All the News That's Fit

All The News That's Fit
Getting the Actual News
By Charles E. Kraus

Back in the early 1970s, Blacks rarely made it into the papers. If "they" did, it was because "they" had been accused of committing a crime or hitting a home run. Likewise, New York City's vibrant Puerto Rican community was a no show in the mainstream press. Basically, "minorities" were not considered news worthy. Environmental alarmists rated a few inches of copy towards the back of the paper. Gays didn't exist.

What was news worthy? At the time, my journalism professor told us it was whatever the editor declared affected the day.

Advance about fifty years.

Breaking news. Just in.

If you watch the cable versions of current events, you are familiar with these or similar enticers. "Hold on, this just in from the The Wall Street Journal or The Washington Post," the anchor tells us. What he's about to say is obviously monumental. Or not. Generally not. We interrupt our regularly scheduled newscast to bring you the news. One of the requisite skills for modern newscasting is the ability to hyperventilate on cue.

In the early days of television news, broadcasters such as Murrow, Sevareid, and Cronkite, were serious men relaying serious information. They didn't emote. David Brinkley could be droll, but he was off-set by his co-anchor, Chet Huntley, a guy so somber you assumed his funny bone had been removed by highly component surgeons.

This was long before the internet, or even cable television. If your antenna was properly aligned, your television could pick up invisible high frequency signals and convert them into TV programs. Phones were used exclusively to move conversations from point A to point B and back via wires strung up there on the poles, with more lines branching off toward your house, into the walls, and ultimately directly to your telephone. Prior to the internet, when you employed the term "screen" you were generally referring to the mesh window protectors that kept bugs from visiting your apartment.

Television news had pretty much replaced radio news, and though many cities had one or two papers (New York City had seven), it was obvious that if you wanted the most up-to-the-minute information, less details than print media could provide, but more immediacy, you found it on the idiot box.

Should you wish to see the news but happen to be away from home, residing in a college dorm, participating in the military experience, or just out and about, you gathered around a set that had been supplied for public viewing. In a television lounge, a bar, student union or convenient cafe. You sat next to colleagues, friends or strangers, watching one of the three major six p.m. newscasts. These wised you up to the events of the day. There were no 'all news all the time' sources. On especially big news days, a paper might publish several editions with updated information about important stories. Momentous events like a moon landing, JFK's abrupt demise, Watergate -- meant the television remained on offering viewers extended reports. Watergate was the first time that many folks watched public broadcasting. It provided gavel to gavel impeachment coverage.

Comes now. Not three main news feeds. Not broadcasting. Narrowcasting. Rightwing TV, leftwing TV, religious slants, regional slants, Spanish, subtitled, superficial and/or in-depth analysis. Facebook, Apple News, Yahoo News, Google News, RT, One America, to name a few available feeds.

I repeat my question: What is the news?

Answer: It's still whatever the editor declared relevant.

Only difference is, now you are the editor.

Beyond Abundance

Beyond Abundance
By Charles E. Kraus

Lately I've noticed a new look to the old neighborhood.  Actually, I'm talking about many stable, middle class, even upper middle class neighborhoods.   Well kept lawns and late model cars in the driveways.   What's new?  The discards sitting at the curb with their hand-written little signs resting on top of the piles.  Free, they says.  Take it.  Please take it.  Furniture, appliances, portable basketball hoops, boxes of books, artwork, bicycles, ski racks  -- expensive artifacts from the preceding decade.

We've obviously gone beyond the saturation point, crossed the too much stuff line.  We the enthusiastic consumers have passed the demarcation for manageable levels of abundance. 
Abundance has become a burden.  Poor little us.

I've personally put a few goodies out there just beyond our lawn:  An ancient (can something be ancient if it's 10 years old?) desktop computer, a television, remember televisions? DVDs, two obsolete intercoms, a little staticky, but functional.  Record albums, remember LPs? Johnny Mathis, Johnny Cash and Johnny Rivers. Johnny was once a very popular name.   Hey, these things cost me a fortune, and I'm offering them to you for absolutely nothing!

I was going to place my discards on Craigslist.  A few bucks for this or that.  But a moments calculation convinced me it wasn't worth my time.   You have to figure out Craig's procedures, then, of course, it is best to take photographs of what you're offering and transfer the pictures from "saved photos" to .... it's involved.  After the listing goes "live," you end up counseling people who want directions to your house.  Some of the callers sound, well ... not exactly stable.  I think I'm done with Craigslist.

Another approach is/was to cart castoffs to the Goodwill.  Load the Kia, drive a few miles.  Not so bad, except these days a line of cars seems permanently backed up along the street waiting for a chance to pull in and have donations scrutinized.  Goodwill doesn't take everything, you know.  I didn't know, and last time, after waiting for about twenty minute, I reached the unload your castoffs area only to discover pillows weren't accepted.  Also, the pristine, thick to the point of ludicrous, glass shelves that used to be on the bookcase that we are repurposing.  It is now sort of a desk.  They were rejected.  I tried to figure out a way to hide the toilet set under some carpeting, but neither was green lighted.  Strangely, Goodwill takes used underwear.

The trash collection people are reasonably tolerant of whatever fits into the pail.  But not entirely.  They have their eyes out for hazardous waste.  I have a dozen perfectly useable fluorescent light tubes that are on Republic Services' no-way list.   They are destine for the Household Hazardous Waste Facility.  Some day.

Discards.  For me, the word used to conjure up dilapidated abandoned vehicles left on the side of the highway.  They were rusty.  Various components had been removed by people in need of various components.  Times have changed for the consumer generation(s) .  We have so many perfectly good but no longer wanted treasures, we are encumbered by our good fortune.

Aging Campaign

Aging Campaign
By Charles E. Kraus

I’ve been conducting age related research about how decrepitude might affect the candidates.  I’m 73, just about Trump's age, slightly older than Warren, a few years younger than Biden and Sanders. This isn’t theory.  I’m working from firsthand personally documented or at least experienced information.

The energy and stamina of the various leading primary candidates is inspiring.  They project vitality and mental agility, the type of mindset I employ sparingly — when the company arrives and excitement and ego produce surges of adrenaline, causing my inner resources to perform at absolute peak.  The burdens of reduced functionality, “senior moments”, sore joints, worn out limbs —are relegated to the back burner.  I am in the moment.  Ageless.  Completely alive!   This raging overdrive can be sustained for up to forty-five minutes, after which, I’m depleted for the rest of the week.  I imagine that if I were in a debate, the excitement would keep me on my feet and see me through.  But latter, those feet would be pretty swollen, and my mind would feel abused.

In 2016, Trump accused Hillary of taking naps.  The current Democratic candidates might gain an edge by accusing him of insomnia.  Sleep deprivation may not be an impeachable offense, but it is no way to run a brain.  I consider myself in excellent condition — considering.  And part of my health conscious regime involves not being awake too long on any given day.

The residue of human mileage is experience.  Older candidates have perspectives going back over decades.  They can call on personal history and acquired knowhow to counter most age related deficits.  And, of course, they employ support teams capable of filling in all the gaps oldsters place in the middle of their sentences.

In many ways, each elder-candidate has adjusted to the onslaught of the decades by unique accommodation.  But in at least one way, all have taken a similar approach.  Check out the face lifts, hair transplants, and hair dyes.  I am sure you will agree, these folks may want your trust, but none of them can look in the mirror and say, this is me, ladies and gentleman, the unvarnished me.

Basic Premises

Basic Premises
By Charles E. Kraus

Are you an enabler?  Do you hide from the facts, ignore reality, deflect, obfuscate, refuse the path mapped out by our nation's basic premises, in an effort to give cover to our President?
Lately an outbreak of fake sincerity has spread across the land.   We might call the malady "hysterical disregard for reason." Some people have received a vaccination protecting them from this illness.   Others, the disingenuous crowd, refuses to be vaccinated.  They claim that logic is fake reasoning.  They know better than reality.  A lot of their pronouncements are given with a straight face and a crooked backbone.  Their "facts" are dubious.  By some coincidence, most of these fabulists happen to support the current administration.
    I find it impossible to have serious conversions with Republicans.  They do not seem to believe in the American Way.   That our country’s foundation rests on basic assumptions such as equality under the law.  Free Press.  A three branch check and balance system to restrain abuses of power.  What could be more bedrock?
We inhabit a world of complexity, filled with pressing political, social, environmental, moral and practical challenges.   More than ever, we are dependent upon reason and reasonableness to keep us on course.  Missteps can lead to catastrophic outcomes.  We have enough to deal with without factoring in the kind of delusional pronouncements so frequently introduced by know-nothings.
Weather patterns are changing, and not to our advantage.  Children are being separated from their parents.  Self-dealing has become normalized.  Does anyone truly doubt these statements?  Evidently, the answer is yes.  Or at least certain people are willing to tell you they do.  Are they winking at one another when Nancy leaves the room?
Approximately a third of the Republicans say they'll support the President, even if he completes his term from a jail cell.   Some people think he lies constantly and that disqualifies him from the job.  Other's think he lies constantly and it's okay because the lies seem to be moving the country in a direction they happen to like.
Thank you Justin Amash for being the exception to the rule.   For being the lone Republican standing against deception and corruption at the highest levels.  But where are your fellow party members?  Many talk a good game, but their standards are so low even a tyrant like Trump can pass muster.  Their standards are so low, even they can pass them.
I have a feeling that if Mr. Trump personally shut the cage door, locking up immigrant children, then carted them off to work in the Mar a Lago kitchen, his supporters would overlook the broken laws, reject empathy, dismiss common decency, and with quasi-sincere enthusiasm, cheer on the proceedings.  They'd use words such as 'decisive' and 'unorthodox' to describe their leader.
It is always interesting to discuss politics with people whose opinions different from my own.  Unless, of course, the conversation is a sham, and the opposition's plan is to deceive rather than enlighten.

Would you fly in a Boeing 737 Max 8?

Opinion: Would you fly in a Boeing 737 Max 8?

Published by the Oregonian and Oregonlive  3/12/19 (and other publications)

Would You Fly In A Boeing
Charles E. Kraus

On Monday, the day after the Boeing 737 Max 8 crash – the model’s second crash in less than five months -- I’m onboard a Southwest 737 that just took off from Seattle.

Depending upon which newscast you catch, Southwest owns between 20 and 30 potentially dangerous craft. Fortunately, though, my trip is not on a Max 8. But it might have been. You book a flight, make plans, arrive at the airport and board your flight.

I had about an hour to wait before reporting to my gate, and used it to peruse the Southwest clientele seated, standing or in the case of the kids, running around the company’s half a dozen gates. I heard no discussion about the recent accident. Not one word. It is possible that many of those gathered were unaware of Monday’s tragedy? The rest chose not to talk about it -- why stir up anxiety? That’s my theory.

I looked around. Who would be willing to board a Max 8, a plane with a recent reputation for falling out of the sky? Obviously, every breath, every decision, every destination, contains odds that are either in your favor or potentially work against you. I took a very long plane ride once to the Vietnam War, wondering about odds. Of course, at that time, I didn’t have the option of delaying my trip. These folks, with the children, clusters of generations, friends or associates, do not choose to revise their plans. They had enough trust in the skies -- or enough investments in events awaiting them at the other end -- to roll this particular set of dice.

Earlier on Monday, I heard a corporate announcement that the airline has faith in its planes. That’s good. But what does it mean? Southwest has a large investment and a need to be both safe and solvent. Sometimes that’s a difficult combination. I’m wondering what it is like to be a pilot or a crew member at a time like this. Do you step into your Boeing 737 Max 8 cockpit with a profound sense of uncertainty?

I like Southwest. Fly it often. It has the best baggage policy: Two under, one on board at no charge. Beat that. It also has very efficient crews. Many crew members add a touch of humor to the flights. Years ago, when all the airlines were in financial trouble, I recall the concluding message after we’d landed. Passengers were welcomed to Los Angeles, and then told, “we know you have a choice of many bankrupt airlines, and we want to thank you for choosing Southwest."

There is no sense of doom on my flight, though the woman sitting next to me is comforted by a stuffy. Whatever works. I don’t hear the theme from the “High and the Mighty” sound-tracking our progress through the skies. We aren’t on United, but I hope these skies remain friendly.

Still, I was left wondering: What kind of planes does Alaska Airlines fly? I have a return trip, you know. And though I have faith in Southwest, I also have faith in reality. I don’t go to Vegas, but if I did, I’d count my cards.

A reflection on veterans

OPINION // OPEN FORUM  San Francisco Chronicle & The Oregonian 

A reflection on veterans

By Charles E. Kraus 

Every once in a Veterans Day, I write a piece about the years I spent in the military and how they’ve affected my life beyond the time I was required to salute anything that moved. Not many of my high school and college friends found their way into uniform. I’ve always been happy that I did.

I’m not saying I am “proud” or “honored” to have served or that I was particularly civic minded. Mine was the Vietnam War era. I was restless. Conflicted. Also curious. The official record describes my four-year hitch in the U.S. Navy as “sea duty,” but that was only because being attached to a construction battalion in a war zone, wearing fatigues and toting an M-16 rifle counted as sea duty even though it took place on solid ground.

Hopefully, I did some good for our country. But to be quite honest, the America I thought I was defending didn’t look like the one we are living in today. Though there were huge demonstrations throughout the Vietnam era, everyone assumed they took place within a context, within a system of laws and procedures. The system can no longer be taken for granted.

Back then (and right now), America was experiencing civic turmoil. In the 1960s, the kids were messed up. Today, I’d give that distinction to the adults. Is this the place I risked my life to defend?

There are common threads to serving: You have to leave home and move into the military world. It’s kind of fraternal. A bunch of strangers required to train together, people from an assortment of backgrounds, ethnicities, sections of the country, with a variety of regional accents and preferences, suddenly turned into a unit that performs in a singular fashion. Inductees leave their comfort zones, stow prejudices and act with equanimity, informing every thought with a context that asks if what they are about to do is good for the cohort. Initially, it’s a game. Reluctant acquiescence, then a going through the motions.

Eventually, an authentic bonding occurs within ranks. Though I’m sure familiarity can breed contempt, it can also breed respect and acceptance.

When you eat, sleep and work together, encountering an assortment of unique individuals, you discover that the winners and losers cannot be determined by stereotype. As it turns out, the people you learn to depend upon come from ghettos, from upscale white parts of town, from a variety of religious and secular backgrounds. They have all kinds of accents, ridiculous (by your own standards) assumptions and belief systems, strange codes of honor, even different ways to broach a subject or walk down the street.

You march together. You work in a proscribed manner. You wear the same outfits, and though a smidgen of attitude can be expressed in the tilt of a hat, by and large, you and those with whom you serve begin to mirror one another.

While serving, you become a veteran of more than potential danger, more than the often rude awakening brought on by separation from home, from challenges to your assumed wisdom and preconceptions. You become a veteran of an expanded, more inclusive, perspective.

Vets are many things. Perhaps a little more macho than the rest of the population. Perhaps more inclined to see the world through a government-issued point of view. Beyond that, most are apt to judge people by the individual talents, skills and deportment they bring to the scene.

Charles E. Kraus received a Bronze Star for his service in Vietnam and will remember all veterans on Sunday, Veterans Day. He lives and writes in Seattle.

Even the Frail Survive

Even the Frail Survive
By Charles E. Kraus   

Mitch McConnell is 76.  Elizabeth Warren is 69.  Chuck Grassley is 85.  Bernie is 77.  Nancy is 78.  Ruth is 85.  The President and I are technically the same age, at least chronologically.  I am 72 and can therefore write about old age from more than a theoretical perspective.

Many of us have weathered the years quite well.  But without exception,  endurance, memory degradation, health concerns, and general cognitive decline, are increasingly part of our balancing acts. Like cars, refrigerators, and ten-year-old computers, age takes a toll on function.  All of us are dealing with built-in obsolescence. 

“Where did I put my glasses?” may be the most uttered phrase of the post-fifty cohort.

We of the senior generation try to hold on to our skills and abilities. Eventually, we begin supplementing physical deficits with stronger trifocals, hearing aids, canes, walkers, pacemakers and other assorted medical devices.  Who among us does not own a blood pressure monitor? 

It is more difficult to compensate for failing cognitive agility.

When I watch our wise elders on television, I find myself impressed with the physical appearance of many.  But I have certain suspicions about what I’m witnessing.  These doubts come from personal experience.  As a young man, I tried to look older, more mature.  As a senior, I attempt to look and act as youthful as credulity permits.  As they say, I don’t let the old man in.  I do reasonably well with this deception, however, deep down I must acknowledge my charade.  I’m putting my best foot forward, but that’s the foot with the gout.

I’m wondering if aging politicians are doing what I am doing — portraying a nimble mind.  It is true that this duplicitous exercise can have a positive effect.  My thinking, which is not as facile as it once was, improves during my impersonation of peak performance.  This magic works for about twenty minutes.  Thirty if I’m trying extra hard to impress those who may have reason to believe I’m no longer capable of driving, living independently, monitoring my own health, or making wise life decisions. 

I’m not an ageist.  As far as I’m concerned, Tony Bennett can keep performing until he’s a hundred and ten.  But it is one thing to stick to your repertoire and routines, to function where the patterns and places are ingrained — in our minds, in our muscle memory, in our souls.  Comfortably ensconced, we base our reactions on the storehouse of knowledge that we’ve developed over time. 

It is quite another to deal with wide ranging, ever developing prospects, facts, crises, details, issues, pressures and then some, that are hurled non-stop at those who direct high-end government.

If Tony misses a note, his fans will forgive him.  If government leadership fails to appreciate cyber security issues, the future may not be so forgiving.

Mandatory retirement age?  Probably not.  But, solid, well educated, mature, openminded, selfless, humble, worldly, caring, responsible young adults, please apply here.  Before long, you’ll be taking the field.