in a department store, at a gasoline station, you get out and you create a crowd. And you push back on them. And you tell them they’re not welcome anymore, anywhere.” [Italics mine.]

Ms. Waters sent a message to independents crucial to Democratic hopes that difference of political opinion enjoys no legitimacy in America.

In his 1998 book Civility, Manners, Morals, and the Etiquette of Democracy, the Yale law professor Stephen Carter wrote of Leviticus 19:18, “The duty to love our neighbors is a precept of both the Christian and Jewish traditions, and the duty is not lessened because we happen to think our neighbor is wrong about a few things.” We can hold to our religious and politicalopinions while engaging in exchanges of ideas free from intimidation.

Absent such civility, Democrats will appeal to their base on the left but alienate centrists looking for reasonable answers to complex questions. Frustrated, they could cast their ballots for Republicans or, also damaging to the Democratic effort, sit the election out.

Further dragging down American public discourse as Trump has done serves no worthy purpose. Demagoguery and hatred tarnish the American Dream. They equate it with Macbeth’s poignant observation: “A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury and signifying nothing.”

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LANDLORD

San Francisco scorns landlords. Old-time melodramas made them villains seeking to evict kindly families unless granted the favors of a nubile maiden daughter. The citizenry recently voted to provide renters facing eviction public funding for legal representation. Yes, renters can get screwed. So can landlords. Ask Greg.

A senior, Greg owns a four-unit building—he lives in one—in southeastern San Francisco. Once, he also owned a house in Bernal Heights. The two properties drained his resources, so he sold the house and retained the apartments to provide income for his old age. Rent control has depressed that income. He figures his rents are about one-third of market. They cover less than his mortgage and insurance. Upkeep comes out of his pocket.

It gets worse. One of Greg’s tenants is a drug user with mental problems. Greg calls him “barking mad.” About five years ago, he was taken in as a subtenant by another tenant. The master tenant left. Failing to reach an understanding with his own attorney, Greg accepted rent from the “new tenant.” That put the man practically out of reach.

The new master tenant trashed the apartment—carpeting ruined, the stove filthy. He also used it as a drug flop house with all kinds of people staying over. Topping that, he moved a family into the separate garage that’s part of his unit—and collected rent. That’s illegal. It also exposed Greg to legal problems if the children there were hurt.

In April, Greg started procedures to evict the people in the garage. The master tenant had thirty days to respond. He didn’t. The people in the garage went to a tenants’ help organization. That stopped the eviction. A month-and-a-half later, Greg’s attorney and the family’s pro bono lawyer reached an agreement. The family would leave in mid-July, and Greg would pay them $5,000. A jury trial would have cost Greg $15,000.

In the next weeks, the master tenant will receive notice of the date he will be physically evicted. If he refuses, he can demand a lawyers’ conference and jury trial. Over the past three months, Greg has not accepted rent. California law stipulates that if Greg takes money, he ends the eviction procedure.

Greg hopes that the process costs him “only” $15,000. It will take another $10,000 to clean up the apartment. He regrets always being a little “loose” with tenants out of kindness to the less fortunate. “From now on, I’m going to demand a squeaky-clean record and an upscale job.” He reflects with sadness that he will now be “one of those gentrifying landlords.”

Greg considers not keeping the Bernal Heights home “one of the worst financial decisions I ever made.” He cautions, “Most San Franciscans don’t realize how difficult it can be to be a small landlord. If this happened twenty years ago, I’d have gone into debt.”

He emphasizes that the situation would be more just if landlords had a right to demonstrate to a court that his rents are way under market and should rise to a fair level. He figures that his below-market rents cost him— conservatively—$36,000–$40,000 a year. “It also should be easier to remove a tenant whose behavior is unconscionable.”

No matter how reasonable those observations, Greg does not anticipate relief any time soon.

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PIXI(E)LATED

On Wednesday, following his meeting in Singapore with Kim Jong-un, President Trump tweeted that there is “no longer a Nuclear Threat from North Korea.” Why am I not relieved?

Two words come to mind. Pixilatedmeans acting in a mentally unbalanced, unstable way. Pixelated—note the “e” replacing the first “i”—refers to the number of pixels on a digital device’s screen. The more pixels, the sharper the image. There’s a connection.

In Singapore, Trump elevated Kim to the world stage before attempts to negotiate a detailed agreement ridding North Korea of nuclear weapons. Standard diplomacy would have members of both leaders’ staffs first work out the fine print. Then the leaders would meet and sign an accord. Trump signed a vague preliminary 400 words that failed to reference verification. Secretary of State Mike Pompeo commented that such a term is understood. Really?

What happens if, following Trump and Kim’s mini-love fest, terms are not agreed upon? Brotherly affection could turn to anger and a sense of betrayal. The risk of war, including the use of nuclear weapon, escalates—especially factoring in super-hawk national security advisor John R. Bolton. So, does the Singapore summit reflectpixilated—unstable—thinking? Only in part.

It also demonstratespixelatedthinking—the desire to make a visual splash in the media from standard to social. If a picture is worth a thousand words, endless videos of Trump and Kim smiling and shaking hands surely speak volumes. But volumes of what?

For Kim, Singapore provided legitimacy. No longer the dictator of the Hermit Kingdom, he created a new image of himself as a statesman. Forget North Korea’s prison camps, assassinations and mind control. Despite ruling a small nation of 25 million, Kim has his finger on a nuclear button and must be respected. Or feared. His people—indeed, the world—have seen him hobnob with the presidents of South Korea, China and the United States.

Moreover, Donald Trump stated how very much Kim loves his people—then tweeted that Kim’s “done some really bad things,” but so have other nations. So maybe Kim’s not all that bad. Trump also suggested fabulous real-estate opportunities lying ahead for North Korea. A Trump Resort Wonsan?

For Trump, the digital wave again made him the focus of world attention. He portrayed himself as an aggressive, rule-breaking negotiator. The artist of the deal. “Look at me,” he seemed to say. Or tweet. “I’ve done what no president before me has done. Rank me up there with George and Abe. And don’t forget, I’m the toughest kid on the block. Before Singapore, I kicked ass at the G-7 summit.”

Of course, the other six G-7 governments are America’s allies. Or were. Trump prefers adding Russia to a restored G-8. Since the G-7 won’t allow it, perhaps they’ll become the G-6 opposite a G-2 constituted of the United States and Russia headed by best buds Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin. Then a G-3 including North Korea.

The future defies prediction. I hope that the U.S. and North Korea reach a meaningful agreement. That the nuclear threat evaporates as the result of strict terms accepted by Kim. But we’ve just witnessed the confluence of pixilatedand pixelated. Down the road, pixi(e)latedcould prove at best meaningless. At worst, explosive.

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DONALD TO KIM—GAME ON

Posted Jun 8 2018 by in OUR WORLD with 4 Comments

Preparing for the U.S.–North Korea summit on June 12, Donald Trump sent a letter of introduction to Kim Jong-un. It was leaked. I present it unedited.

Dear Kim:

Can I call you Kim? Call me Donald. I like first names. Hold that. This guy looking over my shoulder says Koreans put their family names before their Christian names. Dumb! But who am I to judge? Well, you know Who. But calling you Jong or Jong-un seems weird. Like that kimchi cabbage stuff you guys eat.

I’ll call you Kimmy. Like that character on TV, “The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.” She’s not bad looking, but she’s a Redhead. I’m into Blondes. You probably know that. I bet you dig Blondes, too. Not that Mrs. Jong-un isn’t a Babe. From the photos and videos, I’d say so. Love to get to know her better (wink, wink). Even if she’s not a Blonde.

Anyway, I look forward to seeing you in Singapore. We have lots in common. Like our Hair. Not the same-old same-old. I had a Sofa in the Oval Office upholstered to match the color of my hair when I went from orange to yellow. People who see me on TV think Me and the Sofa are Twins. I’m the Smart One. And nobody sits on The Donald.

Nobody sits on Kimmy, either. I get that. We both have these disloyal Underlings. A shitload. But you’ve got it better. You get to blow them away with Anti-Aircraft Guns or whatever. All they let me do here is fire them. “You’re fired!” I love the ring to that. I’m dying to say that to a certain Attorney General. Wait. I’m not supposed to write that. Fuck the Underling looking over my shoulder. Donald Trump is the President of the United States and Everything in the World America owns. MAGA!!

What I’m saying, Kimmy, is that you and Me can do a lot in Singapore. Talk? Sure. We’ll talk. This Nuclear stuff? Important. I’m hitting the road (flying actually) to impress on you I’ve got more Nukes. A shitload more. Bigger, too. Yuge!!! I can charbroil your capital city (like I’m supposed to remember some crazy Asiatic name and how to spell it?) anytime I want!!!! Don’t expect help from my Underlings like the Secretary of State, the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Who elected them?

Bet your ass I won My election by an even bigger percentage than you won yours!!!! Wait. They say you don’t have elections in North Korea. Really? Damn. I love that!!!!!

So—Singapore. We’ll shoot the shit. Talk about the Babes we’ve bagged. I’ve bagged way more than you, but that’s not the point. Well, it is. But Guys? That’s how we bond. Then we’ll see what the Underlings can do to get North Korea to get on its Knees to America. We’re the Big Dog, right? Except for Russia. Not as Big, but big (lower case). Love that Vlad!!!!!!

Anyway, we can play golf. Scarf up the McDonald’s I’m bringing. Definitely check out videos of some of my political rallies so you can see you’re dealing with a Guy from Queens.

See ya,

Donald

P.S. What kind of Christian name is Jong-un anyway?

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THE MARVEL OF SMALL MUSEUMS

Back in the ’50s, American car companies introduced new models—radically different—every year. Advertisements touted that them as longer, lower, wider. Americans loved everything big. Many still do. Me? Take museums. I like small.

The best-known museums are—to use a term—yuge! In London this March, Carolyn and I again visited the British Museum. We’re members. I love lunch in the members dining room. Great soups! But the enormous crowds can make a visit a little—or a lot—less pleasurable. We’ve also seen the permanent exhibits—including the Rosetta Stone—many times.

I get worn out with the Louvres in Paris and New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. We went to the Met a few weeks ago. We do every time we’re in the Big Town. My favorite part? Walking up and back through Central Park. The crowds and exhibit choices—too big.

Thankfully, we discovered the Museum of Art and Design (MAD) at Columbus Circle. The building rises nine stories but has a small footprint. The rotating exhibits feature contemporary (or relatively so) artists and are modest in size.

We had the galleries almost all to ourselves. I loved the work by Derrick Adams, presenting the challenges African Americans faced traveling the nation before passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. MAD also hosts artists in-studio. We chatted with Katya Grokhovsky, who came to the U.S. from Ukraine as a child and creates fabulous installations.

My favorite museum is small—and hardly typical. SFO Museum places exhibits—small and smaller—throughout San Francisco International Airport. Accredited by the American Alliance of Museums, SFOM offers fabulous opportunities to see carefully curated, constantly changing collections of art, craft and design when you fly. And even if you don’t. Many can be accessed pre-security. The airport may be crowded, but with these exhibits, you can get up close and personal.

When Carolyn and I fly overseas, we take in the pre-security exhibits in Terminal A and Terminal G. Domestically, we usually fly out of Terminal 2 where we just saw an exhibit on Maneki Neko—Japanese cat statues bringing good luck to homes and businesses.

SFOM has hosted many exhibits since the concept’s inception in 1980. My favorites include radio bars from the 1940s (we have one that belonged to my parents), women’s shoes (over the top), typewriters, cocktail glasses, gambling devices, American folk art, Chinese porcelains and evolving flight attendant (nee stewardess) uniforms.

Small museums abound. We love London’s Pollock’s Toy Museum (oldtoys) and Florence Nightingale Museum. The Morgan in New York has offered wonderful exhibits (from Babylonian jewelry to Ernest Hemingway). Who but the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco would put on display Mahjong and its impact on American Jews? (My mother played; my sister still does.)

SFOM won’t achieve the fame of the Met, the Louvres or the British. And truly, you can visit many other wonderful large museums around the nation—the Chicago Art Institute, the Smithsonian complex—and the world. We love the Tel Aviv Museum of Art.

But size doesn’tmatter. A single, carefully curated exhibit in a modest space—like an informal dinner with family or friends—can deliver big rewards. That’s no small feat.

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TWO KINDS OF THEATER

During a recent visit to New York for our nephew’s wedding, Carolyn and I attended six Broadway shows. One put in perspective recent Palestinian efforts to mark “Land Day” and the 1948 Naqba or Disaster stemming from the birth of Israel.

The Band’s Visit(11 Tony nominations)—a play with music rather than a standard musical—is based on the 2007 Israeli film. In 1994—a year after the Oslo Accords—a small Egyptian police band—it bills itself as an orchestra—visits Israel to play at an Arab cultural center in Petah Tikvah, a suburb of Tel Aviv/Yafo. Inside Israel, they mistakenly take a bus to the fictional Beit Hatikva—Home of Hope—in the Negev desert. They must wait until morning for a new bus.

The owner of a small café offers hospitality—hers and her employees. Only nominal peace exists between Egypt and Israel. But these men are strangers in a strange land as were the ancient Hebrews in Egypt. The band members spend a long and melancholy night discovering that these Israelis—these Jews—endure their own suffering. Beit Hatikva bears no resemblance to Tel Aviv with its office towers, lively beach scene, marvelous restaurants and vibrant nightlife. Its residents feel isolated, lonely and bored. Soured relationships and thwarted ambitions have left them wounded.

As the band and their hosts get through the night, all experience moments of understanding. Their mutual humanity becomes apparent. The show’s message is heartening. Real peace is possible if only Egyptians and Israelis encounter each other as individual human beings.

Demonstrations on Land Day and the Fridays preceding it constituted street theater. The results proved anything but music to anyone’s ears. Under cover of smoke from burning tires, Gazans failed to take down the border fence and intrude into Israel. About 60 were killed by the Israeli army. Most were members of Hamas, the thugocracy that runs Gaza and pledges to destroy the Jewish State.

The demonstrations revealed yet again that mob-to-army contact usually generates terrible—if desired—repercussions. Hamas supported the demonstrations hoping that the Israel Defense Force would kill enough Gazans to earn global condemnation. Some condemnation has come Israel’s way. But not much. Israel’s short-term policies—for good and bad—will remain unchanged.

Regrettably, Land Day never had to happen. In 1947, Palestinians and the Arab states could have accepted the United Nations partition of the British mandate. A Palestinian nation—one never existed before—would have had its capital in East Jerusalem. It also would have held more territory than after the 1967 war, which produced borders Palestinians now insist upon. What’s more, no refugees would have been created—those forced to flee by a war of their leaders’ choosing and the many who fled voluntarily at the urging of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem pending Arab victory.

Palestinian desire to eliminate Israel or trigger Israeli “one-state” national suicide reflects pure fantasy. Right-wing Israelis’ desire to ignore Palestinians represents a parallel fantasy. Peace can only be achieved by accepting reality and embracing our common humanity.

The Band’s Visitmay win many Tony awards. Future Land Days will bring Gaza only more losses. Israel won’t be a winner, either. Tikva—hope—remains in short supply.

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FRIENDS

Studies show that people with friends live longer and healthier. As someone whose introversion ranges from moderate to—well, let’s say more than moderate—I attribute my own wellbeing to my friends.

I enjoy a range of friends. Each enhances my life in a different way. I’ll start with my Torah Study group. We meet on Saturday mornings and have coffee afterwards at CMPC hospital’s California Campus on Webster Street. Three of us started having coffee twenty years ago at cafés up and down Fillmore Street. All of which closed or became too small as our group grew. The hospital may not offer the best coffee, but the huge basement cafeteria remains almost empty throughout our visit. We never wait for a table or worry about privacy. (Yes, we get loud at times; friends do that.)

Our group occasionally goes to dinner and a few of us to Giants games. Five of us hover around 70. One isn’t Jewish but attends Torah Study regularly for the intellectual challenge. Two are decades younger. One just got married. She still comes by. The other found a distraction for Saturday mornings—a girlfriend he met on Jdate. We approve. All attend our evening study sessions, which we hold periodically.

There’s great joy in any bunch of guys—and a woman or women, including an ancillary woman member when she visits from Atlanta—sitting around a table talking and joking. Our conversations flow and morph freely. They cover topics from religion and politics to TV, personal anecdotes and observations. Whether a conversation reflects deep thought or inanity—I contribute both—this social interaction leaves us energized. It’s the highlight of my week.

I see other friends individually at different times and in different ways—often for weekday lunch or coffee. Carolyn and I have others to our house or go out with them to dinner and a movie. We don’t do so as often as we’d like given everyone’s busy schedules, but we look forward to each get-together.

Friendship is cheaper than therapy though there’s nothing wrong with seeing a professional. I can talk to friends about a range of issues that affect me. They can bring up issues that concern them. We discuss all topics free from judgement. In some of my more troubled moments, I get things off my chest—valuable in itself—and occasionally receive wise counsel offering me new perspective. Cheap therapy, indeed.

Not to mention that my friends buy my books and read my short stories. Some read them immediately and shower me with praise. I appreciate that. Others read my work a little later. A few just buy the books. No matter. Their support means the world to me.

Let me acknowledge my best friend: Carolyn. After nearly 49 years of marriage, Carolyn knows my emotional ins and outs. In fact, she knows me so well, it’s scary. That she not only signed on for “until death do us part” but lives up to the contract provides testament to her willingness to endure. And no one praises my writing more!

If there’s something I wish for everyone, it’s friends. And, that we consider people we encounter at random moments in random places as friends we haven’t had coffee with. Yet.

Last week’s post was mistitled, as my friend Tracy pointed out. It doesn’t concern victimlesscrime but nonviolentcrime. Its point, however, remains the same. If you haven’t read it yet, you’ll find it under the title “The Hoax of Nonviolent Crime.”

The post will take a break on May 18 and return on May 25.

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THE HOAX OF NONVIOLENT CRIME

Several months ago, an East Bay detective—legit—called to say that an investigation on identity theft turned up a stolen piece of mail addressed to Carolyn in care of her manager. It contained a royalty check for one of Carolyn’s TV performances. The amount was small. The crime was big. People who would deny its seriousness are perpetrating a hoax.

Many people urge leniency for perpetrators of nonviolent crime. Bull! Every crime against property is a crime in which violence is done to a person’s sense of wellbeing. Because behind every piece of property lies a story.

Carolyn’s check didn’t come easy. TV viewers saw her as a nurse (“Chuck”—NBC), dementia patient (“Grey’s Anatomy”—ABC), a woman startled by Hugh Laurie (“Chance”—Hulu) and a homeless woman (“Bartlett”—Amazon Prime). They and the public haven’t witnessed the years Carolyn has spent attending acting and singing classes. Preparing for them. Rehearsing at home for auditions. And then auditioning in Los Angeles at her cost or videoing at our house (we’ll ignore my reading other characters’ lines to her).

An acting career makes no promise of success. But after thirty-five years as a professional storyteller, Carolyn decided to give it a shot. She studied and did plays but set her sights on TV and movies. She sweated to hone her craft, risked rejection and overcame it, and has enjoyed a few small triumphs.

That meant little to the woman recently convicted in the theft of other people’s mail to steal their identities, which can cost victims much money and considerable aggravation. I fear that the efforts of Carolyn and upstanding people in all walks of life get overlooked by those who consider nonviolent criminals the ultimate victims.

I get that many people grow up in difficult circumstances. Minority and immigrant communities often produce more than their share of criminals. That includes my own. Jews once played major roles in violent crime. From the 1900s through World War Two, killers such as Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel, Abe “Kid Twist” Reles, Louis “Lepke” Buchalter and Dutch Schultz (nee Arthur Flegenheimer) abounded. Children of poor immigrants they possessed minimal education. Their turns to crime might be sociologically understandable, but their behavior was and remains illegal, immoral and unacceptable.

The thief who stole Carolyn’s royalty check will be sentenced in San Jose at the end of this month. The court invited Carolyn and her fellow victims to attend. Carolyn won’t. That would steal more of her time.

Carolyn has no desire to demand a lengthy sentence at hard labor or solitary confinement on bread and water. As bad as it can be, the California prison system offers far better treatment than the Soviet gulag or North Korea’s prison camps. Also, the judge possesses information about the thief Carolyn doesn’t and will be empowered to determine a reasonable sentence.

In writing this, I’m not seeking vengeance against those convicted of nonviolent crimes. “Lock ’em up and throw away the key” doesn’t reflect my philosophy. But it’s time that people who seek leniency for nonviolent criminals acknowledge that every nonviolent crime impacts one or more victims. And that those victims frequently pay a price beyond—often far beyond—the monetary value of their loss.

This revised post put up on May 4 includes a revised title. I erred in calling the theft of Carolyn’s mail a victimless crime. It was, indeed, a nonviolent crime.

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