'And all you needed to know was in that eye-poppin' bodacious smile, the smilethat never quit no matter what. Of Erin Sims, the reality and influence of inner light made manifest for us, a festival of remembrance.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. Let's get something straight from the get-go. I am not just here to talk about some woman of a "certain age" as the French whose elegant language she mangled would say.

I am not just here to talk about someone you hardly noticed and completely forgot before you ever bothered to remember.

I am not just here to utter banalities of which said the faster the better and make-do superficialities on an event which, after all, is our common lot and undeniable, bitter destiny. Oh, no!

 I am here to talk about -- and make absolutely sure you fully understand --

... one of God's certifiable helpers, an energetic dynamo with an ingredient all we benighted humans need... must have... and are always grateful to get... a smile.  This was Erin's great gift... for her radiant smile was manna from heaven... balm in the desert... a ray of hope for better days on days that were dismal... and an unceasing benefit she took from deep within and shared with all... even on days when it took courage to smile and when she could only dream that better days would surely come. For in her smile there was the promise of tomorrow.... God gave her this undeniable power and she used it all her too brief life for us all.

Her smile was mega-watt magic...

It made the lonely feel they had a friend in a world of isolation.

It gave even the most abject hope.

It assured the grieving they did not grieve alone.

It like so much brilliant light touched the unnumbered legion of the forgotten, the world-weary and despairing as a pledge that they could persevere, they could still grow and flourish in that light, her light.

Hers was a smile from which each took what he needed, from the reassurance it gave a fretful child to the resolution and courage bestowed on a fellow traveler down on his luck who saw in Erin's bounteous gift the element he needed to try again. Erin had ample for all. And it was her great joy and honored privilege to give... and bestow the beatitude that was her smile.

I am talking of Erin Sims, our dear Erin, who gave so much to so many, her great gift as essential to our well being as the very air itself. Our Erin, now gone, her mission on Earth now done, but not its great results, for they are as a stone that causes unending ripples in placid waters.

June 27, 1957 - September 17, 2012, her journey.

Any place may be a good place to be born, but some places are better than others, a place of auspicious omens and propitious aspects. Surely one of the best of such places is the Golden State of California, a place of light, air, calm waters and healthy living. To be born in such a place and benefit from its near infinite resources is God's way of smiling on you and confirming His good intentions for a journey packed with promise. Erin's began in Culver City, one of the several districts part of America's great entertainment industry, a city where dreaming was not merely allowed but expected, encouraged. And she did dream, first of education.

Erin recognized early that education was the vehicle that could turn her vivid dreams into valued realities. Thus, she made that most constructive of deals; to turn evanescent, fast fleeting time, into the sinews and foundation of the well- planned life.

She graduated from California Polytechnic State University, Pomona and then proved her good intentions and clear thinking by taking an MBA in 1980 in Management Information Systems; a shrewd move given the world's massive tilt to information technologies, then but newly underway. She was that "new woman" indeed, a woman fully equipped and determined to succeed in a "man's world", while never forgetting the special gifts and attributes a woman brings to the table; empathy, care, humanity, community. She never lost these or forgot how essential they are to the well lived life, even in business. It was always about the people with Erin and their well being.

Everything changed... but the essentials.

Somewhere along the way of her dreams, her plans and her achievements, a physician's regular report changed everything; everything that is but her deepest beliefs, for Erin was told of a debilitating heart condition, a condition which could and at any instant might take everything she had worked for, enjoyed, and loved.

It was at this time of ardent and profound reflection, where one's relationship with God becomes intimate, intense, and personal that Erin made the greatest decision of her life: to live each day as if it might be her last, for it might be; to find happiness and solace in all the good things around her, and above all, to love; for of life's great benefits the greatest of all is the power to love and so transform the world. And Erin, our Erin, had this gift, no one more.

What's more, unimpeded by "what might have been", she awoke each day determined to use this gift, with her special smile always at the ready... and a roiling world needing it so. Thus Erin smiled in the face of everything, a brave human being, courage to her fingertips, determination to carry on regardless her metier and benediction. And so this plucky woman of grace and resolution smiled through her troubles though there must have been despairing moments when resolution was sorely tested... and yet found deep within the constant power to love the world, especially her only child, on whom she doted.

Cameron.

Cameron, I take this opportunity to address you personally and as your friend, though we have not yet met. For the last few months of your mother's abbreviated life I had the pleasure of knowing and working with her in our unique Internet enterprise, Worldprofit. Because your mother was a voluble talker and as good a listener, our online talks were wide-ranging, humorous, always honest and revealing in ways known only to aficiandos of the 'net.

Of the many topics we covered, sometimes irreverent, sometimes outrageous, sometimes analytical, sometimes discursive, always punctuated by laugher, there was one topic she consistently raised... and that topic was you and her abiding love for you, a love the more vibrant and enduring because your mother was a notably lovable individual.

You were always her first priority; your welfare always her first objective. She was proud of you, telling me your attributes and achievements in detail, and always with love. We all smiled at her unbridled enthusiasm about you and everything you were doing; we liked her the better for it

Now your mother, our colleague and friend, is gone, as we all must go. As you think of her over the many years to come, remember today for this is a festival of remembrance, a time where grief must give way to our collective and sincere gratitude that we had Erin in our lives, if only for a little while.

Now I ask you to fix an image in your mind, an image to last you for life, of your mother, our friend, with a great overblown rose in her hair, radiant, talking a mile a minute... and smiling broadly. Close your eyes and see her... and in the background play a tune that could have been her theme song, "Smile"; understand she is singing this song for all of us, but always and forever especially for you, whom she loved the best of all.

"Smile, Cameron, though your heart is aching/ Smile even though it's breaking"

And remember....

Envoi

The author dedicates this work to Cameron Sims, son, and Johan Willems, friend and colleague. When Cameron went online to find help, Johan assisted then and has worked with him since. Johan has also been in touch with Erin's sister Adrian Sims, without whose help this article and tribute would not have been possible. Thank you, all of you.

As for me, it was my privilege to write this appreciation, for I did appreciate Erin, feisty, a woman of her own mind and opinions, we liked and respected each other. and looked forward to our almost daily encounters.

Now, go to any search engine and find Charlie Chaplin's magnetic song "Smile"; the music used in the 1936 classic "Modern Times"; the words and title written by John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons in 1954. Sung originally by Nat King Cole, I like the version by Michael Jackson. He left us too soon, too.

 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

'We're tough for miles around.' Thoughts on Marty Burke, political animal, dead at 64, August 18, 2012.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. This is an appreciation of a man who walked the corridors of power, specifically the ornate corridors of Massachusetts' grandiose State House designed to awe by Charles Bulfinch in 1787. He was crucial to the way our demos works... yet he never presented himself to the voters as a candidate... never was elected to any public office... never asked for, and was never given, the public's trust. Yet he was always present, always in the know, closer to some of the leading personages of the Commonwealth than their own spouses or children.

He was a man who could be, had to be, totally candid, even brutally frank with these men, each (in his own mind) "The People's Choice." He knew everything from peccadilloes to state secrets; knew who was cheating on "my darling Katie whom I love more than life itself" and who never forgot (though the Great Men always did) to tip the bell hop, who knew enough to blow His Excellency out of the Corner Office, and bring in that hapless ne'er-do-well who was only put on the ticket in the first place because he was from a city no one ever wanted to visit but which the party needed for victory.

He knew what his "boy" needed before his "boy" had to ask for it. Kept track of the guy to make sure he ate, didn't overeat, took his medication but never on an empty stomach. Made sure he didn't  touch the sauce... and wrote the punch lines for the candidate's most celebrated speech on toilet paper during a bout of nausea and diarrhea.

Exhausted he might be, but he was the one who tucked in "I give you the next Governor of the Great Bay State of Massachusetts"... and who got his sure-to-be- next Excellency out of bed. ("Dammit, he's got to stop smoking!!!"). (Note to self: "Stop at CVS and get some odor-eaters; God, what a smell.")

He was at once the candidate's conscience, his 24-hour-a-day wake-up call, the hound who chided, reminded, prodded; made sure the shoes were polished and that the public never saw those infernal stogies ("yeah, they're the real Cubano"), or that His Honor the Mayor (loathed by the candidate) always got a personalized birthday card and box seat tickets to the Sox, with photographers on hand so that the voters, always the voters, knew that this worthy (who didn't know s--t from shinola) was a real booster, God Bless America.

This exemplary worker goes by many names, driver, manager, executive assistant, principal private secretary, it is always the same... this person was the glue, the key, the one essential element that helped turn people you never heard of into new paragraphs in history books. Martin A. Burke III, universally known as Marty, was one of these people... and the great irony was this: the man who knew so much about so many was next door to a secret to all of them. And that's just the way he liked it.

"I was born down on 'A' Street, raised up on 'B' Street"

Burke was the son of John and Helen (Gurney). His mother died of cancer when he was 5. His father, who worked in the old Charlestown Navy Yard as a longshoreman, died of cancer at 50. He lived with his grandmother in Dorchester, where so many of Boston's Irish began, a place they couldn't wait to escape from, Marty included. There were many ways out... crime, the priesthood, sports, college. Despite the war then raging, slicing the Great Republic, he chose the Marines, dropping out of English High School. Nobody tried to dissuade him. It wouldn't have mattered if they had. Once his mind was made up, he was adamant. That never changed.

Purple heart to Harvard Crimson.

He rarely talked about it, most vets didn't, but Vietnam was his own personal Armageddon. Drinking buddies and comrades paid the highest price, alive one minute, mangled, oozing remains the next. Burke left with shrapnel wounds, a Purple Heart, and an abiding joy to be alive, determined to make each passing day the best day of his life. It was his Credo. To him, this meant higher education; his good service provided the means. And so, first, he matriculated at Columbia University in New York on the GI Bill; from there transferring to Harvard, the destination of choice for Kennedys... and Marty.

Like many Harvard folks, admission to the World's Greatest (and Richest) University was like getting a seal of approval from God. Play your cards right and the world was your oyster. Just saying "I'm a Harvard grad" wafted him high and above lesser men. However, like many Harvard men before and since, he said it too often, creating animosities and needlessly hurt feelings. This too is part of the Harvard experience. Nobody told Burke, like poet Robert Frost told JFK, to be more Irish than Harvard. It would have spared a lot of grief if they had and he'd heeded the sage admonition.

Master of none.

Harvard, as expected, provided the laissez passer to the greatest circus on Earth -- the politics of the Great Republic. Here Marty learned the secret to success was, as Woody Allen once said, "showing up." Show up, make yourself helpful, come early, stay late, make yourself indispensable. And, above all else, stay close to the Great Man or Woman at all times. Eve Harrington did it to Margo Channing in "All About Eve." Now Marty Burke did it, carefully studying, deducing that press secretary gave him the power, glory, entree, and access he wanted. And so he put himself on the fast upward escalator of Massachusetts politics, media meister to two state attorneys general, Robert H. Quinn and Francis X. Bellotti. He then decided he was ready not merely to assist candidates.... but like Pygmalion to create them.

Here fate played into his hands, in the persons of Michael Dukakis, sitting Governor of the Commonwealth, and the man Marty Burke decided should replace him, Edward J. King. Now Marty was that most heady of entities, a player... and he relished every minute of the Great Game. His self-appointed task was making his unlikely candidate papabile. This meant living, eating, sleeping with the man, overseeing all, orchestrating all, thinking all, resolving all. And he did.

Governor Dukakis helped Marty out. The good citizens of Massachusetts might agree Dukakis was competent and honest, but they detested his constant condescension and assumption that he, and only he, knew what was best for everyone. And so Edward J. King (and Marty) won the 1978 Democratic primary and then the general election. Marty Burke was now certifiably the wizard he wanted to be.

Enter Nemesis.

It is rightly said that there is only one thing worse than failing, and that is succeeding. And so it proved with Marty and His Excellency Governor King. King had once relied on Marty. Now he had a coterie of eager, knowledgeable advisors; Marty felt pushed out, neglected, unloved. But King was only following the old adage: as soon as you have arrived, get rid of the people who helped your ascension. They are not worthy.

Appointed to the backwater of the MBTA Burke felt the sting in this insight. And here he showed how much he still had to learn about people, Harvard degree or not. For instead of biding his time and making himself useful, he began to carp, criticize and ridicule his one-time student. And Edward J. King took such sentiments from no man. Marty was toxic, eased out, shouting about ingratitude, inequity, incompetence to anyone who would listen. Thus the glory days ended, forever.

Now Marty Burke is dead, the man who rose high on his energy, initiative and hard work, only to fall farther from hubris, is gone. I believe I see him now as I saw him just weeks ago; sitting in the early morning sun at the Montrose Spa in Cambridge, a heap of newspapers scattered on table and pavement, a quip for everyone, just as it had been for the 40-some years I knew him...

Yes, I'm sure that's him, teaching God Himself the indomitable, jaunty words of "Southie Is My Home Town" (found in any search engine).

"Say they'll take you and break you, but never forsake you. In Southie, my home town"...

... and they're both smiling. Yeah, Marty will get along with the Big Guy just fine.
 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol  http://WorkingAtHome101.com
 

An open letter to every volunteer on behalf of every organization which relies on them.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. In this punk economy, the nation's 1,000,000 charities, non-profit organizations and eleemosynary institutions are hard pressed to do all that must be done for the good of so many. To achieve their admirable goals, they need volunteers... and lots of them. But volunteers who don't know how to be good volunteers are, in fact, a drag upon an organization's limited resources. Thus this article from an old hand in the volunteer business. Whether you are a recruiter of volunteers or a public- spirited person looking for suitable volunteer options, this article is for you!

For the music to accompany this article, I have selected perhaps the greatest recruiting song ever, "Indian Love Call." It was first published as "The Call" but became instantly popular in the 1924 operetta-style Broadway musical with music by Rudolf Friml and Herbert Stohart, with book and lyrics by Otto Harbach and Oscar Hammerstein. They made it good.... Nelson Eddy and Jeanette Macdonald in the 1936 film "Rose Marie" made it great. If there is a drop of blood in your body and a heart that still functions, you cannot help but respond to its soaring lyrics:

"When I'm calling you will you answer too? That means I offer my love to you to be your own."

Go now to any search engine. Find this celebrated song. Put a box of tissues where you can easily get access. Turn it on... and be prepared to call your favorite charity when finished. You are about to give of yourself for the good of others. "You'll belong to me. I'll belong to you." With this article in hand, you will soon be the best volunteer this organization has ever seen.

It's a Job.

The first thing you must realize about any volunteer position is that it is not just like a job; it IS a job... and must be treated accordingly. Sadly, too many volunteers think that because there is no paycheck that they have the right to be frivolous and cavalier about the business at hand. Nothing could be more wrong. This seriousness starts even before you are engaged as a volunteer.

What you need to know, and what either the executive director or designee must tell you, is exactly what your duties and responsibilities will be. In other words there must be a clear understanding of what the organization expects from you and your ability to live up to these expectations. Naturally, both parties should expect to put all this in writing, so that both parties are clear... and so that they remain clear throughout the volunteer's involvement. Here are just some of the things the volunteer must be told and the organization must be clear in informing:

* clothes. What you'll be doing will guide your selection.

* name and contact information for person responsible for assisting the volunteer.

* available training materials and where to find them.

* exact duties and when, where and how they must be done.

* how to report progress and/or where and how task-related queries should be handled.

Note: new volunteers are in need of constant hand-holding and TLC. Expect to provide it.

Introduce the players.

New volunteers must be assigned a mentor, someone who will show them the ropes, a person like the Artful Dodger in Charles Dickens' "Oliver Twist" . His song in the 1968 film perfectly sums up the relationship between mentor and mentee. "Consider yourself at home. Consider yourself one of the family. We've taken to you so strong. It's clear we're going to get along... Consider yourself one of us". Exactly.

Mentors must be friendly, knowledgeable, accessible, "good people" willing to extend a helpful hand and (above all) gifted with a sense of humor and an ability to live by the words of Theodore Roosevelt, "to do the best you can, with what you've got, where you are." In short paragons of astonishing virtues and skills.

Is there more to learn? Of course there is... there always is, if you want to be one of the best volunteers ever.

* Stay informed about the organization by promptly reading all organization emails, ezines, etc. Do not allow yourself the luxury of falling behind.

* Action everything requested in a timely fashion. Do not make your mentor or other organizational contacts chase you for the information they need to do their jobs.

* Ask for and listen carefully to constructive criticism. Properly handled and considered it becomes a fuel for improvement and advancement.

* Be proactive. If you see a problem, bring it to the attention of your mentor. This is the way to show your mentor that you are "with it," loyal, thoughtful, a self-starter... in short just the kind of person this organization needs and must have.

Still more tips.

* NEVER criticize what you see. Ask why it is that way. Never come across as a pompous know-it-all.

* If you cannot keep a scheduled job assignment, let your contact know as early as possible. Remember, something you cannot do must be done by someone else.

* Always be prompt and keep your excuses to the barest minimum.

* Solve all pc and other electronic device problems as fast as possible. Don't burden your contact with a boring "blow-by-blow" description. Don't discuss the problem. Solve it.

 Three more key points.

* When you see a problem you can solve, solve it. Organizations rely on people who are willing to do more than their share, and gladly. This is the most important person of all. BE THAT PERSON!

* Work to make the CEO's life easier. CEOs are people with more on their plates than can easily be processed. In helping them you help yourself; for the more you are able to assist without adding to CEO burdens, the faster you go up in the organization. Never forget this.

And, finally,

HAVE FUN!

Never look upon what you do as drudgery, beneath you, something to be done with as soon as possible so that life's fun and games can begin. Work properly understood is, as Sigmund Freud knew, one of the two pillars of the successful life, the other being love. Treat this opportunity for constant growth and development accordingly. Then reach out to other volunteers, newer than you, who'll be glad to hear how you got started and why everyone in the organization speaks so well of you!

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

What doth God want? The most profound question we must ask. Of U.S.Ambassador John Christopher Stevens and his three colleagues. An elegy.Our conundrum.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. When the news flashed from Benghazi that His Excellency J. Christopher "Chris" Stevens along with three members of his staff had been killed, I wept. For Chris Stevens, for his family, for the people of Libya whom he had served so well and for the Great Republic itself, its most sacred and adamant principles challenged and outraged by those whose beliefs deemed this tragedy not murder but just service to Eternal God from whom all blessings flow. Thus as we mourn, we are forced to consider how vast the chasm between God's peoples has become.... so that the premature and carefully planned deaths of four good people is reckoned a tragedy by some, a measure of righteous judgement and the vengeance of God by others.

And so we stand, again, at the cross roads where God and Man intersect, a fearsome place where fools rush in and angels fear to tread, the place where one profound query is asked over and over again, without surcease, "What doth Thou want, O Lord?"  And whilst all claim certainty in their answers, certainty is the one thing there is not; rather there is pain, conflict, confusion, bafflement, derision, and no serenity whatsoever.  And so while man struggles to perceive, to understand, to resolve, good people die in their own blood, so proving (if more proof be needed) we are yet untold leagues from an answer. And thus are the people, God's people, confounded and bereft.

Count Folke Bernadotte. (1895-1948).

Folke Bernadotte, prince of the royal Swedish house of Bernadotte, was born the grandson of a king, Oscar II. He was the son of Count Oscar Bernadotte of Wisborg. During World War II, he did not use his nation's neutrality to live comfortably while avoiding responsibility. Instead he negotiated for the release of some 31,000 prisoners (many Jews) from German concentration camps, including 450 Danish Jews from Theresienstadt released 14 April 1945, just days before VE Day, 8 May 1945. As  the end of war grew nigh, this Count of Wisborg knew no rest, for if war waned, hunger, sickness and despair did not.

Such a great humanitarian might have lived comfortably and in honor for the rest of his life. No one would have disputed such a decision. Instead, having been unanimously chosen by the Security Council of the new United Nations as mediator in the Arab-Israeli conflict of 1947-1948 he took up one of the great questions of all time; how to secure lasting peace and harmony in the unforgiving Holy Land.

While he labored for this elusive result, a commitment he made to suffering humanity, no scintilla of self-interest, others worked to eradicate this good man. They reckoned that annihilating this universally known symbol of disinterested humanity would secure immediate worldwide attention, thereby advancing their cause; the cause of a selfish few, against the profound desire for peace of all the rest, in all their millions.

Thus was Folke Bernadotte, humanitarian, benefactor, giver, marked for death by the militant Zionist group Lehi, in the persons of Natan Yellin-Mor, Yisrael  Eldad and Yitzhhak Shamir, who was later to become Prime Minister of Israel. And so Jews for the "highest and best" of reasons slew the great deliverer of Jews, the great outrage being committed (as always) in the name of God.

Thus was a beneficent royal prince, born in a palace, murdered in Jerusalem, God's own city, 17 September 1948; those who did the heinous deed walked in confident sanctimony, certain in the knowledge that they knew what God enjoined, and had with a gun at point-blank range rendered His infallible judgement to a world which still had, even in those days of general anguish and despair, the time and will for outrage, disdain, and condemnation. For God's message to them was altogether different, yet equally resonant. And so the Great Question,  "What doth Thou desire, O Great Jehovah?" was answered by all in their own way, to the satisfaction of each and the rage of all the rest.

"The Innocence of Muslims", a film, an exercise in freedom, a provocation, a  justification, perhaps a cause, perhaps a pretense for murder.

In July, 2012 a Youtube account in the name of one Sam Bacile began to publish excerpts of a film entitled "The Innocence of Muslims." It was designed to mock Muslims and the Prophet Mohammed. By all accounts it was designed (always under the guise of "informing") to incite, to insult, to infuriate. It was a toxic cocktail concocted by a mixed group of Coptic Christians, Jews, other Christian activists and Americans of Middle Eastern origin. All had axes to grind. All had mixed motives. All had past grievances, real or perceived, to avenge. All, wherever they came from and whatever their point of view, knew in their hearts they were doing God's work, however incendiary, insolent, and outrageous. For with such Godly folk, no deed, none whatever, however flagrant can be anything other than righteous. Thus, every sin in the calendar is committed with equanimity and confident assurance that it is good and true, sanctioned by the One God and True.

An ambassador dies, September 11, 2012, just 52 years old.

It is a long, long way from the calm and gracious amplitude of Grass Valley, California to the storied, pernicious "shores of Tripoli", yet such was the arc of Chris Stevens' life, a life curtailed on a day already marked and forever sanctified by the premature deaths of other innocents.

As I write I am surrounded by pictures of this good man, good servant of the Great Republic. They make it clear he carried into his early middle age more than a vestige of boyish good looks, tousled hair, toothy smile, a golden boy, welcoming, a man who knew the secret of making friends and influencing people; all put to work in the service of the nation... and the service of the world.

He moved up in his career by mastering the tortuous realities of the most dangerous lands on Earth, the nations and peoples of the Middle East, rising in due course to become the tenth U.S. Ambassador to Libya whose people found in him an unabashed supporter of their freedom, liberty, safety and security. His friendship was a matter of heart, not merely policy, and the Libyans responded with an amity not usually or lightly given. They liked Chris Stevens and he liked them.

What happened next; a murky chronology.

As with so many matters involving the Middle East and Arab world,  the proximate cause of this affair is unclear. Did the fatal chain of events commence in Cairo after a frenzied mob, outraged by "The Innocence of Muslims" attacked the U.S. embassy? Or, more likely, was it a well  planned, well orchestrated attack by terrorists, reminding the world that our day of reverence and mourning is their day of triumph and exultation? Either way when the sun set on September 11, 2012 four more worthy souls lay dead, Ambassador Stevens; IT specialist Sean Smith; and two experienced and highly decorated Navy SEALs, Glen "Bub" Doherty and Tyrone Woods.

Flags lowered, a President's pledge, words of obloquy, words of mournful farewell, and the Greatest Question still unanswered.

So often have these events occurred that we all know their consequences by heart. How Old Glory is lowered to half-staff in sad observance. How the President emerges to pledge vengeance and justice for the victims. How he and other high officials eulogize the dead, the best of us. How imprecations, curses, anathemas and maledictions are hurled at the perpetrators of so much pain and misery who return the same with interest added.

And how, through it all, as good people die for naught, the Great Question of our species abides unanswered  "O God! What doth Thou want and why do You torment Thy good people so?"

Now go to any search engine and find "Taps" and think well upon its every word as you ponder, "Day is done, gone the sun... God is nigh...."

 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

'Sealed with a kiss.' The continuing imbroglio concerning the papers of Senator Robert Kennedy and what must be done at once to solve it.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. In 1962 every suburban girl's dream, bedroom-eyed Brian Hyland, released the ultimate bubblegum song, "Sealed with a Kiss." Just listening to it made your blood sugar soar. It was that sweet. See for yourself. Go to any search engine and hear it all over again...

"Though we've got to say good-bye/ For the summer/ Darling, I promise you this/ I'll send you all my love/ Everyday in a letter/ Sealed with a kiss."/

Yes, millions of tongue-tied adolescents mined this wistful song for the words they needed and couldn't come up with on their own:

"I'll see you in the sunlight/ I'll hear your voice everywhere/ I'll run to tenderly hold you/ But, darlin', you won't be there./"

It was all so cute... but not for everybody.

Some of those sealing their letters with a kiss were unfaithful... some deceptive and manipulative... some had absolutely no intention of doing what they pledged... and some, dying young, couldn't fulfill their vows... leaving instead a lifetime of bitter sweet memories, a compound of anger, regret, unendurable pain, sorrow, and always love, love that grew with time and never diminished.

Such a one was Ethel Skakel Kennedy, the woman loved by Robert Francis Kennedy, the man she idolized. June 5, 1968, the day Senator Kennedy was assassinated changed everything except one thing: his letters were sealed with a kiss and no one, absolutely no one but the widow Kennedy herself would be allowed to access them, no matter their importance or sensitivity, touch them, read them, study them, understand them, and put them in their proper context. And so the matter has rested from that day until this, with growing exasperation and anger on both sides.

The facts.

In 1968, an even-then controversial agreement was reached between the Kennedy family, lead by Ethel Kennedy, and the National Archives. The Kennedys were given expansive control of the RFK papers which include dozens of Pentagon, State Department, and CIA documents; in addition there are at least 62 boxes of files covering the three years he spent as his brother's attorney general. Historians have reason to believe these papers include crucial, perhaps embarrassing details about the Cold War, Cuban missile crisis, and Vietnam. But no one knows precisely what these archives contain because Ethel Kennedy long ago determined that the archives and whatever was in them were sealed with a kiss... inaccessible to anyone.

And that included Professor Arthur Schlesinger long-time Kennedy associate, JFK presidential assistant, and one of America's most distinguished historians.  He asked for access while working on his magisterial biography of Robert Kennedy (published 1978)... but Mrs. Ethel refused, to his consternation and inconvenience. If he, with a lifetime of devotion to the Kennedys was left standing in the cold, who then would be good enough, safe enough to enter? Who indeed!  Thus this incongruous situation emerged. Mrs. Kennedy was the only person who could get access... but because she did not have the necessary top-level clearance even she could not read the most sensitive documents. Thus, boxes of import, featuring reams of federally owned papers, boxes of the highest importance to specialists, simply sat in the vault accessed by no one, read by no one, thereby creating huge gaps of immense significance in the historic record. This is the situation today... where entirely reputable professionals are blocked because of Kennedy behavior which is selfish, ludicrous, peevish, illegal and patently unacceptable, for all that it's SWAK.

Battle lines.

So, on the other side are numerous government archivists and historians adamant that the Kennedy family should never have been granted control over official documents, retaining control only over materials patently personal, such as correspondence with Jacqueline Kennedy and Frank Sinatra. These people insist that the papers be opened to reputable personnel with the necessary clearances and the professional ability to determine that each document be properly marked and sorted... and that this long wrongly deferred task be done NOW.

On the other side are Ethel Kennedy and other members of the Kennedy family including her son, lawyer Maxwell Kennedy, who communicates his mother's adamant wishes. Her position is as it has always been "Katy, bar the door." This is an old Scottish story that goes like this:

Catherine Douglas, more royalist than the king, goes to the defence of her liege lord King James I of Scotland. On the lamb from his enemies, he has found momentary refuge in the Dominican chapter house in Perth, 20 February 1437. There Katy Douglas, as she was called, tried heroically to save her sovereign by barring the door with her naked arm. It was the ultimate gift...

... and it failed, her arm being mangled in the process, the King murdered. Thus she came down in history as Catherine Barlass, valiant but futile. Mrs. Kennedy needs to read this story and draw the long overdue conclusion. Her love while understandable is now an impediment, an obstacle making a resolution impossible. Thus, it is time for a fresh approach to the problem.

The Options.

There are, it seems to me, the following options:

1) The government could send Mrs. Kennedy a legal letter demanding she turn over the papers by a reasonable date. This would force her to hire reputable agents to sort the papers in her possession, then showing the federal authorities she was in compliance. Such a course, while legal, might be impolitic for all and would certainly raise the hackles of all. Not recommended.

2) The government could wait for Mrs. Kennedy's demise. Born April 11, 1928,  this inevitable event would enable her heirs to make a deal with the government, a deal which would give Mrs. Kennedy's estate maximum deductions and minimum taxes. It is ignoble but would be relatively easy to effect, not least because any representative of the Kennedy family, like son Maxwell, would not have the halo effect of his mother.

3) The final option is for Mrs. Kennedy to open constructive conversations leading to a solution at once generous and politic, a solution enabling her to keep what is rightfully hers and to open it or not as she desires, while giving unto Caesar that which is Caesar's. This should be her choice for it is the most statesmanlike.

Brian Hyland has the solution:

"Let us make a pledge/To meet in September/ And seal it with a kiss."

It's the right thing to do and long overdue.

 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

A grand wielder of words dies. Prolific author and impious commentator GoreVidal, dead at 86, July 31, 2012. An appreciation for this American gadfly.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. You will never understand Gore Vidal, among the last generation of American writers (along with Norman Mailer and Truman Capote) who were also celebrities, household names unless you understand that he loved language, its power, its cadence, its lyric beauty, its capacity to raise men up and cast them down more than he loved any person, but one.

He, along with a handful of peers were audacious manipulators and inventors of language. Words, most often English words, enthralled them, lifted them from obscurity, made them rich and sought after, and were always there when in moments of pain and perplexity they delivered solace and comfort.

No single person, however beloved, was ever as important, as thrilling, as exalting as the sinews of our forever living, forever growing, forever captivating language, language used daily by billions worldwide but mastered by a mere handful of these users; Gore Vidal being undeniably one of them, for good, for ill, but always with the precision, clarity, power, and assurance of a master.

Like many such masters, he could be arrogant, condescending, impatient with the vast run of language-impaired humanity. He could be dismissive, rude, insulting, snapping orders, commanding obeisance because of his Talent, the basis for everything he was and did. He was among the People Who Mattered... he knew it and always acted accordingly, generally to the fury of lesser men, people who envied him and therefore looked for ways to "take him down a peg or two". They succeeded only when Vidal ran for public office... and then they pummeled him, each and every time.

Ben-Hur.

In 1959 one of the last great extravaganzas of money-burning Hollywood hit the silver screen. It was "Ben-Hur", based on the celebrated 1880 novel "Ben-Hur: "A Tale of the Christ" by General Lew Wallace. I saw it in Chicago on a massive screen on my 12th birthday, a treat from my parents. I was riveted. So was America... so were the members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences who bestowed a jaw- dropping 11 Oscars on this cinemagraphic event. Gore Vidal had a hand in it, never missing an opportunity to advance his lifetime agenda of sexual freedom, particularly a recognition of the rights of homosexuals to live and love as they would, unhindered by bigotry, hate, and state-sponsored prejudice.

In this instance, Vidal had been hired by director William Wyler to help write the script. Without so much as a nod or a by-your-leave, he began to cast the relationship between Judah Ben-Hur and the Roman Tribune Messala as an adolescent love affair gone seriously awry after Messala returns from Rome, fully expecting to rekindle their intimate relationship.

Of course, he couldn't just write this in the script; it was 1959 after all. He had to insinuate it... and so he did with Stephen Boyd (Messala) and Charleston Heston (Ben-Hur) giving us the kinds of "I want you!" looks that presage nights of sizzling passion. It was the very thing which conservatives complain about, the advancing of the "homosexual agenda". Charleston Heston, as squeaky clean as they come, thereafter spent a lifetime abashed by Vidal's semi-authorship claim and propaganda success, denying that Vidal was even an insignificant aspect of the script. However, the looks Heston and Boyd exchange on screen for all eternity are as tell-tale today as they were then.

Vidal took a pair of Roman-style armchairs used by them in the film and, in later years, often sat consul-like in one with his latest comely morsel in the other. It was very much his own particular triumph without Nemesis riding on his chariot whispering in his ear, "Remember, thou art but mortal." He would never have believed that anyway.

Musical accompaniment. Before continuing with the text, I suggest you go to any search engine and locate Miklos Rozna's incomparable Academy Award-winning theme for the film. We may well imagine Vidal playing it in the background when he wanted to create just the right, awe-inspiring effect for an evening's amorous objective. 

He is born, Eugene Louis Vidal, Jr., October 3, 1925.

Vidal was born into one of the Great Republic's many necessary but not quite illustrious governing families; people who have prominent cousin this, powerful uncle that but whom in themselves don't quite break the surface. An only child his father was at his birth West Point's first aeronautics instructor. His mother's father was Thomas Gore, blind Democratic senator from Oklahoma. The two of them, young Gore guiding, became as notable in the Capitol as Aeneas carrying his father Anchises from the inferno which had once been glorious Troy.

At 16, Vidal took Senator Gore's surname for his given name, explaining he "wanted a sharp, distinctive name, appropriate for an aspiring author or national political leader." It need hardly be pointed out that its dictionary definition is "to pierce; as if with a tusk or a horn; wound." Or, "blood after effusion, especially clotted blood." No one could claim he hadn't given fair warning or alerted them to what his acquaintance might effect. And so he heralded his vocation in his name...

The question was where to begin his ascent to a greatness he always thought his destiny? "Write what you know," some well meaning Mentor suggested. But what did a nineteen year old know anything about? The result was "Williwaw", published  in 1946, a military novel based on his Alaskan harbor detachment duty. So far, so good.

What else did he know? All the world was shortly to see when in 1948 he released "The City and the Pillar," a novel which put a dispassionate gloss on the love which hitherto dared not speak its name.  It was dedicated to "J.T.". Only many years later did he acknowledge that these were the initials of the only person he had ever truly loved, James "Jimmy" Trimble III, killed in the Battle of Iwo Jima on March 1, 1945. his lover who had given his life for the salvation of the Great Republic which condemned him...and left Vidal bereft in the face of a wartime tragedy that was also a social injustice.

Under the circumstances, his dedication to sexual rights was understandable, laudable, even heroic. And so as one toxic review after another of this novel went to press, the public persona of Gore Vidal took shape: outspoken, bold, relentless in his pursuit of justice, using words like the sharpest of scalpels, eviscerating his too often thoughtless, superficial, inhumane critics. He was a literary commando of fierce aspect and fiercer determination, fueled by a single word, "Remember!" It was inscribed on his heart...

Prolific, pungent, pompous, pugnacious, always politically incorrect.

And so Vidal found his metier... as a scribbler touched by malice and an unrivalled ability to make the people of "Main Street" squirm. He demonstrated this ability in hundreds of learned (and opinionated) essays and novels like "Julian" (1964), "Myra Breckenridge" (1968), and "Burr (1973) where he wrote to absolve our most treacherous vice-president, his ancestor Aaron Burr from the obloquy and disdain of history and the nation and office he dishonored.

They were all page turners which often confounded our beliefs and introduced us to the burdensome task of thinking. But for my money, it was his novel on Abraham Lincoln (1984) where he reached his apogee as one of America's most important writers and originals. It is pure poetry, wrenching, lyric, often painful to read but compelling. It goes without saying that its subject was the only Republican he ever admired, unto sainthood. Yes, Vidal was a lifelong Democrat and was even persona grata at the Kennedy White House, where he and First Lady Jacqueline shared a stepfather, Hugh Aucincloss. But here as elsewhere he argued, squabbled, criticized, belittled, carped, disdained, and bellowed. The Kennedys, like most everyone else, dropped him. It was the recurring patten of his life. If he cared, he never said so.

Rest in peace.

Now this often most inconvenient man, too often with the foul mouth and manners of a churl is dead. He has gone the way of all flesh, but unlike most others he has left his rich legacy of words. They will speak well of him forever.
 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol  http://WorkingAtHome101.com

A practical appreciation of Terry Loebel, dead at 71, July 28, 2012; a guy with a clever idea called Valpak which took him from rags to real riches; his inspiring story!

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. A lot of people reading this article are unhappy campers. Either you've lost your job and face the uncertain future with nothing more than the few bucks you've got saved and those minuscule unemployment benefits... or... you've got a job you hate working for a boss you hate, feeling like you're trapped, despairing, down, maybe worse. If this is you, then listen up because this story of a guy like you might be the most important thing you've read in a long time.

To put you in the mood for what follows, I want you to go to any search engine and find "Proud Mary". Of course you know it. It's a rock song written by American singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist John Fogerty and recorded in 1969 by his band Creedence Clearwater Revival. It was immortalized as one of the great attitude songs ever by Tina Turner in 1970. She warned those folks who wanted "nice and easy" that she never, ever did "nice and easy" and that they should expect "nice and rough." She was true to her word and thus you need to listen to Tina and get off your you-know-what and sizzle. It's been too long since you did...

"Cleaned a lot of plates in Memphis."

In the mid-1960s, Terry Loebel was an unemployed forklift operator looking for a way to support his family. His former employer American Motors was going through hard times and let him go.

First, in 1965, he picked up his family and moved to Pinellas County, Florida; he was sure things would be better there... but he was wrong. Like Proud Mary herself he took one lousy, dead-end job after another; bug man, even collecting soda bottles for the deposit. Things could hardly have been worse. They just had to get better... but when? How? Where?

One day, when things were bleak indeed, Loebel received a bunch of merchant discount coupons for new residents in the mail. Eureka! He had an "aha!" moment. Why, he reckoned, just send discount coupons to new residents? How about tweaking the idea, sending coupons from local merchants to all area residents?

Start-up funds needed yesterday. Where to get them?

First, Loebel drew up a list of expenses, the bare minimum needed to produce and distribute his first issue. They included

* telephone * designer to create the ad copy and camera-ready art * the specialized printer necessary to print and bag the coupons * the good ol' United States Post Office to deliver them.

He even added the gas necessary for driving to the various merchants, picking up camera-ready art and delivering finished samples. It all added up to a prodigious sum. Now what?

"You don't have to worry 'cause you have no money/ People on the river are happy to give"

About this time, trying to get blood from the stone of his empty bank account, he thought of OPM... Other People's Money. He persuaded merchants to put up the front money required (the USPO never gives credit). He guaranteed to refund their investment if the ads didn't work and they didn't make money. On this basis he got the money he needed and turned his family's living room into discount coupon central. Wife and children were impressed into service, sorting, stuffing, licking... It was a family factory...

At last the first issue was printed and ready to go... Loebel took a deep breath... crossed his fingers... and gave a little prayer. He had staked everything on his idea and made promises he couldn't honor if things went badly. That night he tossed and turned... it was an experience most every entrepreneur has had... a rite of passage.

"Big wheel keep on turnin' "

Thankfully, in the great Hollywood tradition, things did go well... very well. Terry Loebel went to bed broke and anxious... and, as his discount coupons hit and stimulated new business, putting real dollars in the pockets of the merchants who participated, he made money... lots of money. And so his  Valpak empire was born based on the proposition that if you help business people make money, they are happy to use your service, and thereby make money for you. The key was making the best possible offers, so that recipients couldn't wait to get the next Valpak with its truly astonishing bargains.

And here Terry Loebel has a message for every marketer: the better the offer, the better the response, the faster and bigger the response. Terry Loebel's Valpak empire and profits grew as he showed merchants what worked and thereby shaped what they put on their coupons. The more he did for his customers, the more he showed them how to make the coupons work to produce the best responses, the more money he made. It was a very neat, very lucrative system. Terry Loebel was never broke again, even for a single day. Quite the reverse. Once he created a system that worked... his job was to keep expanding it, reaping profits which over time became huge.

Enter Cox Enterprises.

As Loebel's lucrative empire grew, more and more people paid attention, of whom the most important were the folks at Sandy Springs-Georgia based Cox Enterprises, a behemoth with 2010 revenues of over $9 billion and a raft of lucrative subsidiaries. In 1986 Terry Loebel, former Orkin pest control distributor, once living low in a two-bedroom cracker box, became Very Rich Indeed, by selling his closely held Valpak to Cox's closely held Cox Enterprises. Terry Loebel never had to work again. Once his really big check from Cox Enterprises cleared, he was off like a shot, fun and the thrill of discovery for himself and his family the objective.

"I never saw the good side of a city/ 'til I hitched a ride on the riverboat queen"

Loeble started off by racing cars in Sebring and across the United States, though after he hit a wall at over 100 MPH in Atlanta in 1962 he moved away from this sport. He studied black and white photography, presenting 32 gems from his valuable collection to the Museum of Fine Arts in St. Petersburg. One was an 1890s tintype of Butch Cassidy, an entrepreneur infinitely less successful than Loebel himself.

One story, however, best characterizes Loebel and his life. One day years ago Loebel and his son were out for their favorite burgers. Coming home they saw a car on fire at the side of the road. Loebel recognized as its driver the cook at the restaurant they had just left. The man was disconsolate; without a car he couldn't get to his job or get home. Hearing the problem, having the means to solve it, he did. Years later, his son found out that his dad had bought the cook a car that afternoon... handing it over as a gift. "That's my dad," son Greg said when he found out.

And that's why baseball-cap and jean-wearing Terry Loebel will be missed. He was a good man, one of nature's gentlemen with a can-do attitude that helped multitudes. It's been my pleasure to salute and praise him.

"Proud Mary keep on burnin'/ Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river." 

 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

'I may know nothing about art...

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author's program note. One day in 1901 at the beginning of his long-deferred reign, the new and enthusiastic 60-year-old sovereign Edward VII by the Grace of God king, emperor, ruler of plum properties everywhere on Earth, was surveying his picture collection at Buckingham Palace (itself worth a king's ransom) along with Frederick "Fritz" Ponsonby, later Lord Sysonby (1867-1935).

Fritz was one of those most useful of beings; a man who had grown up in a courtly family; his father was Sir Henry Ponsonby, Queen Victoria's long-time private secretary. He was a courtier to his finger tips, knowing all the ins and outs and where all the bodies were buried. Such a man was expected to be available at the monarch's slightest command, know everything, say nothing... and do it all for a pittance. Oh, yes, such people were useful indeed.

On this particular day, the new king and young Fritz were surveying the picture galleries which still had the dour mark of Queen Victoria on them. This meant the greatest masterpieces of the greatest European masters cheek by jowl, higgledy-piggledy with daubs in water color by minor princesses of minor German states. ("Dear Maria had no talent, poor thing.")

There was no order to it, just one thing on top of another. Edward VII, a man who understood his craft, his metier of kingship, was appalled but not dismayed. He had waited a lifetime for this moment, and he told Ponsonby, standing by with notebook in hand, "I may know nothing about arrrrrrrt," he intoned in his idiosyncratic mixture of English and guttural German. "But I think I know something about arrrrrrangement."

And so he did... in art, in music, in life. Thus, to accompany this article I have selected the "Enigma Variations" by Sir Edward Elgar (1857-1934). Find them now in any search engine. They were composed in 1898-1899, just in time for the lush richness of England and her empire at their peak in the reign of a man who knew every nuance of being a king, including which artists should be allowed to paint him and so provide the desired look for all time.

One of the most favored of these artists was Heinrich (later Baron) von Angeli, persona gratissima at all the Courts of Europe, not merely talented, but arguably the best connected painter of his day. How had this happened?

Favored by an unhappy princess.

Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's beautiful and obsessively loved husband, fathered 9 children, of whom two were of major political significance: Princess Victoria, Princess Royal (1840-1901) and Prince Edward, Prince of Wales (1841- 1910). She was married far too young (just 17 years old) to Prince Frederick of Prussia, Crown Prince (1831-1888). It was a love match fervently desired by her parents, who saw thereby a means to expedite German unification and hence create a liberal, progressive nation under a constitutional monarchy, a highly desirable solution to the thorny "German problem" to the benefit of all Europe.

It was, on paper, a brilliant plan... except for one thing: neither Fritz's father, King (later Emperor) William of Prussia (1797-1888) or his chief henchman Otto (later Prince) von Bismarck (1815-1898) wanted what those meddling Englanders wanted... quite the reverse, "blood and iron" being more their cup of tea. And so young, idealistic, home-sick Princess Victoria, now Crown Princess of Prussia, went to her fate... to be ridiculed, derided, humiliated and isolated by Bismarck, past master in the art of exquisite torments.

She became the most unhappy princess on Earth, for all that she had the man of her dreams as her wedded husband. She needed a friend and here at least the fates were kind, for she got as her painting tutor just the right man, Heinrich von Angeli. His visits lessoned the burdens of her royal life. He made her smile and this skill, linked to undeniable talent, made von Angeli and his meteoric career. 

Mirror, not just painter.

He saw the princes of Europe as they wanted to be seen, picturing them as larger than life, bold, audacious, people of vision and destiny. And on this basis he networked his way through the interconnected dynasties which constituted the acme of Europe in this last, greatest age of monarchy.

Paint box in hand, he trod the corridors of undeniable power, great pictures always the result of his visits... pictures of his loyal patron the Crown Princess of Prussia, her husband the Crown Prince.... Queen Victoria (to whom in 1877 he presented his own most attractive self portrait)... Austrian Emperor Franz Josef... and, of course, Prince Edward, The Prince of Wales. It is the study for this magnificent portrait of 1890 that you see above, the dirty, distressed, undistinguished "before" image... and then, as if painted today, the splendid "after", a prince indeed.

For if von Angeli had been fortunate in his patron, so, too, both he and his image of the man who became Edward VII were equally fortunate in the conservator who brought this woebegone picture back from the brink, saving it for grateful generations yet to come. This gifted conservator is Simon Gillespie of Cleveland Street, London, an expert adept at saving portraits of royalty... and every other kind of person or scene. I know. He has worked his undeniable magic on over three dozen such pictures for me, this being the latest.

"Kaiserhaus und Historika" sale, Dorotheum, Lot 260, 8 May, 2012.

This picture was placed for auction at the very end of a long day when I had had almost no luck, until I acquired Lot 256, a superb signed photograph of the Prince of Wales' brother-in-law, Emperor Frederick III photographed as Crown Prince of Germany. I owed its "steal" price to the fact that the auction was nearly over, most folks already gone. My spirits upbeat from this pip of an acquisition, I awaited the signed and 1890 dated portrait of Edward of Wales with equanimity. In the event, its unappealing condition linked to a much diminished audience carried the day. It was mine, and at a very attractive price. All it needed now was Simon Gillespie.

Simon's review.

Simon's work demands utter and complete honesty and integrity. This is essential, and here with this distressed artifact he gave full measure. Upon delivery from Vienna, he emailed a full report of its disfigurements and discolorations. Most of the background, which is now a light gray and for its time a modern conceit, had been glazed over with a brown paint. Further to this, the last treatment it had received had included painting out broad brush strokes around the head in an attempt to "tidy up" and make presentable the regal image.

Gillespie never commits such solecisms... for his credo is to return venerable objects to their pristine state... conserving, not inventing. He is the painter's latter-day incarnation, as true to the painter's original intention as possible... and his intentions in this work were clear: to make an energetic sketch, to render the bravura techniques and prowess of his middle age, to capture the good personality of the sitter. The artist succeeded in his objective because Simon Gillespie, master, succeeded in his.

There is only one question left. Did this splendid study lead to one of Angeli's royal masterpieces? It constitutes the perfect query for my older age. Therefore I am not chagrined to have found no answer yet. For now it is enough that this engaging sketch has survived and faces its future with a mixture of royal pride and affability, the attributes of the sitter, captured by von Angeli, saved by Gillespie and now, chez moi, an object of grandeur and appeal, truly fit for a king, perfectly positioned for maximum effect... for I know something about arrrrrrangement, too.

 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

What a collector lives for... a steal... and of an emperor whoinsisted upon apricot dumplings in season and out... a tale.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. Quick! What do you know about the great Magyar nation of Hungary, a key element in the European equation for two thousand years? Exactly. Unless you are Hungarian yourself, you know little, if anything, about the matter... and that's why you, if you had the chance, would have walked past this gem... and missed a rare occasion to add its splendor and verve, radiating the e'clat that is so very Hungarian, to your collection.

For make no mistake about it, this is a picture of consequence... not least because it is, in microcosm, an apt representation of its nation, being bold, supercilious, absolutely sure of itself with an arrogance and hauteur that is quintessentially Hungarian (and got the nation into such a lot of trouble and grief, even unto its complete suppression and subjugation).

Look carefully and consider what you see, for this is how a king should look ... and be.

Now add the musical accompaniment of the Rakoczi march. It's the very thing to go along with and amplify this article. Find it in any search engine. Listen to the sound of this blood stirring music (composer unknown). You can see the crack troops of the kingdom on parade; the petted darlings, dazzling in their designed-to-impress uniforms and valorous decorations.

We look! We admire! We fall victim to a charm that defines the nation! This is the Hungary of September 28, 1830, the very day the young man portrayed, His Imperial Majesty Ferdinand I, already an emperor, was crowned King of Hungary as King Ferdinand V, and thus one of the key factors influencing every European nation and their millions of inhabitants. In short, this was History!

And, since History is the supreme ironist, you may be sure that what  you see is most assuredly not what you get. See for yourself...

The facts.

People who enjoy the undeniable delights of condescending to others can never afford to forget that to condescend with credibility you must win, constantly, consistently, completely. To condescend without victory is to open yourself to ridicule... snide remarks... and condescension by others more successful  than you. Thus, while Hungary had been a great nation in the days of Attila the Hun (434 A.D.) since then Victory had been fickle, elusive... and so it found itself in 1830 one of a vast number of dukedoms, principalities and other kingdoms in unhappy and restless thrall to God's good servant, the emperor of Austria, reigning supreme and condescending to all from Vienna.

This galling fact roiled every loyal Hungarian, for bending the knee to anyone was bitter indeed to the schemers of Budapest. But to bend the knee to the man who called himself Ferdinand V was the most bitter of all.

For these are the attributes and features that distinguished this imperial majesty... epilepsy, hydrocephalus, neurological problems, speech impediment, and more. Such was the fruit of the union between his consanguineous parents the Emperor Francis II and his double first cousin Maria Theresa, princess of Naples and Sicily.

His ability to produce an heir, non existent. His ability to reign, impossible. His ability to make the crucial decisions inherent in his weighty and powerful position... episodic, unpredictable. The only adamant decision he ever made related to... dumplings. Told by his chef that he could not have an apricot dumpling because apricots were not in season, he responded with uncharacteristic decisiveness, "I'm the Emperor, and I want dumplings!" And so in this matter at least he was gratified.

Otherwise for the 13 long years of his reign he was a negative factor, a void at the center of a turbulent Europe, marching to the Revolutions of 1848, when at last His Imperial and Apostolic Majesty was gently deposed, to be succeeded by his nephew Franz Joseph, who allowed his uncle to live in suitable splendor in Prague's Hradcany Castle, where perhaps he found dumplings a plenty and entirely to his taste. The record does not say.

His portrait as King of Hungary, 1830.

The picture you see above, so grand, so designedly inaccurate was left behind... only to turn up as Lot 125 at Dorotheum's Austrian auction 3 April, 2012. You can see its deplorable "before" state, the state in which I first saw this picture and knew I had to have it. You see, a true collector relies upon a practiced mixture of fact, hunch, visual impact and affection to evaluate a picture and make decisions which may well cost a small fortune, or more. It is a process in which the skills of sleuths, specialists, historians and lovers are uniquely mixed and which, luck willing, produces connoisseurs with bravado and nerves of steel. I am such a person, and I have been liberally helped along the way by conservator par excellence, Simon Gillespie of Cleveland Street, London. He is the man who has helped me acquire and return to their pristine perfection over three dozen such pictures. I honor and trust him accordingly.

What Simon saw.

When the image was first put in front of him it seemed destined to be rejected as dull and flatly painted. Close inspection revealed that the unknown artist had applied a thick oil paint  which over time had left deep interstices that collected considerable dirt and old varnish which had itself discolored. The resulting effect was dismal, a dull surface, dirty, disfigured. 

Here is where experience and a trained eye become absolutely essential. Connoisseurs and their conservators must learn to see that which is below the surface, to see the dazzling promise in the seemingly hopeless. Here Simon Gillespie excels.

After extensive analysis, he concluded the work was worth acquiring, though there was still risk involved; there always is. Still, Simon concluded that at the end of the day the picture would be magnificent as the Elect of God should always be. On this basis I acquired the work at auction, though other discerning eyes did succeed in increasing the price. Still, I did not overpay, always a danger when one's heart is involved.

In short order, Simon had the picture, shipped with their usual speed and careful packing by Dorotheum. As the crate was opened, always a moment of concern and nervous anticipation about what one would find within, the picture emerged, forlorn, dirty, distressed, but not disheartened. For this fortunate image had had the good fortune to become distressed in ways that could be dealt with... so long as it had an empathetic purchaser... and that I most assuredly was.

In Cambridge, in sympathetic hands.

Now this object of royal grandeur, with its uniquely opulent frame, has come to its new home where it will be properly handled, regarded, and maintained. I see it before me now, touched by the divinity that must hedge a real  monarch. Yet it would scarcely be a true Hungarian tale without its mysteries still to be revealed. Who painted his majesty and why did he leave no clue? Who composed the Rakoczi march? And why, too, did its composer demur and remain incognito despite composing a work so excellent the fastidious Abbe Lizst would honor it at his piano? Again, we do not know. And, finally, did  Ferdinand I and V get the apricots he coveted for his dumplings? All these are left to discover.

However, one thing is clear. The  work is imperial indeed, made perfect again by the scrupulous care of Simon Gillespie. And so Ferdinand, sore troubled and afflicted in life, goes confidently into the ages to come, looking every inch as he should, a king, and a King of Hungary at that.

 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today.

 Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool reopens. Thoughts on the man, his enduringgreatness, and why over 24 million people visit annually and come away refreshed in mind and spirit.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note: I am amongst the most vociferous critics of excessive government spending and waste, but today I am proud of the overdue restoration of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, a key part of what makes the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. such a serene and pleasing place, an absolutely essential destination for all citizens; a place which like Mecca, one must visit at least once in one's life, thoughtful, respectful, yearning to be touched and uplifted by its lofty presence, never disappointed or let down.

The $34 million spent to restore the reflecting pool, the largest in the capital, is chump-change by Washington standards... but even if the cost was far more than it is, it would be money well spent...for the role of Abraham Lincoln, 16th president, is fundamental to understanding our Great Republic and reminding us just who we are and what we stand for.

Start by seeing and feeling what you see.

One of the several excellent vantage points for this revered tableau is from the Washington Monument. From this grand obelisk forever pointing up, the only suitable direction for our great endeavors, you see the long, rectangular pool which punctuates the National Mall. No true American, indeed no lover of freedom anywhere, can see this sight without a pang, for to walk the Mall and regard its monuments is to be touched by the greatest people of the nation, their exalted deeds and, always, their searing words which moved multitudes, inspiring the people, opening their minds and shaping our mission for bettering not just our lives but the lives of people worldwide, for that is a crucial and essential aspect of our national work.

How it all began.

There is a deep irony about the Lincoln Memorial and its jewel, the reflecting pool. If he had lived to complete his second term, it is unlikely Lincoln would have had such a monument. Instead, it might have been something like the nearby Jefferson Memorial, respectful to be sure but without the impact of what exists today. But a Southern sympathizer named John Wilkes Booth assassinated the president, and a nation riven by anger, rage, revenge, and a determination that this man and his mission be remembered forever, impelled the creation of an unparalleled civic temple which could not fail to impress and awe every visitor.

Its objective was to glorify Lincoln and the federal union he preserved. The resulting monument must, all agreed, make this abundantly clear, unmistakable, resounding through the years to come. Thus must Lincoln and his great deeds be remembered and raised high. The living Lincoln may not have wanted so much, probably would not... but for the martyred president the grieving, adamant nation would have it so and so it was.

Squabbles.

But, of course, nothing in Washington then or now can be accomplished without disagreement, argument, posturing and rancor. Lincoln, for all that he was the savior of the Great Republic, was the first Republican president and as such anathema to the gentlemen of the defunct Confederacy and the Northern Democrats who relied on their votes and block support. Monument to Lincoln there might ultimately be, but the road to that end would be as acrimonious and obstructed as the defeated Confederates could make it and as unimpressive as their potent congressional power could influence.

Thus, starting in 1867, Congress passed the first of many bills designed to advance matters, this time by creating a commission to erect a Lincoln monument. But it and a plethora of similar legislation were stalled, not just for years but for decades, most notably by House Speaker (and Democrat) Joe Cannon who between 1901 and 1908 made sure every such bill was defeated. Great Lincoln had defeated these rebels and their pernicious notions in life. They would do what they could to defeat him in death. But even here they failed, and at long last in 1910 the necessary legislation was passed, funds voted, design and location approved. Now the great work could be started in earnest...

And so a classic Greek temple featuring Yule marble from Colorado arose. It had 36 fluted Doric columns, one for each of the 36 states in the Union at the time of Lincoln's death. Above the colonnade, inscribed on the frieze, are the names of the 36 states in the Union when Lincoln died. Every aspect of this graceful monument of simplicity even severity, elegance and restrained grandeur reinforced just one concept: the integrity of our federal union, united, indissoluble, eternal. And there, in solemn majesty, the one man who more than any other made these words a reality.

There, as rendered by sculptor Daniel Chester French, Abraham Lincoln, 19 feet tall from head to foot, resides for the numberless ages, a man of power, determination, resolution, contemplation... and most important a man of mercy, empathy, and love as evidenced by the words selected to adorn the walls and make it clear to posterity who he was and what he believed.

Of course, the Gettysburg Address, once known by every school child (but not today), was inscribed. And so were the immortal words from Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address (1865): "With malice towards none; with charity for all... to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations."

Now it was time for the Reflecting Pool.
Along the way, it was decided that this temple as much to the Great Republic as to Lincoln, could be made glorious with a reflecting pool that would dramatically show the treasures of the National Mall while magnifying in its waters the Mall's trees and an expansive sky seemingly without limit. And so the Reflecting Pool of 2,029 feet (over a third of a mile) was added, modeled on the grand canals of Versailles and Fontainebleau, to be dedicated along with the Memorial itself in 1922.

The last surviving Lincoln was present that notable day, eldest son Robert Todd, more a Todd  than a Lincoln. He never said what he thought about the apotheosis unto civic saint of the rough, ungainly, uncouth father who had so often embarrassed him. Whatever it was went with him to the grave.

Glorious again.

Over the years, this grand conception went steadily downhill, fetid, fouled with dirt, duck droppings, and trash. It was a monument to nothing more than poor management and oversight and because of its decaying fabric the loss of 500,000 gallons of city water a week, 30 million gallons a year. Now, thanks to public outrage and good old American technology and expertise, these problems are solved, not least the pool's water supply which has been updated to eliminate stagnant water (and those noxious smells) by circulating water from the Tidal Basin. This place of a nation's veneration is now magnificent again, ready for its unending stream of visitors, all needing Lincoln's message of humanity and harmony, more necessary now than ever.

Author's program note. For the music to accompany this article, I have selected "Dixie" written by Dan Emmett in 1859. Why this song, the finest reel ever written? Because of Lincoln himself. In 1865, he said "I have always thought that 'Dixie' was one of the best tunes I ever heard." And so it is... You can find it in any search engine.

 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

'The winds of change' blow over Africa -- again. This time from the East.Is anybody paying attention to this world-altering trend?

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. On February 3,1960 my distant cousin and British Prime Minister the Right Honorable Harold Macmillan delivered to the Parliament of South Africa a speech that changed not merely Africa but the entire world. It came to be called the "Winds of Change" speech thanks to a (generally misquoted) line in the text:

"The wind of change is blowing through this continent. Whether we like it or not, this growth of national consciousness is a political fact."

When the speech was reported, "the wind of change" became "the winds of change", and even the author himself came to use the misquoted version. The first volume of his memoirs (1966) was titled "The Winds of Change" and rightly so since this single speech and the ruling Conservative Party's 180-degree shift on the grave issue of decolonization and self-rule was the result of many winds, not just one. And these winds not only continue to blow; they blow now with new intensity and force. This time from the East, from China. We are all feeling these winds. They are important already... and each day they become more so as they build to gale force and a world we will hardly recognize, our own hegemony an historic fact, no longer an active reality.

For this geo-political transformation of the first magnitude, I have selected as its musical theme one of composer John Barry's most moving compositions, "Out of Africa" (1986) for which he received the Golden Globe Award for Best Original Score. It evokes a world now gone forever. Find it in any search engine...

"Nature abhors a vacuum".

According to the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC), "Nature abhors a vacuum". He based his conclusion on the observation that nature requires every space to be filled with something, even if that something is colorless, odorless air. Thus as the great nations of Europe departed Africa (as symbolized by plantation owner Baroness von Blixen-Finecke, brilliantly portrayed by Meryl Streep in the film), a half century of political chaos, genocide, and flagrant misrule made the Dark Continent even darker.

Having done everything to eject the Europeans, the new gimcrack regimes, needing everything Europe had to offer, now begged for assistance from their former masters. On the principle "Once bitten, twice shy", the Europeans largely demurred, passing up the opportunity to be promised much, getting little in return except the joy of being derided as "neo-colonizers". It was left to the one remaining world power to help... and in the belief that they were fighting godless Communism America entered Africa with an open check book making local dictators who had the brains to prate the right platitudes immensely rich, powerful, and ruthless.

This farrago of good governance went on until the Berlin Wall fell (November 9, 1989) whereupon Soviet Russia was forced to acquiesce in the freedom of all its former subject states, including Russia itself. One of the consequences of this sea-change was the speed with which America dropped its no-longer imperative Africa mission.  "Here today, gone tomorrow" pretty much summed it up... Thus as Uncle Sam's representatives packed and left, quick foot, a vacuum opened... and Beijing, having bided its time as only the Chinese can do, cautiously decided on the most bold and audacious of advance policies. "Out of Africa" by others became the perfect time for the Chinese to go "In to Africa."

And they have, exhibiting a derring-do not seen since Henry Stanley went deep in the heart of Africa to say, "Dr. Livingston, I presume?" (November 10, 1871) If that famous meeting occurred today it might instead be Chinese president Hu Jintao shaking hands and "I presuming"  foreign secretary Yang Jiechi. Both would have dazzling smiles on their faces, the size an indication of the success occasioning them. For make no mistake, China's economic and foreign policies over the past 20 years are dazzling, brilliant, perhaps (but only perhaps) even better than they might have wished or expected. Beijing has become one of the two great capitals on Spaceship Earth. You may guess the other...

Unthinkable just twenty years ago.

When I was growing up in the '50s, we regularly had missionaries to our church and home. These brought tales of a China on her knees, weighed down with all the baggage of any third-world country. If one of the three children wouldn't eat one thing or another, my father would intone his standard admonition for such circumstances and remind us that our peers in China were starving to death and would eat with gratitude every morsel we disdained. No one, absolutely no one would have predicted that this vision of China was already severely flawed and outmoded... or that the biggest turn-about in history was already underway.... What had changed?

The Chinese people and government made a deal with the Devil. In return for retaining political power and control, the Communist Party ceded economic power... in other words, they conferred the right to be plutocrats on people who now had every trait needed to advance, including a work ethic, patience, and focus that shamed the rest of the world. China grabbed French king Louis Philip's famous aphorism "Enrichez vous"... No one in this industrious nation needed to be told twice. To keep this voracious money-making giant happily fed, China began to cast a covetous look at Africa, a place where the raw materials it needed could be found in abundance.... and easily gathered.... so long as they adjusted their approach and language so there was no whiff of the former detested regime. It was a trivial change, and China made it without regret or equivocation. Thus began a story of the greatest possible importance. The numbers now tell the tale.

"The thousand mile journey starts with a single step."
There is an old Chinese proverb that says, "The thousand mile journey begins with a single step." Thus in 1980, China's trade with Africa was just $1 billion USD. In 1999 it was $6.5 billion USD; in 2000 USD $10 billion. These were the baby giant's warm up steps... one of the most determined people on Earth was just getting started... They had crafted their model, created their plan. Now they worked it with a vengeance:

Total Chinese-African trade reached USD $55 billion in 2006. US trade with Africa that year was $91 billion USD... just 4 years later, 2010, China surged well ahead, with $114 billion USD. It was a whole new ball game... and so the winds of change were well and truly blowing as the zestful, indefatigable bureaucrats of a new kind of Communism brainstormed strategies to control Africa's most valuable oil lands in Sudan and Angola... copper from Zambia and the Democratic Republic of Congo. They unhesitatingly made the deals they had to make to control the nations they had to control to keep the forges of China working, working, working, day and night, never ceasing, always growing, and still too little noted or understood.

Another $20 billion to advance China in Africa, the announcement of the biggest loan yet.
Thursday, July 19, 2012 was a red-letter day in Beijing. Every politician whatever his stripes likes to be in the happy position of giving away money, and Chinese president Hu Jintao is no exception. Thus July 19 must have been among the best days of his industrious life. For on that day he announced that his government would lend $20 billion USD to continue China's mission to Africa.

His audience was a gathering of African leaders smiling at so much money (twice the amount pledged at the last such meeting in 2009). Many must have been wondering just how much they could pocket how fast. It is the African way of business... The Chinese way is different... Not to take a little, but to give as much as possible, and thereby get even more. And so this day Hu Jintao gave and gave and gave... including roads, pipelines and ports... He gave Africa training for 30,000; he gave Africa 18,000 scholarships; he gave Africa 1,500 medical personnel. The crowd, the creme de la creme of African leadership, first smiled, then clapped, then were on their feet shouting their approval for such largesse... largesse without stint, without condescension, without strings, and best of all, without end. This is the Chinese way, and it works.

South African president Jacob Zuma praised China's approach, saying it was preferred to Africa's experience with Europe. "We are particularly pleased that in our relationship with China, we are equals and that agreements entered into are for mutual gain." It is a measure of the Chinese magic that their clear objective, their distinct neo-colonizing habits have received no rebuke whatsoever from Africans so very sensitive on this subject. That is how supremely well the Chinese play this all-important game determining the fate of millions.

"Why America Slept."
In 1940 a young John F. Kennedy published a version of a thesis written in his senior year at Harvard College (1938). Titled "Why England Slept" it examines the failures of the British government to take steps to prevent World War II. It also examined the build-up of German power. It is a remarkable book for one so young and might well have found a publisher on its own merits had the author's father not pulled the strings pulled so well to make it happen.

I hope now some perceptive student is at work on a similar dissertation about how our Great Republic lost Africa. If not, one should seize this opportunity to research and write such a timely book. It could well make you famous and even perhaps awaken our own leadership to the looming catastrophe for us already so well advanced. Otherwise we are out of Africa for good and the winds will blow from the East forever. 

 About the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.