Thoughts on books.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

 Author's program note. It had been a long, exhausting day, frustrating, irritating,  a day of people I didn't want to know, disliked on sight, and couldn't wait to see  the back of them. Business can be like that, especially on a Friday afternoon  in September, when anything, absolutely anything, seems more desirable than  staying in one's office tending to customers who seem tailor-made by central  casting to irk, exasperate, just the shake of a lamb's tail from disdain, contempt,  loathing also being a distinct possibility.

 At last the time came when I could, with decency and well-honed precedent,  withdraw... trusting that those following could take the job I was leaving with  greater enthusiasm and higher spirits than I, just then, was able to muster.  Just then, I didn't care.

 I was content, just then, to wallow in disgruntlement and high dudgeon. But though  I didn't know it just then, my grumpy mood was about to change for the better,  all because of an old friend I'd forgotten I had, a friend whose constructive  powers were such that even had my funk been far mightier and tenacious  than it was, my friend would have surmounted even that, with ease, grace,  and total confidence for it and its kind had worked their magic so many times  before and this day was poised to do it again.

 A book.

 This friend was a book, a book I had not thought of or recollected in any way these  nearly 40 years, "Ottoline: The Life of Lady Ottoline Morrell". It was written by  Sandra Jobson Darroch and published in 1976 in London by Chatto & Windus.

 I found it in a stack of books on the floor of my bedroom, a place with custom-  made mahogany book shelves; ("Real Honduran mahogany, sir, just as you wanted".)  They looked capacious enough when being crafted, but were quickly overrun by the  thousands of books I retained after that jolting year when I donated over 12,000  volumes to charity, an act that at first touched my heart and then challenged my  resolve to "prune", the better to keep what was "truly important".

 But as every book lover knows, every book no matter how ill-considered and  poorly written, is truly important (at least to the author). For each book is a  statement of significance (at least to the author), though admittedly some have  distinctly less significance than others.

 This, of course, was the argument Ray Bradbury made in his 1953 classic dystopian  novel "Fahrenheit 451". His book is set in a future American society where books  are outlawed and "firemen" burn any that are found. The title refers to the temperature  that Bradbury understood to be the autoignition point of paper.

 Book loving revolutionaries, unable to hide even the most important books from  the regime which is determined to destroy each and every one of them, dedicate  themselves to saving one book apiece, by memorizing its contents, continually  reciting it over and over again.

 Thus they become that book, fiercely dedicated to their task of preserving its  unique and crucial message, despite the difficulties of their task and the  horrendous consequences if they are found out by a regime determined to  extirpate, extinguish, exterminate and end once and for all every book, every  book lover, and the progressive and humane thoughts which will continue to  exist so long (but only so long) as the books containing them do so. Both sides  in the struggle agreed on that, if nothing else.

 Composer Bernard Herrmann in his score for the film, caught the tension,  the danger, the fateful commitment, the great risks run for humanity by those  who knew that each book lost diminished human kind, whilst each book  saved preserved not only that single volume but every thought, dream,  aspiration of the author and the often lyric beauty of the language he used to  express them. The stakes could hardly be higher; the very outcome of  civilization hanging in the balance. Go to any search engine now and hear  how brilliant Herrmann handles this challenge.

 The curtain opens, peace descends, a world has been awaiting me and I  am soon immersed.

 Each day of my life, I try to read something that has absolutely nothing to do  with business, making money, or expanding my empire at Worldprofit.com  where the business of the day, every day, is helping Internet marketers  worldwide profit online. That is important but as the old Yiddish proverb says,  "A man who has nothing but money is a poor man."

 Thus when you come to visit me in Cambridge, you find a residence that is a  tribute to man and his creative vistas, talents, and demonstrated abilities. Here  the arts flourish and are celebrated, including the art and craft that produces the  masterful bundles of words we know as books. Whatever room you are in,  wherever your eye chances to look, you see books, here a single volume  distinguished by the strawberry jam I was savoring while reading. There a  tottering pile of volumes dedicated to the politics and culture of Central Europe.

 A thousand or two other tomes balance higglety-piggledy in my sanctum  sanctorum; inviolate places near at hand for "the Holy Bible"' (King James  version) and Shakespear's much thumbed and constantly consulted works, a  task which always elevates and is never onerous or irksome, even when a  quotation provokingly resides elsewhere from where it is doggedly sought  and erroneously remembered.

 These books, the ample residue of my donative hecatomb, are each and every  one a friend, whose opinions I seek, even when I disagree with them. It is  unthinkable to dismiss them because of some divergent viewpoint. After all,  they tolerate me when I cannot see my way to agreeing with them. Constructive,  affectionate dialog is the essence of why we make and why we keep friends of  any kind. So it should be here...

 Lady Ottoline, like cream rising.

 Moments away from exiting my imperial abode, short moments from selecting the  vehicle that will take me up, up, and away, all is in readiness for my ascension.  I have found the book, I have glanced at the cover, I am ready to see what the  story of this eccentric, exquisite, extraordinary English aristocrat at the height of  the empire on which the sun never set might do for me. And that turned out to  be generous, glorious, as unexpected and perfect as the occasions she walked  her pampered Pekinese dogs on ribbons tied to the shepherd's crook her  ladyship carried like a magic wand, herself the chief sorceress of all.

 Once upon a time when I was a newly minted Harvard Ph.D. with modern  English history my specialty, I was destined to write such books, one after  another; each one so well researched and written publishers would make  fools of themselves running after me to sign on the dotted line. There were,  however, enormous changes at the last moment; I wrote books, 18 of them,  books which made fortunes but did not provide the wherewithal for  delicious gossip and polished literary vignettes over tea ("China, please")  and strawberries and cream. No matter.

 In less time that it takes to write this line, I was back in the England that I  have always loved, every character in the book an old and well-known friend...  now rising off the page to sharp renewal in my memory where they, the author,  and her unforgettable subject exist for me and bless me, reminding me of  what is really important, and that includes every word I am reading now. In  these lie the greater significance... and I am glad to be reminded.

About the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is the author of over a dozen print publications, several ebooks and over one thousand online articles. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.

You can lead a horse to water, but....

Author's program note. I am CEO of an extraordinary company called Worldprofit Inc. Since 1994 we have been in the business (and mighty successful, too, I might say)  of setting up people worldwide in their own online business. The three partners,  Sandi Hunter, president; George Kosch, resident wizard and chief technical officer,  and me, in charge of copy, content and public relations are proud of what we've  created... proud to the point of wondering why anyone wanting online success  and guaranteed profits (if you follow the simple guidelines) wouldn't want to join  us and succeed accordingly.

 When this happens, I am chagrined, irked, disappointed, wondering what I did  wrong, master marketer though I am, thus failing to engage with the customer  who was actually willing to walk away from the prevailing offer to join, an offer  always worth a king's ransom more than the prospect was asked to invest.

 Invariably while I'm ruminating on the reason for this (to me)  incomprehensible  matter, one of our ever-present, 24-hour-a-day-live monitors, pipes up to say, "Dr.  Lant, you can lead a horse to water..." And I say, as expected, "But you can't make  him drink."  There the matter ordinarily rests until the next obtuse, obstinate,  clueless, hapless customer pops up and digs in, determined to be as difficult  and uncooperative as possible. This "explanation" may have been good enough  in the past... but is "good enough" no longer, for now I intend to confront the  question of why that infernal mammal didn't drink... and what I can do about it,  to the eternal benefit of man... horse... and customer.

 "Happy Trails".

 To put you in just the right mood for this pace-setting article, the right music  is required, the kind of music homesick cowboys warble after a couple of shots  late at night, as their best and most loyal friend takes both back to the barn  and slumber amidst the hay. And so I give you one of the warmest and best  remembered of such tunes, "Happy Trails". Find it now in any search engine;  it'll bring back a torrent of happy memories when you were young and innocent,  and your biggest problem was how to explain that D minus in math so Dad  didn't give you a licking with the wide belt always hanging on the basement  wall.

 The song was written by Dale Evans Rogers and was the theme song for  the 1940s and 1950s radio program and the 1950s television show starring  Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Rogers. It was always sung over the credits of  the program. It was released in 1952 as a 78 RPM and re-issued in 1957 as a  45 RPM record on RCA Victor/Bluebird and immediately became one of the  signature songs of the Eisenhower era, when God blessed America.

 The most talented, cooperative horse ever.

 Always at the center of this special place with sunny weather and the best  people on Earth was a horse, your horse, your best, most trustworthy, always  loyal friend, who knew when to nuzzle and when to fly like the wind, always together  'til death do us part, remembered with love, remembered forever. For Roy Rogers -- and for the Great Republic -- that horse was Trigger (1932-1965), originally named  Golden Cloud, the magnificent palomino for those of us who didn't have a horse of  our own.

 Trigger, at 15.3 hands (63 inches), was by any reckoning one fine animal,  and he and Roy Rogers got on like a house afire after being acquired in 1938.  Rogers taught him 150 trick cues, including how to walk up to 50 feet on his hind  legs. In due course, with a string of movie credits, Trigger became the most  famous horse in film entertainment, even having his own Dell comic book recounting  his exploits. Rogers, for instance, made many personal appearances with Trigger  in tow. More than once according to his autobiography "Happy Trails", he escorted  Trigger up 3-4 flights of stairs to visit with sick children. If only things had finished  there...

 Butcher John L. Jones.

 When Trigger died in 1965, full of years and honors, perhaps the most famous  horse since Incitatus, made consul of Rome by the emperor Caligula, Roy Rogers  arranged for Everett Wilkensen of Bischoff's Taxidermy in Los Angeles to preserve  him for the ages, a glory to his kind. But butcher John L. Jones had other ideas.  Thus was the flesh of the best loved horse of all sold and eaten in various southwestern  restaurants against the strict provisions of the Prevention of Food Adulteration Act of 1954,  thereby earning the despicable Jones five years in the pokey and universal contempt;  frightening horses everywhere. Is it therefore any wonder that when mankind invites them  to drink, they demur, decline, distrusting us, no matter how much they need the vital  refreshment before them?

 A beginning, not an end.

 When people say "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink", they  mean this to be the last word on the subject. But it most assuredly is not. The horse  ain't drinking. We need to know why and take immediate action to solve the problem...  Here are my recommendations:

 1)  Be sure you're talking to a horse. You say, what can he mean? I know a horse  when I see one. But, dear inner-city and suburban reader, you don't. Do you know  what a mule is? It's the result of cross breeding horses and donkeys and, with all  due respect, you might easily make a mistake. Always be clear about who you're  talking to.

 2) Particularly if you sell worldwide, understand that the sales process may well  be different in one country from another. You need to be sensitive to the prospect's  situation and way of doing business. Always ask the horse for the pertinent facts.  Never assume you know them.

 3) Ask the horse if he's thirsty. If may be that the horse had only recently drunk  his fill whilst you were in the bar having one more for the road and oggling the  eye candy. Do not presume that you know everything about that horse's situation.  Always ask and be prepared to act according to what you hear. You may well be  surprised.

 4) Be sure the horse knows how hard you've worked to get him water... and the  benefits of drinking this essential elixir of life. To achieve this objective you must  be willing to take the time and communicate. Horses are remarkable animals,  quite capable of advanced communication. Take advantage of this by sitting  down, relaxing and slowly but surely advising the horse just what you've got and  why it's so valuable for the animal (or the customer).

 5) Sweeten the deal. Remember, horses are intelligent, far beyond the condition  of most creatures. Thus, if they are turning up their noses at what is before them, it  may well be because they have evaluated your offer (water) and found it distinctly  wanting. In short, it may well be necessary to increase what you offer until seeming  obstinacy becomes happy acceptance. (As a last resort, try offering a very dry martini  with two big olives de rigueur.)

 6) Give the gift that stimulates action. Have you ever eaten a carrot? No, I'm not  kidding you. Do you like salt on them, like I do? Then you know salting carrots leads  to needing a good drink. Horses love carrots; you add the salt. Thus by stimulating  the need to drink... you will have a horse asking you not for just one drink.... but several  more. I guarantee it.

 7) Use a special treat to motivate. The biggest mistake is to assume that horse  (and customers, too, for that matter) will be happy to take a measly offer far below  what you're capable of giving. Whinny frequently; up the ante. You can start with such  an offer, if you like, on the principle that you can upgrade it as necessary... or you can  study the horse and all his wants and initiate the enhanced offer yourself. Either way,  you must be prepared. Always have better offers available so that you're not surprised  when you perceive the need for them.

 8) Expatiate on all the benefits the horse gets for getting the necessary task out of  the way. Paint the most alluring picture possible. Put helium in your voice and bounce  in your words. Do not only state but enlarge upon the benefits. As part of your uplifting  and motivational presentation make it clear how many other horses are getting ahead  of this particular horse for failure to act and act promptly.

 9)  Call in the experts. If that ol' horse STILL won't drink, call in the professionals,  namely a wizard called a horse whisperer. They are truly awesome, as proven by  the fact that they get to be the subject of school documentaries and speeches at  Toastmasters. As such I imagine they command quite substantial fees... but, depending  on how much you are counting on the horse and his tasks, they are worth it. Just  make sure they wear that cute cowboy hat and skin tight jeans favored by Kenny  Chesney and other Country and Western stars. It makes the horses laugh  and that  is always a good thing.

 10) "Getta horse". If even Step 9 doesn't produce an accommodating beast, you're  well and truly up against it. In this case, call the knackers and trade in that tiresome  horse for a more dependable jalopy. And in case that breaks down (it happens in even  the best families) and some wise acre screams "Getta horse", you can scream back,  "I had a horse. And I ate him for lunch today."  Mmm Mmm good!


About the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is the author of over a dozen books, ebooks and over one thousand online articles on a variety of topics. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.

Exclusive! An audacious idea. Edward J. Snowden for President of the United States. The man who knows everyone and everything and has demonstrated expertise in getting even the most delicate jobs done. Bail to the chief. We have need of this nerd.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

 Author's program note. It's like  this. Voluble motor mouth Senator Charles Schumer  (D-New York) forced my hand. I mean, the next presidential election doesn't occur  until 2016. Problem is, by campaign standards that is just the day after tomorrow  and Schumer, third-ranking Democrat in the Senate, wants to be a player.

 Thus, when he was invited to address a crowd of 750 at an Iowa  Democratic Party  event Saturday, November 2, he made it clear who he wants in the Oval Office after  the Right Honorable Barack vacates the premises, a legend in his own mind: Hilary  Rodham Clinton.

 "Hillary's experience is unrivaled and her vision is unparalleled", proclaimed New  York's senior senator, along with a whole lot of the particularly bombastic and flatulent  language which the Great Republic treasures in every windy word, every tub-thumping syllable, not merely suitable for its presidential candidates, but expected and always scrutinized with baleful eyes.

 "It's time for a woman to be president", he said, and Iowans present who know they  can make history, scrambled to their feet screaming for the lady who will in due course  get her party's nomination, though she is coy and demur about the matter  today.  But to get a nomination isn't necessarily to be elected... as so many of those entered  in the make-or-break caucuses of the Hawkeye state (just two years away now) have  learned to their chagrin, yes even the winners in Iowa who failed to wow America.  Thus did the next presidential campaign commence, necessitating my early  endorsement and this astonishing article... God help us.

 Sagging, bloated, no longer a brand new face.

 There is to be sure a significant body of opinion even amongst Democrats that  Hillary is like cod past its "sell-by" date, once fresh and enticing, now a nose holder.  Yet her nomination will occur because the ex-First Lady, ex-U.S. Senator from New  York, and ex-Secretary of State will do what she does best, work hard, work long,  work with verve and unmatched determination to get what she wants, having  absolutely no trouble at all persuading herself that she is the best possible thing for  the nation she once adorned as a Goldwater Girl (1964), primly cavorting for Senator  Barry Goldwater (1909-1998), father of the nation's modern (and increasingly  irresponsible) conservative movement; thereby proving this baby has come a long  way.

 (Author's honorable confession: I was a "Goldwater Boy" that year when Hillary  and I (the same age) lived just a few miles apart, in suburban Chicagoland. Thus,  I must tread gently around this matter).

 Things change, but what doesn't is each candidate's profound belief that they are  the one -- the only one -- who knows best, even when they change their positions  as often and completely as New England's fickle weather. "If you don't like the weather  in New England now", Mark Twain wrote; "just wait a few minutes." He might have written  as much about their "immutable" positions which never are.

 OMG.

 But though I write as if Hillary's nomination was certain, it most assuredly is not...  especially if master spy and quirky cutie Edward J. Snowden runs. For he knows  everything about everyone, knows where all the bodies are buried, and has already  proven just how expert he is at publicizing the choicest (that is to say, the most  scandalous), eye-popping items which can so easily disrupt any campaign. In  Hillary's case these most probably revolve about the undeniable love of her life,  William Jefferson Clinton, Randy Bill, sometime president of these United States.  Consider this...

 Bill Clinton left office still young (just 54), full of beans and grandiose notions,  damning the 22nd Amendment disbarring him from another term he might well have  won (despite all the embarrassments, scandals and roller-coaster  vicissitudes).  His one ace in the hole for his oh-so-sweet, prompt return to the world stage was  the wife he had so publicly humiliated.

 She must be having such fun knowing the power she has over him now. She'll run  alright, but she'll do it her way cocking a snoot at hubby in ways of the utmost subtlety  and artfulness, the way such old married couples may do. She'd be less than human  if she didn't.

 However, whilst ex-president and possible future president play their conjugal  games right out of "Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?" (1962), Eddie Snowden, for  all that he's making the scene in Moscow these days, is earnestly studying his  portmanteau of jarring Clintonalia, savoring, sharing each scrap of toxic tittle-  tattle with Vlad Putin, his BFF. For can anyone doubt that is what a spy named  Snowden, Edward Snowden, would do?

 Now it is time to introduce him to you. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the next  president of the United States, what he brings to the office and his unique way of  dealing with opponents, electoral or otherwise, and making the world a safer place,  at least for him. Let us salute this man! Let us hear his anthem...

 "007. The James Bond Theme".

 Go now to any search engine and find one of the most recognizable and  apposite movie signature themes ever. Written by Monty Norman (though  celebrated composer John Barry also claimed it in court actions which  sustained Norman's credit), the theme was first recorded and used in 1962.  It features five saxophones, nine brass, a rhythm section and solo guitar.

 That guitar delivered the defining riff and was played by Vic Flick on a 1939  English Clifford Essex Paragon Deluxe. For his work, Flick was paid the one-  off fee of 6 pounds sterling.... about $30 at the time... a  little over $2 today.

 The films, of course, graced by this theme made hundreds of millions. Listen  carefully to the music... the folks who use it, profit apace. Soon you will hear  it everywhere... everywhere Eddie Snowden needs to be to become  president.

 Meet the most agile and successful spy in history: Edward Joseph Snowden,  born June 21, 1983, in Elizabeth City, North Carolina.

 A brief look at his career.

 Snowden is an American computer specialist and former CIA employee and  NSA contractor. He burst into worldwide prominence through a series of  articles  first published in The Guardian newspaper in May 2013. These articles, with their  often hitherto unknown and spectacular revelations, disclosed top secret  surveillance by the United States, Israel, and British governments.

 In an instant Snowden became a household name, variously called spy, whistle  blower, dissident, traitor, patriot. He was charged by the government with espionage  and theft of government property. However, by the time the charge was made,  Snowden had flown the coop, criss-crossing the globe, making tracks whilst his  flatfooted pursuers failed time after time to capture him, in a high tech revival  of the Keystone Cops, until at last Snowden reached Moscow and his most  influential friend, Russian president Vladimir Putin, a man who loves power and  plays the game with deft skill, total cynicism and untrammeled imagination.

 Two of the most dangerous people on Earth had found each other and together  dreamed the dreams of mass confusion, disruption... and triumph; effortless,  complete, impending.

 A  knock at the door.

 A handsome footman is retained and accoutered in high style, powdered hair,  resplendant livery, brass shoe buckles gleaming. He carries a silver salver, solid,  never plate. Mr. Snowden places his engraved card upon it. All it says is "Edward  J. Snowden. Do visit my website now and call". That is all.

 And it is always more than enough since this site, quite unique,  provides impeccable evidence, so lurid, so fascinating of the peccadilloes of the recipient, artfully arranged  for greatest impact.

 The recipient looks, looks again, and again. Then calls the number given. There  is a soft caressing voice, "Mrs. Clinton, we've been expecting you. Have you  had the chance to consider the advantages of remaining a private citizen?  Do  please. Mr. Snowden is awaiting your response."

 Snowden smiles, his plan advancing. So does Putin, for his plan is advancing too.  In the background, the 007 theme swells, confident, irresistible, smooth as silk.  "Snowden, Edward Snowden."


About the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant writes commentary on a number of interesting and sometimes controversial topics. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.

'You are so wonderful. Being near you is all that I'm living for"! More on the Kennedys, Joe Sr., JFK, Bobby and their high-class minions. How puny, ramshackle and dangerous Camelot looks now because of expert Robert Dallek. And that makes for sad reading indeed.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

 Author's program note. I first met author Robert Dallek when we both appeared  on a talk show on NECN, the New England Cable News network. We were both  there to promote something... in his case the then latest volume in his magisterial  3-book series on Lyndon Johnson, a flawed man who had squandered his  presidency and place in history by putting the nation and the world through an  unwinnable war in Viet Nam and in whom I had lost interest years ago.

 ... then Robert Dallek entered the picture.

 He started to talk about Johnson in a low-key, conversational, thoughtful and  intelligent way that forced me, for one, to re-evaluate Johnson as more than  a self-pitying man with low self-esteem and the bullying tactics that he used to  cover the "real" man and his particular demons. In Dallek's words, clear, simple,  compelling Johnson came alive... and so did historian Dallek. I've admired  Professor Dallek and his work ever since, and I'm glad to have this opportunity  to say so in the hope that many of my many readers will arrive at this conclusion,  too. Short and sweet, if you like American history, you're going to love Robert Dallek.

 About Robert Dallek, born May 16, 1934.

 Robert Dallek is an American historian specializing in American  presidents. His  objective is to show them as they were... which is hardly ever how they wish to  be seen, for mere humanhood is never the goal of such people; legendary status is.

 Thus the minute Dallek selected unflinching truth and rock-ribbed integrity as his  fixed objective, he became a revolutionary, a  menace to the mendacious everywhere,  but especially those in the White House; a "must read" for the rest.

 Not an overnight success.

 Dallek began (like my father) as an undergraduate at the University of Illinois,  graduating with a B.A. in history in June, 1955. He did graduate work at Columbia  University, earning an M.A. in February, 1957, and a Ph.D. in June 1964. He then  went on to UCLA where he moved inexorably up the academic ladder, from assistant  to full professor of history... with many positions, engagements and illustrious places  and assignments to come.

 Even this brief biographical paragraph provides crucial Dallek details, namely that he  is a historical workhorse, setting the objective, doing the meticulous research every  historian must master, writing, editing, re-writing, editing again. This is what all historians  must do. Good historians do it better than most. Paragons like Dallek do it better than  all but a handful of the gifted. And so, in due course, Dallek wrote at least 14 books  and one learned article after another. Such a man deserves our thanks, respect and  admiration, for he has done what needed to be done... and he has done it with clarity,  intellect and information we needed to know, though it is often shocking, dismaying,  appalling, each word diminishing the subjects, never enhancing them... starting with  Camelot's king himself, John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

 Dallek starts and ends his book with a fact that clearly beguiles him, a fact of  the utmost interest and pronounced incredulity: that poll after poll about the presidents  puts JFK and his starkly abbreviated presidency on a par with those of Washington,  Lincoln, and both Roosevelts, with an approval rating of 85 percent, only Ronald Reagan  (at 74 percent) coming close. This fact intrigues Dallek... surprises and perplexes  him for JFK's achievements were thin indeed when compared with the others; not just  thin, either, but distinctly antithetical to greatness and the great needs of the Great  Republic.

 Washington is great because he decreed the Great Republic and disdained to be its  king; Lincoln is great because he adhered to the Great Republic and its unity, doing  whatever was necessary (whether strictly constitutional or not) to preserve it, one  nation under God. JFK ran for president not to secure some great benefit for the  nation but rather because his father, patriarch Joseph P. Kennedy, told him he would...  then ponied up the grit and the wherewithal to make it happen... and successfully so.  John F. Kennedy, his presidency, the jeunesse doree who staffed it and all its myriad  personnel were conjured by Papa Joe and his seemingly unending money and  unequalled drive. He was the true driving force of all.... the Geppeto of all the  Pinocchios.

 President of the United States. Now what?

 Great presidents are great because they represent, sustain and fight for great ideas.  But John F. Kennedy had no such ideas and so started his administration in search  of meaning... and for the people who could help him get it. Whilst engaged in this  matter he did what he was so used to doing, leading an acute, perilous and  dishonorable double life, using women (including 19 year-old Mimi Alford) in  ways both disgusting and pathological and deceiving the nation about his always  precarious and steadily deteriorating health. No wonder Dallek muses about the  Kennedy mystique and its enduring hold on the awe-struck Great Republic.

 Having achieved the greatest office in the world.... and just 43 years old at that....  JFK needed to do something with it, but what? Domestic policy, the betterment of  the citizens, bored him. He who had every advantage could not be bothered, and  was never interested in ensuring the people shared in his gifts and were better off  accordingly. That was beneath his lordly distractions.

 He adamantly preferred the delights of 007 international intrigue and clandestine  agility; in this thrilling arena were princely reputations made... and lost... never mind  that there he, his men, and their implausible plans could be trumped and laid low by  a man named Castro and his beautiful little Caribbean domain to the astonishment of  all. But then Castro believed in his cause... while JFK believed in nothing but his right  to be president, his father's constant refrain... for only that eased the old man's rage  and corrosive embitterment, for he, of course, had wanted to be president, too.

 Fueled by the unending bile of the father, the favored son moved onward and  upward. In 1952 he defeated the Brahmin aristocrat Henry Cabot Lodge who had  condescended to be senator from the great Bay State of  Massachusetts. In  1958 he persuaded its star-struck inhabitants that he was the Coming Man  and his Republican challenger a joke, thereby winning re-election by an  astonishing majority.

 In 1960 he bumped off awkward and garrulous senator Hubert Humphrey in  pivotal West Virginia by the simple, time-honored expedient of greasing the palms  of its dirt-poor and illiterate citizens. He then achieved his party's endorsement  by such proven ploys as promising future offices for present favors. First Brother  Bobby Kennedy, for instance, promised the U.S. embassy to Equador to three  credulous delegates, all important one minute, useless the next.

 "Bobby, there are 19 such ambassadorial assignments to be made in South  America by the president," he was told. Bobby could do the math... thus he had up  to 60 such promises to make, his cynicism and gall swelling his brother's delegate  total.

 And if there were problems, why time and Daddy's bottomless check book could  solve all of them... and even more. It was despicable. It was ruthless... it was cynical.  But it was how hard-ball politics are played in the Great Republic and how its presidents  rise from the multitude into history, cleansed of sin, sanctified, superior, venerated,  twisted into a perfection that makes eternal mockery of the truth, the merest detail, of no significance whatsoever, especially when the matter involves Camelot and its spoiled,  privileged denizens... for they are entitled only to the best... and must not be gainsaid.

 Camelot's Court: Inside the Kennedy White House, Harper, 2013.

 Kings and puissant princes must have followers; the greater their power and  majesty, the more such followers they must have, and these of high position  and earthly consequence. In the Camelot years these paragons were known  as the "best and the brightest" and were selected for their many skills, exuberant  intelligence, educational pedigrees festooned with Ivy, polished condescension and,  most of all, their undeniable ability to uplift the king and augment his glory and  glorious panache.

 "Jesus Christ, this one wants that, that one wants this."

 To his complete disgust and consternation, the new president-elect discovered  that his ambitious, irksome, tiresome countrymen wanted things from him, every  thing their little hearts might desire, including that much over-promised embassy  to Quito. He didn't like their importunities one bit, how dare they? And so he whined  to Daddy this memorable sentiment, "Jesus Christ, this one wants that, that one wants  this. Goddam it, you can't satisfy any of these people. I don't know what I'm going to do."

 But Daddy, arch realist that he was, knew: "Jack," he said with a soupcon of disgust  in his voice, "if you don't want the job, you don't have to take it. They're still counting  votes in Cook County", the place that determined the winner of Illinois and hence the  election.

 It should be mentioned, in fairness, that he like all candidates ended the campaign  exhausted... but unlike other candidates he was already overshadowed by a plethora  of diseases whose treatment often turned him into a near vegetable. No one knew this at  the time, of course; no one knew just how sick he really was; how near ominous death.

 To help keep his explosive secret, JFK used different doctors; no one, absolutely no  one must know all... and no one did until Professor Dallek got permission to study the  medical records for his brilliant, deeply troubling book, "An Unfinished Life: John F.  Kennedy; 1917-1963" (Boston, Little Brown and Company, 2003). It is the best of the  best of Robert Dallek about some of the worst of JFK, but not perhaps the very worst.

 That, some would surely argue, would have been his continuing vulgar usage of  women. In the days following his election, his erotic habits inhibited by instant,  constant, 24-hour-a-day secret service surveillance, he felt trapped and oppressed.

 He did in due course connive at remedies, always putting his high office and  reputation at risk; insulting his wife whenever possible, knowing the depths of  her adoration for him promised instant, unconditional forgiveness.

 This was what he expected from spouse; this is what he expected from everyone...  and in his make-believe court of Camelot, this was what he got, as Robert Dallek  makes so abundantly clear in prose that distresses, dismays, discomfits, disconcerts,  but never palls. We are unsettled, but this is our president, our history, our cross to  bear... and we must see it as it is, in all its ignominy and disgrace, for this president,  his unrestrained usages, his prevarications, his deceits besmirched and threatened  us all, for remember, the nuclear button to kingdom come was his and thus the  future of the world and everyone in it.

 "You are the wonderful one."

 This, of course, is why as the sun rose over the Kennedy White House, the courtiers  of Camelot, Bobby, Ball,  Bowles, Bundy, McNamara, Rostow, Rusk, Salinger,  Schlesinger, Sorensen, et al, gathered each morning to serenade the Apollo of  their imagining, their demi-god, the president they aimed not merely to advise  but to influence and control.

 Their song was "You're A Wonderful One"  first sung by  Marvin Gaye in 1964 on  the Tamla label. Find it now in any search engine and feel not mere love but  adoration and submission.

 "You are so wonderful/ Being near you is all I'm livin' for/  You show me more kindness in little ways/ Then I've ever known in all my days.../  Tell me we'll stay together/ Let me love you forever/  'Cause you're a wonderful one/ You're a wonderful one."

 What a shame he wasn't.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is the author of over a dozen print publications, several ebooks and over one thousand online articles on a variety of topics including political commentary and US history.  Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

'C'mon everybody, he's good for a laugh/ And no one could tell his heart is broken in half.' The computer embarrassment that just won't quit. No planning. No oversight. No testing. No insurance. No excuses.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

 Author's program note. On one notable occasion when my distant cousin Harold  Macmillan was British Prime Minister (1957-1963) of the empire on which the sun was  rapidly setting, he was stopped by a reporter on his way to Question Time in the House  of Commons, an event every PM cordially detests as infra dig, an affront to their  astonishing grandeur and majesty. "Sir," the clueless journalist asked. "What's the most  difficult part of your job?"

 At this, the notoriously irascible Macmillan blew up and spat out this memorable response, "Events, man, events!" Meaning, life is what  happens when you're making other plans, one  of my mother's favorite insights. And so... while President Obama had expected these days  to be sunning himself in the unconditional plaudits attending the October 1 roll-out of his  signature health care law, he was instead being pilloried for the unexampled screw-up  dished out by his own fair hand and his "gang that couldn't shoot straight", for whom  inefficiency and mismanagement would be compliments.

 Instead, the launch was beyond embarrassment. It was awkward... a mess... rushed...  incomplete... botched... amateur... flubbed... bumbled... just 248 people getting through  and signing up the first 2 days; the highest of high comedy, all rolled up together. Quite  simply the kind of dog's dinner no place in the world does as well as the Great Republic,  past mistress of goofs of every kind and description. It's no wonder in "God we trust."  We need all the help we can get, and I as Co-Founder and CEO of a successful high  tech company since 1994, worldprofit.com, aim to help, too.

 Facing the music.

 As with all my articles, I have selected the most apropos of ditties for this one,  namely the1961 classic "Goodbye Cruel World", words and music by Gloria  Shayne, memorably warbled by that adolescent heart-throb James Darren.  You'll find it in any search engine. Go now and turn up the volume on this story  of unrequited love and obstructed hormones.

 "Oh, goodbye cruel world, I'm off to join the circus..."

 "Oh, oh, oh, step right up and take a look at a fool/  He's got a heart as stubborn as a mule/ C'mon everybody, he's good for a laugh/  And no one could tell his heart is broken in half."

 Now you're ready for...

 The facts. What was done. What wasn't done. Who's to blame. What must be  done.

 In health care reform, B. Obama was handed a no-lose issue. Why am I so  adamant on this point? Easy. Health care, or rather the lack of it, turned me  into a bona fide revolutionary. It happened this way. I decided to move from  the miseries of New England weather, specifically of the frigid seaside  Massachusetts variety, and move to the heart of Dixie, namely Hillsborough,  North Carolina. I was serious, too, to the extent of buying ten of the most  achingly beautiful acres ever subdivided in Orange County.

 I hired myself an elegant architect with expansive ideas and even more  expansive fees. I got a banker who lauded my classic designs, "the best I've  seen in this county," and I applied to Kaiser Permanente, the state's largest  insurer, to duplicate my Bay State policy which I loved and relied upon.

 However, when their letter arrived it blasted all my hopes and dreams. My  application had  been declined. Why? Because I had the temerity and  unmitigated gall to have diabetes, like millions of folks do. And thus I was, to my  complete incredulity and utter disbelief, uninsurable. I was angry, I was stymied,  I was aghast. I was concerned and vulnerable... and from that telling moment,  shared by so many millions, I was politicized, a health care and coverage  revolutionary, a zealot, a man possessed. It was one of the most important  incidents in a life of incidents... as perfect an illustration as you could find that  God works in mysterious ways.

 Remember: no lose!

 Confronting this malignant situation, with millions either without insurance at all,  inadequate insurance, or where insurance could so easily be terminated or  lost with dire, even fatal consequences, Obama could easily position himself  as the White Knight for universal health insurance, the man who saved his  anxious and burdened countrymen, the man who saved the very soul of the  nation.

 After all, his GOP opponents were nutters of the Tea Party fringe. Every responsible  citizen, Republican or not, knew that the magic moment of the political process had  arrived, where leader of destiny and issue of the greatest consequence to the  greatest number were joined, 'til death do us part, damn the torpedoes, full speed  ahead. It is because of such hard-earned, glorious moments as this we are  reassured God still blesses America from sea to shining sea.

 For his opponents offered nothing better, just mindless opposition without substance,  sanity, sensitivity or surcease to an issue which every other important nation on  Spaceship Earth had already solved to the furthest extent of its economic resources  and where the continuing failure to act was nothing less than wanton, glaring,  irresponsible and indefensible. Obama was thus perfectly positioned on the high  road whilst Republicans insisted on taking the low, their every move outmoded,  selfish, antiquated, poisonous to the body politic and the essence that makes us  Americans and reflects our very  best.

 On this basis so-called ObamaCare moved ahead, each battle necessary, each  battle hard fought, each draining, exhausting, stressful, but each a victory to be  proud of. The President's health care law with its insurance mandate, subsidies  for low-income people, and online marketplace (all modeled on a Massachusetts  program) won narrow approval in Congress in 2010, survived a Supreme Court  challenge, and failed in 2012 to become the fatal political weapon that would  transfer the White House to the righteous right. It was brutal, demanding, draining,  since its opponents, masters of insinuation, invective, and insolent  misrepresentation, knew no bounds of any kind or money they would spend.  And all that, of course, made victory the sweeter.

 Then the problem no one anticipated... just the way Nemesis likes it...

 Imagine the scene just the other day, October 1, 2013, launch day for the  Great Republic's greatest program in health care and insurance. The president  is there; Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius arrives,  while assorted worthies tumble over themselves to watch history being made,  eager to brag about what they did to achieve this moment of humanity and true  national security.

 The computer is readied... the president hits the start button into the great and  healthier future. And then... all hell breaks lose! For the only thing that worked was  the incredible message on screen at HealthCare.gov, the glaring message that  presaged an avalanche of finger pointing and recriminations, extraordinary even  by Washington's vituperative standards.

  "Health Insurance Marketplace: Please wait. We have a lot of visitors on our site  right now and we're working to make your experience here better. Please wait  here until we send you to the login page. Thanks for your patience".

 Or, the alternative message, stark, pointed, hopeless, "The System is down at the  moment... Please try again later."

 And so this fiasco has grown apace, a quagmire of incompetence, confusion  and incomprehension for all the people waiting, waiting, still waiting for  attention... and for all the rest of us stirred to righteous rage at how the great  strength of our nation has been so mishandled and applied. Well might Secretary  Sebelius, point person for the president on this historic endeavor, speak of  "this debacle" It was a debacle her own stupendous ineptitude connived to  make worse. See for yourself.

 1) Despite its importance to all, no overall director was ever appointed for the  precise and orderly transaction of essential business and computer procedures.

 2) No person was ever made responsible for end-to-end testing of the system,  its forms, ordering process, etc.

 3) The main contractor on the project, CGI Federal, a unit of the CGI group, warned  the Obama administration of assorted problems with the system. This occurred  on or before September 6, a good three weeks before scheduled launch date.  Appearing before congressional hearings on the matter, Sebelius denied knowing  of such "problems". If she knew and didn't advise the president, she's negligent; if  she didn't, she's incompetent. Take your pick.

 There's more, much more. About the tens of thousands of citizens whose health  insurance was cancelled by the system, setting off alarums across the nation.  About the accessibility of private financial records, easy pickings for hackers.  About the fact that organizers, including the president, could have rescheduled (or  at least recommended rescheduling)  the launch until the system was completely and thoroughly tested, to the confidence of all. About the foolishness of trying to bring  35,000,000 folks into the health care system (give or take a million more or less)  all at once, when a phased in approach made so much more sense. And, of  course,  about the knucklehead who said the system was ready when it most assuredly was  not, thereby triggering this entire, appalling, chaotic situation, so humiliating for  the Great Republic and its hapless president.

 Is any of this important? As the Austrians say, "It's serious... but not important," and  I most assuredly agree. Despite everything from the rabid opposition of far too  many Republicans to the infuriating, abashing, inept commencement, ObamaCare  is here to stay Is it perfect? No. Does it need major tweaks (not least to the  ordering and administrative processes)? Yes. But these are details, details...  for even the avoidable ineptitude of its creators cannot now stop this program  and the health care which will benefit so many. Thus, the Right Honorable Barrack,  despite his lack of involvement and oversight of his marquee program, will  not  have to walk down Pennsylvania Avenue in a clown costume, singing the  song made famous by James Darren,

 "Well, the  joke's on me, I'm off to join the circus/  Oh, Mr. Barnum, save a place for me."

 After all, the real circus isn't Barnum's. It's the one being run from the Oval Office...  whoever the president may be... and we all know it. 

About the Author

 Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is the author of several books, ebooks and over one thousand online articles on a variety of topics.  Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

Thoughts on colonoscopy, homage to one of the greatest researchers, Marie Curie, and the colossal mistake the U.S. federal government is making in reducing the funding that improves life and enhances our planet day by day, discovery by discovery.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

 Author's program note. It is 5:27 a.m. here in Cambridge, where the invention of  the future via research is our product, our pride, our unmitigated purpose...  a place  of assiduous effort, often lonely, frequently inconclusive, a place where the glory  lies not just in achieving a goal but in knowing this achievement will be overtaken by  others who will thereby advance truth and progress by using the fruit of every  prior effort and exertion, just as those following them will advance beyond  everything and everyone which came before, no matter how celebrated or  useful in its time.

 "If I have seen farther," Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727) famously said, "it is  because I have stood on the shoulders of giants." In that single phrase lies the  reason why Cambridge and all its myriad educational institutions exists and why  we must assist and not diminish them, for their work is vital,  necessary, where  the collective brain power and untiring effort move us appreciably, minute by minute,  to the perfection which should always be our chief human objective and unceasing  mission.

 Research, improved procedures, improved outcomes, the gift of health, even the  gift of life itself.

 I am about to undergo a medical procedure called colonoscopy. It is the  third time in the last 13 years that my colon has been scrutinized, first by  sigmoidoscopy, which is a partial procedure done while the patient is fully  conscious, thereby able to see the entire matter first hand; twice by a complete  colonoscopy, ten years ago for the first; the second taking place at 7 a.m. tomorrow, just 24 hours from now.

 I am therefore at work preparing for this procedure, each aspect the result  of teams of physicians and medical researchers who have, bit by bit, improved  what is done and the medical skills and tools necessary to achieve the desired  result: quality and longevity of the most important thing we each have -- life itself.

 Since this life is so important, the very basis for our existence on Earth, we must  encourage, exhort, sustain and venerate those who advance it, in both length and  utility, and we must oppose, adamantly, vigorously, energetically, unfailingly, anyone  in any situation who does anything to diminish and destroy it. As the great humanitarian  Albert Schweitzer (1875-1965) said, "Ehrfurcht vor dem leben", ("Reverence for life")  must be at the heart of who we are and our every endeavor, particularly of the  researches we undertake.

 Homage to Madame Curie, (1867-1934), "haunted by dreams, invincibly eager".

 This poetic description of Marie Skodowska-Curie comes from the 1943 MGM film  starring Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon (as her husband Pierre), a film whose  world-famous subjects ensured world-wide interest and acclaim. Consider the  date of the film. Madame Curie's native country, the homeland she loved with all  the high ardor and profound devotion found in every Pole, was seething under  Hitler's savage rule, his intent nothing less than erasing her land and every person  therein.

 Her adopted nation, la belle France, writhed under the Nazis, too; abashed, humiliated,  mortified by events, mortified more by the collaborators who stained the glory of France  with treachery and abiding ignominy.

 In such a situation, the powers at MGM, many themselves emigrants from Europe,  lucky to be alive, decided to throw down the gauntlet, to tell a tale that would rekindle  hope, pride, and purpose in those dark days when the future was anything but halcyon  and joyful.

 And so Greer Garson, who had transfixed the world with her characterization of  Mrs. Miniver (1942), a lady whose innate decency, courage, and grace reminded  us what we could do, might have to do in this world at war to inch towards victory  and humanity, was tapped to bring Marie Curie, titanic, brilliant, heroic, enduring,  tenacious to life. The Nazis had nothing like this, either in film, or more importantly  in fact.

 The film, of course, awards galore, did what it was supposed to do, not least  enthusing multitudes of young people, including a record number of young women,  to enter the hard sciences of  chemistry, physics, mathematics and all the others  once reckoned the sole prerogative of men. Indeed, it is not too much to say that  Marie Curie was the godmother of generations of women scientists who thrilled to  her message, her serious intent, and the good work she did, the discoveries she  made, the lives she changed for the better, without giving up her femininity, spouse,  or family. It was an electrifying message for millions. It remains supremely relevant  today and is still by no means universally accepted.

 The music.

 It is now time to introduce you to the music for this article, the most apt sound  imaginable: the score to "Madame Currie". Composed by master Herbert Stothart,  probably best known for writing "The Wizard of Oz" in 1939, the music that edged  out "Tara's Theme" in "Gone with the Wind", arguably the best known movie theme  ever written, for the Oscar. He had his work cut out for him for he needed a sound  that was as beautiful as the science Madame Curie venerated and served, a pristine  acolyte at the forge of truth and knowledge. Go to any search engine now and  let the soaring sound by a composer of renown lift you... just as science and unending  research lift our species... if we will but let them. Sadly, alarmingly these are now  very much at risk. The little men and women of the Capitol are seeing to that,  to the general desuetude and disillusion.

 The fatal axe called "sequestration", the despair of scientists and researchers,  their important work for the Great Republic and every citizen at risk; the risk  that comes when the scientific progress we all have the right to expect is  curtailed by our own failure to act and so nurture and sustain it. 

 It is well known that the federal government needs $1 trillion in budget cuts. What  is far less well known is the devastation, the destruction, the ruination this will  cause the scientific and research communities. Listen then to Dr. Francis Collins,  director of the National Institutes of Health, who called 2013 the "darkest ever" year  for the agency, whose budget is at its lowest inflation-adjusted appropriations level  in more than a decade with all that means for scientists laid off, scientists (including  the vital supply of young researchers) not hired, bold projects unstarted, bold projects  left undone, the nation at terrible risk.

 Here are remarks by Steven Salzberg, the director of the Center for Computational  Biology at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, a well respected biomedical  researcher. "Less science is getting done," he said. "That means cures won't emerge.  Five years from now, when your aunt gets cancer and you can't do anything for her,  people won't stop and think, 'Jesus, if we only hadn't had the sequester!'" Does this  make any sense at all, or are we so far gone as a nation that we simply cannot be  bothered to save the science and research which have the potential to save us all?  Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be?

 Colyte, all through the night.

 While the politicians diddle, dawdle and duck the tough decisions, their irresolution,  cowardice and indecision thereby clouding our collective future, life goes on, not  perhaps as good as it could be, but definitely better than it will be, if the sciences and  their researchers are so dismissed, devalued, disdained. And so I follow the  procedural guidelines to the very letter, afraid that any departure will obscure the  result, perhaps resulting in the tragedy I most wish to avoid.

 The Day Of Your Test.

 4-6 hours before your arrival time.

 1) Drink one 8-ounce glass of Colyte every 10-15 minutes until the remaining half  of the Colyte is gone. You may have to get up in the night to take this dose.  You need  to do this for a good preparation.

 2) Immediately after drink 2 to 3 8 ounce glasses of Gatorade (preferred) or any  clear liquid.

 3) Continue to drink clear liquids until 3 hours before your scheduled arrive time.  Do not eat any solid food.

 4) Do not drink anything, including water, for 3 hours before your arrival time.

 And then it was time to leave, on a voyage discovering myself, hopeful but  understandably nervous notwithstanding. I must have looked pale and wan  for when I got out of the car, my driver Aime Joseph hugged me and said "Courage,  mon ami," something he had never done before.

 Then, promptly, efficiently, professionally my Endoscopy Center team went to  work. Receptionist Louise, perky and soothing at 6:30 a.m. Followed by Jack,  the first nurse, friendly, focused, a man of ease putting me at mine. Then nurses  Kathryn and Pat, smiling, reassuring, glad they said to have a patient as well  prepared as I was, thereby assuring my regard and gratitude; finally, Dr. Lopes,  brisk, amicable, explaining all as we went, master of his craft and of practiced  patient care; the physician who gave me the news, all good, no cancer, no growth,  no troubling polyps, good to go for another decade and a day. That's good for me,  of course, but with the sequester and further cuts, will you get care as good, thorough,  and prompt?  It matters.

 Colorectal cancer is the third most commonly diagnosed cancer in the world, but  it is more common in developed countries. It is estimated that worldwide in 2008,  1.23 million new cases were clinically diagnosed and that it killed at least 608,000  people. Do what's necessary to make sure you aren't one of them.

 Envoi.

 If you are a reader 50 and above, call your physician today and schedule your  colonoscopy and while you're at it, give this article to a friend. It's an act of love.

About the Author

 Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is the author of several books, ebooks and over one thousand on line articles. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.

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