The Critical Path

                                                           

   
                                 Critical Path en route to Isla Mujeres, Mexico
                                                                  2005


    Critical Path is a Beneteau Sailing Yacht, 50 feet in length and owned by Bill Dooley of Sarasota, Florida (see Dooley Mac Construction). Dooley frequently races the boat and in 2003, with a crew of nine competed in the Pineapple Cup Montego Bay Race. Roger Marquis my brother-in-law (and qualified to captain up to 100 tons) and I flew into Montego Bay on February 14th to meet the boat. We were part of the return crew of six taking the boat back to Sarasota. The Pineapple Cup winner that year was Zephyrus V, covering the course from Miami in 2 days, 23 hours, 5 minutes and 57 seconds. With sail troubles Critical Path required five days and a few hours. Dan Sagan, an architect and exceptionally talented sailor, was the navigator for the racing crew and now captain for the return. The cruise was to be a casual ten days with a stop in Cayo Largo, a wannabe socialist resort off southern Cuba.
     I would prepare the shipboard meals. Call me "Cookie".
     In a cramped Montego Bay grocery store I purchased some provisions for the cruise. Standing in front of a counter examining freshly slashed meat I heard someone say, "Those are the finest steaks in . . . " I never heard the last word - it could have been in the "universe" or "Jamaica" or "this meat box". But I thought the best and purchased six steaks.
     For cooking on boats I have three general rules: (1) Wash hands frequently - the crew likes to see that - find it reassuring. (2) Have an abundant supply of orange juice, lemons, limes and cabbage - I have read the Patrick O'Brian novels about the British Navy during the Napoleonic Wars. There will be no scurvy on boats in which I cook. (3) The mess deck should be spotlessly clean between meals.
    Breakfasts and lunches are simple to prepare. The race crew cook knew what he was doing - one food locker was full of left over, packaged muffins, rolls, doughnuts and crackers. The refrigerator contained a few pounds of cold cuts and eggs. So "breakfast" sandwiches were served in the AM, (Captain Sagan liked to make the coffee) and more sandwiches with chips and pickles at noon. The cocktail hour was a challenge - serving food with drinks is an absolute necessity - so having a variety of  hors d'oeuvres tests one's creativity. Still I did not serve my favorite appetizer - mushrooms stuffed with smoked oysters. A beautiful woman had given me the recipe for "Seduction Mushrooms" years ago. But I feared their destructive moral impact on six lonely men  slowly voyaging in the Caribbean. (Recipe below*) Dinner might be freshly prepared - on this and other cruises my favorites include baked turkey breast with stuffing and cranberries; sausage and peppers; sausage, chicken and peppers; pasta with anything; Cowboy beans and every one's default dish, chili. Other dinners come directly from the frozen food locker.
    The night before entering Cuban waters I strapped myself in front of the gimbaled stove and fried the steaks. I served them with a fresh pasta salad and Kaiser rolls. My steak was delicious if a tad chewy. But I mislead - in truth the steaks were tougher than Kevlar or even fillets of Superman. The crew however was forgiving and rumors of retaliatory punishment greatly exaggerated.
     We sailed into the harbor at Cayo Largo flying the flags of the Conch Republic (aka Key West) and the United States. Cuban authorities took no chances with this American crew - over our three day visit representatives of nine government agencies examined us, our papers and the boat. Unsatisfied with the efforts of one drug sniffing dog they came back the following morning with a different dog - same result, no illegal drugs. We ate ashore frequently. I remember a lobster the size and consistency of a small tractor tire. Dave, a member of our crew was mugged visiting a bar one evening. He escaped by jumping into an unattended minibus and driving away. Stopped by Cuban police he was returned to the Critical Path with facial cuts and lacerations. The next morning detectives came aboard, chatted amiably with our victim and then departed. Shortly there after we loosed our lines and our visit to this lovely vacation paradise near the bottom of Cuba - a hideaway for errant tourists, apparatchiks and commissars ended. Critical Path eased away from Cayo Largo and back into the Caribbean.
    Twenty miles off Boca Grande Florida, in darkness and a squall Critical Path was sliding through a choppy sea. Strapped in I had just checked a large pan of baked lasagna - now bubbling along the edges. At that instant Critical Path connected with a shoal and the hull struck bottom with a thud. This was followed by a cascade of seawater down the ladder from the cockpit. I was deeply troubled about the lasagna possibly spilling and messing the oven - potentially a miserable clean up job. I turned off and secured the stove. Another thud - the boat's engine was operating at maximum rpm and screaming. The fear was that the hull would crack open. Another thud - Sagan hollered down to Dave at the chart table, "Send out a Mayday!"  Dave fresh from service on a nuclear submarine asked him to repeat that and Sagan did. "Send out a Mayday!" Critical Path then transmitted a distress message that the Coast Guard and US Tow received. My first Mayday - it lead me to think less of lasagna and more about myself. I sized up an additional exit through a hatch above the salon. For about forty-five minutes in rain and darkness Critical Path crabbed about on a shoal seeking deep water - and finally the boat righted itself - maybe ascending to heaven feels like this - the problem was over. At about the same moment a boat from US Tow arrived. Having sustained damage to the rudder and props we were guided to a safe anchorage near Boca Grande. At 9:30 that night I served a dinner of baked lasagna, a loaf of seawater flavored bread and the last two bottles from the boat's wine locker - chardonnay. It was a superior meal enjoyed by all.

*Seduction Mushrooms: fresh mushrooms with stems removed; sauté in butter; stuff with smoked oysters; cover with sauce composed of horseradish, mayonnaise and Tabasco sauce; broil a couple of minutes at 400 degrees. Serve with iced vodka.

Karl Marx

                                                               

                                                     Marx family and Engels



     The years during which the USSR tottered and collapsed (mid 1980s to 1991) were rather exuberant for those studying the empire. The nation that had dominated our political thinking and apocalyptic nightmares for decades imploded in what President Putin has called the greatest catastrophe of the 20th century. I had the opportunity to visit the USSR several times during these years doing some teaching, lecturing and consulting.  During these visits I was suitably humble and Charles Dickens would say I had much to be humble about. In the USA the demand for individuals who had ideas about events in the USSR was heart warming. I found it expedient to install a telephone in my bathroom.
     "John Doe from USA Today calling. What do you think of . . . ?"
     "Hhhhmmm - good question - let me step out of the shower . . ."
     Some professional conferences took on great value. At one sponsored by the Five College Peace Studies program at Hampshire College, representatives from Gorbachev's mostly elected Congress of People's Deputies arrived directly from Moscow with fresh reports from the proceedings - "There were lines of deputies waiting to speak freely for the first time in 65 years." - "GDP in the Soviet Union dropped precipitously during the sessions of the Congress. Everyone was listening to the live radio broadcasts." In the Spring 1992 (the year maybe off some) a conference of European and American academicians was scheduled to convene in London. Reviewing the proposed program I counted approximately 1000 papers and posters to be presented. Not a single contribution focused on "Marxism". The ideological foundation of the Soviet Union as elaborated by the genius Lenin had vanished. For the succeeding quarter century almost no one cared about "Marxist socialism" except the Chinese and the right wing in the USA.
     Using broad strokes - I viewed Marxism as a secular morality play with familiar components. In the beginning humanity lived in peaceful cooperation  - each individual worked to their ability and received according to need. Then the "fall" occurred - someone declared the produce of this field or that orchard -  "it's mine!" and the institution of private property was created. Humanity rapidly devolved striking bottom when one human declared another human to be their personal property - slavery. But Marx saw a path to redemption - a path that could be interrupted but was nevertheless inevitable. Based on Hegel's dialectic - every thesis has an antithesis. They inevitably clash  and the resulting synthesis creates a higher truth that is also a new thesis - that clashes with a new antithesis creating another synthesis and so on. Eventually Capitalism confronts Socialism and a higher stage of human development is attained - Communism. At this point humanity is back where it began with the addition of industry, technology, new social relations and valuable historical lessons about what not to do. Humans again work according to their ability and received according to need, government disappears and for some reason the Hegelian engine of redemption stops, at least at the macro level.
     I have found it amusing that students more easily accept the spiritual morality play concerning the Garden of Eden, the "fall", redemption and heaven than Marx's secular version. "People could never behave like that - alive!" "Human nature would not permit it!" "Only in heaven."
     If we zoom in on the clash between the theses of "capitalism" and "socialism" a basic question is always - what is the proper role of government in society?" Most severe capitalists worship the "free market".  They would be pleased with the replacement of e.g. social security with 401k programs and National Parks transformed into concessions of the Disney Corporation. On the "left" many socialists (even in China) have backed off the demand for total government ownership/control of the means of production. But progressives and liberals continue advocacy for strong government involvement in society, especially in matters relating to climate change, finance, transportation, energy and health care. But what is resuscitating Marxism today is what gave birth to Marxism in the 19th century - massive inequality. Three recent observations: In 2013, twenty-five hedge fund managers made more than twice as much as all the kindergarten teachers in America combined.  Among American children almost 25% of the five year olds and younger live in poverty. Finally - over nearly three decades (1979-2007) ". . . lower income workers saw no meaningful gain in what they were paid for an hour of labor. *
     Thomas Piketty's Capital in the 21st Century documents the inequality that results ". . . as assets like real estate and stocks disproportionately held by the wealthy (capital) rise faster than the economy (growth) . . . Inequality in the United States and Europe is rising back to Pre World War I levels." To combat this development of a new Gilded Age he advocates that governments institute a global tax on wealth. ** The response to Piketty's book has been remarkable - the right wing is outraged. But in the free market Capital is a best seller, a book of nearly 700 pages. Two New York Times columnists  published articles analyzing Capital one day apart; the progressive Paul Krugman, "The Piketty Panic" and conservative David Brooks, "The Piketty Phenomenon". Brooks ends his piece with the somewhat inscrutable line, "When it comes to cultural analysis I, like Piketty am quasi Marxist."
     Whatever - Karl Marx is back.

See
     Thomas Piketty Capital in the 21st Century 2014.
     *Neil Irwin NYT 6/4/ 2014. Paul Krugman NYT 5/8/2014. Joseph Stiglitz NYT 6/30/2014.
    ** Neil Irwin NYT May 30, 2014.
   *** David Brooks NYT APRIL 25, 2014. Paul Krugman NYT April 24, 2014.
   Marx photo by Wikipedia.org

No One Would Tell - a film by Noel Nosseck - reviewed by Sara Mileski

                                                    
    
                      Sara Mileski is President of Kappa Omicron Nu, the national honor society
                                                    for  Child and Family Studies at Syracuse University.

      No One Would Tell exposes partner violence in the teenage population. Stacy is caught in Bobby's web of control and abuse and only a tragic event can detach her from him. Teen partner violence can be underrated yet its implications are just as terrifying as domestic violence at later ages. The causes of Stacy and Bobby's abusive relationship arise from their role models and the environment of the teenage world. The outcomes of Bobby's power over Stacy develop over time expanding from the trivial into major societal issues. Connections between this fictional relationship and real teenage partner violence emphasizes why this phenomenon exists and what it means for society as a whole.
     Society must examine a teenager's ideas about violence. Bobby's abusive actions can be defined as intimate partner terrorism because he physically assaulted Stacy. (Hattery and Smith 65). Stacy however, chose to see his abuse as love. She often blamed herself for the beatings, explaining that she was being "stupid". Teenagers tend to believe that abuse is a "demonstration of caring behaviors" and is thus "justified". (Herrman 164) They believe that the provoked abuser has good reason to hurt their partner. Teens have less experience with romantic relationships - they see abusive behaviors as "normal", reasoning that their partner's actions are typical of for example, jealousy. (Largio 952-953) Teenage views of abuse may also be learned by witnessing other romantic relationships.
     Family circumstances may shape a child's definition of abuse - first a victim then perhaps a batterer. Stacy's father abandoned her. The mother then went through numerous relationships with men who were emotionally and verbally abusive. She was Stacy's only role model for romantic relationships. This may have increased her chance of being a victim because she was learning to stick with an abusive partner. Bobby's father also abandoned him. Before he left Bobby witnessed the father drunkenly beating his mother. Bobby then became a batterer. According to the Intergenerational Transmission of Violence Theory he taught his son to batter his partner and Bobby learned the lesson. (Hattery and Smith 194)
     Teenagers deal with peer pressure in their competitive environment daily. Romantic relationships add on to the stress of high school students. If they are abusive it may immediately affect the victim. Stacy's grades started dropping and friendships weakened - Bobby controlled her every move. He created rules she had to follow - otherwise she would end up bruised. Unable to see her friends or leave her home at night she began to lose herself. Stacy demonstrated "traumatic bonding" - she gradually lost her identity, made no decisions of her own and became more attached to Bobby. (Largio 952) 
     The small scale struggles soon become greater problems for victims of  partner abuse. The psychological and mental health issues associated with teenage partner violence are just as severe as for adults in abusive relationships. Worse, for both the teenage victim and the batterer a pattern of domestic violence may continue throughout their lives. (Largio 973; Herrman 167) Bobby battered his first girlfriend and continued the abuse with Stacy. The audience does not discover the impact the abuse had on Stacy - until it witnesses its' tragic sum, her death.
     The film aims to demonstrate that keeping domestic violence a secret can lead to tragedy. Domestic violence is considered a private matter and hidden from others. (Hattery and Smith 35) This is the main reason why those who knew of the abuse did not come forward - and they did not wish to become involved. Bobby was able to abuse two girls and maybe more without punishment because his community allowed it. If someone had stepped in Stacy may have lived. But our society might not have been able to help her very much. Devon Largio explains that it is hard for teen victims of partner violence to receive legal protection because some courts do not recognize domestic violence and teen partner violence as being the same. (Largio 972) It is highly unlikely that Bobby would have been prosecuted for the prior abuse. The film overlooks this but advises that telling is the right thing to do - it is our responsibility to help those being abused. Bobby might not have been prosecuted but their relationship could have ended before her death.
     Society should encourage people to speak up about abuse. Stacy was obviously in need of help as are many other teens. Teenage partner violence has unique complications in resolving these relationships because high school traps victims and perpetrators together. Though there are flaws in the legal system for helping these teenagers justice can still prevail if people try. Society should be able to protect victims from their abusers - awareness of the problem is the first step in getting help to those in need.

Works Cited

Hattery, Angela; Smith, Earl. The Social Dynamics of Family Violence Boulder, CO: Westview, 2012.
Herrman, Judith W. "There's a Fine Line . . . " Pediatric Nursing 35.3 (2009) 164-170. Proquest. Web. 2 Mar 2014.
Largio, Devon M. "Refining the Meaning and Application of 'Dating Relationship' "
                            "Language in Domestic Violence Statutes" Vanderbilt Law Review 60.3 (2007) 939-981. 
                            Proquest. Web. 2 Mar 2014.
No One Would Tell - a film; Dir. Noel Nosseck. Perf. Candace Cameron Bure, Fred Savage, Michelle Philips. NBC, 1996.
.

Blue Mountain manuscript - excerpt

   

                                           
                                                          Prospect House - 1880s
                                                                           photo by Stoddard                             
    The one hundred yard channel that connected Eagle and Blue Mountain Lakes had been dredged by W.W. Durant for his steam boats. It was arrow straight with the banks secured by granite blocks that dropped eight to ten feet beneath the water. Along the shore stretched a profusion of white birch and aspen trees casting leafy images onto the channel. None of the dozen passengers spoke as the steamboat, The Oneonta moved slowly through the strait. Murometz and Dean sat on the stern bench stoically viewing the emerging lake scene. There appearance was consistent with individuals who might have been dragged along the Adirondack forest floor. They emitted powerful odors of bogs, campfire smoke and rotting wool. In unison they turned their heads to watch a grey hawk struggling to stay airborne carrying in its talons a diminutive raccoon with a still twitching tail.
     As the Oneonta entered Blue Mountain Lake it eased off to starboard and increased speed. The captain intended to pass between two rowing boats crewed by fancy vacationers. The steamboat's wake set both small boats gently rocking and their occupants clutched the gunnel's. In the nearest boat a young woman in a wide brimmed hat waved and the young man tipped his skimmer. A long, pretty lady Murometz thought to himself. The steamer responded with a medley of whistle toots and everyone laughed - except Ox who neither smiled nor even blinked.
     A wind mill and three of the turrets rising above Prospect House loomed off in the distance. The massive building was situated on a granite peninsula jutting out into the lake. It was "T" shaped with the top of the "T" including two promenade decks facing the lake. The supporting leg, equally long moved away from the lake terminating among auxiliary buildings. Murometz counted five stories and threw in an extra story of height created by the turrets. He had heard one of the passengers mention that it contained 300 rooms. The Oneonta steamed the length of Prospect House and then turned sharply to starboard, slowed and gently nudged against the Hotel's pier. Lines were secured and passengers stepped off - the two guides last. The five story wind mill flanking the pier was pumping water to the hotel  - its' blades blurring as they responded to a freshening breeze off the lake.
     They walked toward the Hotel passing a wire enclosure that contained four grazing deer. Prospect House seemed to bustle with guests, staff and guides mixing, chattering and then the occasional chortle. As they hiked up a flight of stairs two dogs, a black Lab with a scar on his head and a yellowish German Shepard raced down past them. The  latter  animal stopped for an instant - stared  intently at Alex - then resumed the scramble down. On the veranda they followed signs bearing the word "Staff".  Alex heard Dean mutter something about "god damn hotel guides". "What's up Ox?"
     "Too many guides around - most don't know shit - they just hang around getting drunk waiting for the Hotel to send them off with paying fools. Then they'll lead them hither and yon, watch 'em shoot anything and hook trash fish."
     While the guests or "rusticators" as Ox occasionally referred to them, appeared neatly dressed the guides were a class apart. Most wore their solitary outfit - heavy wool shirt, thick trousers held up by suspenders, perhaps a belt, one with a rope or bib overalls. Some added a crumpled hat or an abandoned jacket to the outfit. A few wore old army issue or laced up boots. But most footwear was nondescript and included moccasins. Their faces  were inevitably masked by thick mustaches or  like Ox, a full beard. Alex had a full face of stubble.
     "Who are Murray's fools?"
     "Where did you hear that?" Ox paused a moment contorting his face into an agonized grimace. "A few years back - the early 70s - What a fuckin mess - a preacher in Boston told everyone that if they were sick, the place to go cure was the Adirondacks. He even wrote about it - he claimed there weren't nothing that couldn't be cured by a refreshin, revitalizing stay in the mountains. Then for years it seemed like every coach arriving at a lodge was filled with coughing, gagging, bleeding,
puking dudes. Every bed, cot and rug contained someone sick, dying or fuckin dead."
     "Anyone get better?"
     "Hell no. The survivors mostly picked up their umbrellas and went hacking back to the city. A bunch of them  wandered off into the woods, curled up on some nice moss to die." Ox looked thoughtful. "I hear there is a still a doctor over near Saranac Lake who is trying to cure people with mountain air, herbs and such. Personally I think it's a pile of bear shit."
    They stopped on the lower promenade and scanned the dark blue lake and sunlit hills beyond. Adirondack weather at its' best. "Ox, how long you been a guide?"
     "Almost - well on and off for maybe twenty years. Summer months are pretty good - but the god damn spring - bugs! Drive deer nuts! Winters I starve."
     "Are we going to make any money at this?"
     "Trust me Mister Murometz! A dollar a day - not bad. Of course you won't get that - you don't know shit - you just learning." Ox got thoughtful again.  "Things have gotten better with the Hotel here - it brings us fatter clientele. Five years ago each guide had to take out at least two or more sportsmen - some real cheap bastards. Now at the Hotel many sportsmen expect their own guide - and we expects a 'graatooiittyy'!"
     Alex turned back to the lake - the afternoon sun was now glaring off an almost black surface. Shadows were filling the distant valleys. One month ago he had stood down there by the lake's edge - where the deer now graze. He had heard of Prospect House but at that moment in time not a single board, nail or stone had remained of the great Hotel. Almost a century earlier, in 1915 it had been razed. A week later Alexander drown in Racquette Lake.

Lindell, Michael Gustav - DFC

                                              

                                                 Bell UH-1A Iroquois
                               

                                                    Vietnam  1966
                                            
     The application my grandson Kevin was required to complete for the Navy ROTC program asked for the names of family members that had served in the armed forces. Kevin called me to consult. I immediately thought of my father John who had been an Air Raid Warden during World War II. But no, a polite, Swedish immigrant equipped with a white helmet and gas mask - walking around a Utica neighborhood looking for streaks of light escaping from darkened homes that might attract Nazi bombers was probably not what the Navy sought. But the Navy would appreciate the name of my brother Michael's son, Brian. We are all exceedingly proud of the family's first commissioned Marine Corp officer. Kevin also has a cousin "Haarld" who served in the Swedish Army and is now a Stockholm Metro Police investigator. The Navy probably cares not, but I presented the name. Kevin's Uncle Roger was a rugged Marine Corp infantryman in peace time in the Mediterranean. Space constraints prohibit me from elaborating on his exploits. Last and absolutely least his grandfather - I was in the Naval Reserve for eight years.
     Then there is Michael - he volunteered to join the Army in 1962. After training to be a helicopter pilot the Army sent him to Germany. There he was assigned to General Custer's old outfit, the Seventh Cavalry. In the Autumn of 1965 he received his orders for Vietnam. The night before Chief Warrant Officer Lindell shipped out to Southeast Asia we went out on the town. My sister Mary, Mike and I partied among the bars lining 1st Ave in New York's lower east side. Every aspect of Michael that night was shiny, starched, creased and brazen. A stranger approaching us on the sidewalk might be greeted with "straighten up dude!"
     In Vietnam Mike was assigned to the 68th Aviation Company and went to war. A fellow pilot would later describe him as "the coolest of the cool". In February 1966, he was engaged in a military operation for which he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. The citation for that action reads:
     For heroism while participating in aerial flight: Chief Warrant Officer Lindell distinguished himself while serving as pilot on a cargo helicopter on 11 February 1966 in the vicinity of Tan Tru, Republic of Vietnam. As part of a flight of 10 helicopters, Chief Warrant Officer Lindell flew reinforcements to elements of a Vietnamese division which had been landed by river barge and were pinned down by intense hostile fire. The flight delivered four lifts of reinforcements into a landing zone in the midst of Viet Cong positions. Chief Warrant Officer Lindell's aircraft bore the brunt of a savage Viet Cong attack launched at point blank range. The aircraft was hit on three lifts by small arms, automatic weapons and mortar fire, inflicting thirty-two holes in the aircraft and rendering it unsafe for flight. Undaunted, Chief Warrant Officer Lindell volunteered to fly another aircraft, and for the fourth time, flew into the fierce hostile area. With visibility restricted by dusk and the smoke of battle, Chief Warrant Officer Lindell hovered around the landing zone through a barrage of tracers to pick up wounded friendly soldiers. His heroic actions were in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself, his unit and the United States Army.
     Michael returned to the United States from Vietnam at the end of his tour physically whole but holding his coffee cup with both hands. He would immediately continue his education receiving a BS in Business Administration from Virginia Tech. Mike loved flying and flew helicopters on heavy construction projects, then as Medevac to Virginia hospitals and for the National Guard. In 1990, he was recalled by the Army to serve in Operation Desert Shield. Michael returned from the Middle East to deal with service related injuries. Career change - He entered a Nursing Program at Radford University, received another BS degree and went into Nursing Home administration. He finished his career as an administrative troubleshooter - Mike would be brought in to manage and fix "broken" institutions. Now retired Michael and Maria, his beautiful wife of 50 years live in Virginia.
     Thanks Chief.

The "Trading" Gene

                                 

                                    The "Potemkin"" Steps - Odessa, Ukraine

 

                                                          
                                           Hazrali Street - Teheran, Iran

     The "Y" chromosome identifies Lindells as descendants of the Haplogroup N that migrated out of Africa tens of thousands of years ago. The group spread to Central Asia and then casually west towards Europe. Individual markers link Lindell genes to Siberian populations  east of the Altai Mountains, in northern Russia and Scandinavia. The reindeer herding Sami people of northern Scandinavia and Russia are members of the N group. Modern family history suggests a twist - Lindells may have been immigrants to Sweden from Belgium during the reign of Gustav Adolphus (1611-1632) as he sought to "modernize" the Swedish nation.* Whatever the history - after millenniums of genes mixing, dissolving and then reemerging the Lindell genome is pathetically short of "trading" genes. In the course of intense bargaining situations for automobiles, furniture or vegetables the phrase most utilized by Lindells is "I'll take it!" At bargaining most of us are simply lousy - "I'll take it!" is our fallback position and mantra. (There are exceptions. My brother Michael and sister Mary have sons with tremendous business talents. My youngest daughter Jennifer has also shown trading instincts.) But for me - I am in the process of selling a condominium and purchasing another - transactions with women both named Cheryl. From one Cheryl I shall receive less value than I am sure my property is worth. To the second Cheryl I shall pay more - "top dollar" - for her property. It's the Lindell way.
     The most miserable and embarrassing deal of my life took place in a six stool pub with a bartender - a very decent fellow, Sasha - in Odessa on the shores of the Black Sea. Odessa has been known for centuries as a city extremely rich with gifted business people - flourishing even under the steel fist of Soviet rule. Sasha and I were commiserating. I was responsible for a large group of college students and faculty. My program was seven weeks long - three weeks in Austria and four in the USSR. My supply of Rubles desperately needed replenishment. Sasha thought he could help - he had a need for "hard" currencies. As luck would have it I also had some surplus Austrian Shillings and Deutschmarks (this was before the "Euro") as well as US Dollars. The official Soviet exchange rate was 4 Rubles to the Dollar; a rate that Sasha and I agreed was exorbitant. So we began working on a deal - currency trading was not my forte - so I worked with pencil and paper for about thirty minutes. After a couple of stiff vodkas in salute of proletarian solidarity we concluded a deal. Memory tells me that I received 15 Rubles to the Dollar with Shillings and Deutschmarks somehow thrown into the mix. Back in my room I recalculated the deal and to my astonishment I had come up short by about $125.00.  But I now had a load of Rubles and my reaction, far from anger or remorse was amazement, "how the hell did he do that?" The following day at lunch I was providing a hushed account of my profound incompetence at exchanging currencies. My students at the table thought the tale quite funny and hopefully learned a critical lesson; "don't do as I do, do as I say."
     Our Intourist National guide was told my story. Natasha was about 35 years old, with dark hair tightly wrapped in back and over the calves black boots. She spoke English with a delicious accent. "Hello; my name Natasha. I will be with you always." She was dedicated to Soviet ideals -  mostly. Natasha read a student's copy of Dr. Zhivago, carefully hiding the forbidden book in a Soviet magazine. But that evening after dinner she took me like an outraged mother back to the bar and mercilessly  ragged  Sasha for illegal currency trading and exploiting a guest of Mother Russia. Twice he turned to me for support, "Did I exploit you?" "No, no, no" I cried. But Natasha was relentless. Defeated Sasha gave me $100.00 worth of Rubles at the official rate of 4 to 1. The victor then stormed out of the bar. Sasha and I stared at each other. "I'll have a vodka." "No" he said, "You leave now."
     The finest trade I have ever consummated occurred in the early evening hours on a street corner in Teheran. Wandering along I had become bored looking at store fronts with interminable photographs of the Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, his wife Farah, their son Reza and family portraits. There were also peddlers, a few beggars including the occasional child asking for a handout. We had been asked and warned not to give to begging children - the youngsters were being exploited by parents or relatives. I had no intention of trading on the streets or giving money to exploited children.
     I stopped on a corner to glance at a peddler's jewelry collection on a portable kiosk. He had many kinds of cuff links and a brass pair caught my eye - they were brilliant, half inch by quarter inch squares. Next to them was an identical pair in shiny steel. I immediately coveted both pair and engaged the merchant. "How much?" I did not hear his answer because a small girl, perhaps 8 or 9 years old was pulling on my arm soliciting a handout. "No little girl, absolutely nothing, run along" I said more harshly than necessary.
     "How much?" The merchant said "Thirty dollars." I replied that was too much and offered $20.00. He seemed to smirk at my good faith counter offer. Again I had to respond to a tugging on my sleeve. "No, nothing, no handouts, nothing." The girl was imploring me in Farsi I assume, but I turned my attention back to the merchant. "OK, how about $22.00?" Again he smiled and simply shook his head - no. Again the child, "I said no!" This scene continued for about ten minutes as I demonstrated excellent bargaining skills and dogged determination. Finally the merchant capitulated saying "Yes". I handed him $25.00 and took possession of the cuff links. More tugging at my arm - "OK. here!" -  and I gave her $5.00. A three way business deal had been successfully concluded - I began strolling back to my hotel. Turning a corner I saw the little girl in a store doorway, happily chattering away to an adult while bouncing up and down on one foot - firmly clutching my five dollar bill.

* Information provided by Dr. Erik Lindell from the National Geographic Genographic  online.         
 **  Articulated first by Roger Marquis.
Photo; The "Potemkin Steps" Odessa, Russia - Wikipedia.
Photo; Hazrali Street, Teheran, Iran - by Kamyar Adl.   

Damaging Birds

                                                                    

                                                      Eurasian Sparrows

                                  

                                                   Brown billed Scythebill

     The headline of the Wall Street Journal's column dealing with Catherine's work was inelegant but eye-catching; "New Scarecrows for Vineyards: Car Dealer's Inflatable 'Dancing' Tube Men." * It reported how Dr. Catherine Lindell, an ecologist at Michigan State University was selected as the principal investigator of a US Department of Agriculture multi year Specialty Crop Research Initiative - "Limiting Bird Damage in Fruit Crops." USDA allocated $2 million to academic researchers to discover sustainable strategies to limit and control bird damage in a $15 billion industry - specifically losses to blueberries, cherries, wine grapes and "Honeycrisp" apples in Michigan, New York and the Northwest. The Initiative called for integrating economic, biological and consumer information in order to "provide producers with cost effective, environmentally sustainable bird management strategies." Dr. Lindell's team includes 20 researchers from three regions - the Northeast, Great Lakes and the Pacific Northwest.
     With enormous pride and boring repetition I had informed friends, "My daughter has been awarded a grant from USDA to discover ways to prevent bird damage to fruit crops . . ." All I approached seemed pleased. But the responses I received from three male friends with strong, conservative proclivities surprised me. Each responded invoking a final solution with the same phrase; "Kill them!" Such a stark, yet truly simple idea for dealing with birds eating fruit had not occurred to me.
     I had been trained in "birding" by Dr. Lindell and worked for her many times as a "field assistant" in Costa Rica. (But perhaps you have already seen my name in a footnote or two in an avian scientific journal!) My job involved hauling poles, rebar and mist nets (and sometimes my son-in-law's GPS equipment) in total darkness, sometimes clutching a flashlight with my teeth - "Dad, watch out for snakes near the stream!" - into rainforest or abandoned coffee fields. Nets had to be erected before 5:00 AM. Then we carefully extracted birds that flew into the nets taking them to Dr. Lindell who would treat them to a physical exam, perhaps tagging and quick release. In late morning the nets, rebar and poles were collected and hauled out. Every single bird was important to Catherine - and her crew. In my hands I have held some of the most exquisite life forms on earth. To  simply touch a Brown billed Scythebill, or have fingers chewed by a Buff throated Saltator or pooped on by a Blue-crowned Manakin - these were to me great privileges and high honors. Simply killing birds would not have occurred to me.
     But it has been thought of by others and even tried. Mao Zedong and the Chinese Communists initiated the "Great Leap Forward" circa 1958 - 1962, in order to rapidly expand the industrial and agricultural production of a poverty stricken nation. To this end they implemented the "Great Sparrow Campaign" also known as the "Kill a Sparrow Campaign" and the "Four Pests Campaign." The principal objective of these campaigns was the elimination of the English Tree Sparrow that in China eats prodigious amounts of rice and other grains. Other pests to be exterminated were rats, flies and mosquitoes. Methods included village populations banging noisemakers forcing birds to fly. When exhausted from flight and coming within stick range they were killed. The use of poisons and pesticides was also widespread. The "Kill a Sparrow" program was enormously successful and ". . . resulted in the near extinction of the birds in China." ** But by April 1960, the commissars realized - too late - that sparrows also ate locust and this now flourishing population swarmed across China devouring everything in its path. Rice yields declined. The ecological catastrophe created by the Great Leap Forward was now underway. Too late the word came down from Mao - "Stop killing the birds!" The sparrow was removed from the list of four pests and replaced by the bedbug.
The policies of the GLF included massive deforestation projects, the utterly irresponsible misuse of pesticides, poisons and "backyard steel furnaces" that ultimately produced tons of unusable, worthless metal. But the GLF did create what is now regarded as the greatest famine in the nation's history. The number of Chinese who starved to death as a result of its policies range from 20 to 40 million. ***
     Early morning sun cut through the mist shrouding the coffee trees in Las Alturas, Costa Rica. The nets twelve feet high, stretched in a line between two rows of trees for about two hundred yards. From a net I had just extracted a yellowish flycatcher also known as a Scale crested Pigmy Tyrant - a beautiful little bird with an attitude. Its legs trapped between my index and middle fingers the Tyrant stared up at me - angry. It then began an attack hammering my thumb like a woodpecker. At that moment on my hand precisely behind the Tyrant's head landed a thick, black insect. The flycatcher's head blurred as it swiveled 180 degrees and scoffed up the treat - it's never a bad time to eat. With head feathers now rakishly askew it returned to punishing my thumb. Eventually it stopped and looked up.
"Had enough? Give up?"

*     Jon Kamp, Wall Street Journal Nov. 28, 2013 p.1.
**   Frank Dikotter, Mao's Great Famine. 2010. See Wikipedia; The Four Pests Campaign.
*** Summers-Smith, In Search of Sparrows 1992. Also see Dikotter.
Photos - Brown billed Scythebill, Dr. Catherine Lindell. English Sparrows, Wikipedia.