YOUR TEARS FOR THE UNEMPLOYED
PART 2 of 2
December 12, 2012
THE MISERABLE SIXTIES
Big divisions began in the 60s when we no longer required immigrants to assimilate and learn English as they’d done previously. I was in Woodburn, Oregon when that community was inundated with Mexicans and Russians and we began to hear the word “multiculturalism.” With a first-year $100,000 government bribe, the public school accommodated and was responsible for the first bilingual curriculum. The second year they received $80,000, then $60,000 and so on for five years and then the money had to be raised by the district thereafter but by then the program was ensconced. Now some school districts like in California have to offer hundreds of different languages.
Then tolerance began to run amok when the Civil Rights movement was hijacked by the homosexuals and radical women’s movement that came right out of the Communist play book. Ironically, that tolerance article was posted on December 6, 2008 and what happened on December 6, 2012? The State of Washington began issuing marriage licenses for the sodomites. Comparable Worth, Special Rights, Affirmative Action, Social Justice followed and some
I’ve forgotten to list. I was driving a big wheat truck to the grain elevator at age 15!! (that’s not a typo) Then came discrimination laws that enriches attorneys and hate laws to shut down the opposition. The public school began dumbing down the students. In my day in school, we learned reading, writing and arithmetic without the help of some high tech hand gadget and in health, we didn’t learn about condoms. If we could learn to read, we could educate ourselves.
A LESSON FOR THE AGES
Someone sent me the following parody:
Once upon a time I was invited to the White House for a private dinner with the President. I am a respected businessman, with a factory that produces memory chips for computers and portable electronics. There was some talk that my industry was being scrutinized by the administration, but I paid it no mind. I live in a FREE country. There’s nothing that the government can do to me if I’ve broken no laws. My wealth was EARNED honestly, and an invitation to dinner with an American President is an honor.
I checked my coat, was greeted by the chief of Staff, and joined the President in a yellow dining room. We sat across from each other at a table draped in white linen. The Great Seal was embossed on the china. Uniformed staff served our dinner. The meal was served, and I was startled when my waiter suddenly reached out, plucked a dinner roll off my plate and began nibbling it as he walked back to the kitchen.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” said the President. “Andrew is very hungry.” “I don’t appreciate…” I began, but as I looked into the calm brown eyes cross from me, I felt immediately guilty and petty. It was just a dinner roll. “Of course,” I concluded, and reached for my glass. Before I could, however, another waiter reached forward, took the glass away and swallowed the wine in a single gulp. “And his brother, Eric, is very thirsty,” said the President.
I didn’t say anything. The President is testing my compassion, I thought. I withheld my comments and decided to play along. I don’t want to seem unkind. My plate was whisked away before I had tasted a bite. “Eric’s children are also quite hungry.” With a lurch, I crashed to the floor. My chair had been pulled out from under me. I stood, brushing myself off angrily, and watched as it was carried from the room. “And their grandmother can’t stand for long.”
I excused myself, smiling outwardly, but inside feeling like a fool. Obviously I had been invited to the White House to be sport for some game. I reached for my coat, to find that it had been taken. I turned back to the President. “Their grandfather doesn’t like the cold.” I wanted to shout, “that was my coat!” But again, I looked at the placid smiling face of my host and decided I was being a poor sport. I spread my hands helplessly and chuckled.
Then I felt my hip pocket and realized my wallet was gone. I excused myself and walked to a phone on an elegant side table. I learned shortly that my credit cards had been maxed out, my bank accounts emptied, my retirement and equity portfolios had vanished, and my wife had been thrown out of our house. Apparently, the waiters and their families were moving in. The President hadn’t moved or spoken as I learned all this, but finally I lowered the phone into its cradle and turned to face him.
“Andrew’s whole family has made bad financial decisions. They haven’t planned for retirement and they need a house. They recently faulted on a subprime mortgage. I told them they could have your home. They need it more than you do.” My hands were shaking. I felt faint. I stumbled back to the table and knelt on the floor. The President cheerfully cut his meat, ate his steak and drank his wine. I lowered my eyes and stared at the small grey circles on the tablecloth that were water drops.
“By the way,” he added. “I have just signed an Executive Order nationalizing your factories. I’m firing you as head of your business. I’ll be operating the firm now for the benefit of all mankind. There’s a whole bunch of Erics and Andrews out there and they can’t come to you for jobs graveling like beggars…we need to spread YOUR wealth around…”
I looked up. The President dropped his spoon into the empty ramekin which had been his crème Brule. He drained the last drops of his wine. As the table was cleared, he lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. He stared at me. I clung to the edge of the table as if it were a ledge and I were a man hanging over an abyss. I thought of the years behind me, of the life I had lived. The life I had earned with a lifetime of work, risk and struggle. Why was I punished? How had I allowed it to be taken? What game had I played and lost? I looked across the table and noticed with some surprise that there was no game board between us. What had I done wrong? As if answering the unspoken thought, President Obama suddenly cocked his head, locked his empty eyes on mine, and bared a million teeth, chuckling wryly as he folded his hands. “You should have stopped me at the dinner roll,” he said.
Yes, dear readers, we should have stopped immigrants at the borders and the Statue of Liberty and say, “Assimilate” or vacate! Read Lamentations 5 in the Bible. A guest on a T.V. show was on the “mourning” after the election. He’d had a nightmare that the Statue of Liberty was holding her head in her hand (decapitated) and dressed in a Burka. Mitt Romney didn’t lose the 2012 election... Bozo the clown could have defeated Hussein in an honest election which is why he had to cheat.
I started Part 1 with a letter to the editor by a very courageous school teacher so let me end with another letter to the editor dated 10/4/1981 by Oregon Public Employee of the year in 1973 entitled:
Wow! Did I stir up a hornet’s nest when I said that “state workers produce nothing.” I can assure you that many of them can read, write and telephone, but no one as yet has been able to use a dictionary. They should look up the word “politics” before they blow a fuse. I did not say that state workers don’t work; I did not say that state workers weren’t dedicated; I said they were not producers.
I was not demeaning the state workers; I was castigating Gov. Atiyeh for bemoaning the fact that he couldn’t raise state employees pay because “too many people were out of work in Oregon.”
I was a state employee. I received a check every month whether I was successful or not. This is not the case if one is privately employed. Try working in a care, or a cannery, farming, getting out logs, picking strawberries. If you don’t produce, you receive no pay. Suppose you break down a Cat, tractor, truck or power saw. Who pays for it?
If you work for the state, they – or we – pay for your mistakes. If you are privately employed, you ,must pay for your own. In other words, you must produce or there is no pay.
As for service, a state worker is just as eligible for unemployment insurance as is a logger, except who ever heard of one being laid off? A state worker is also eligible for compensation, the same as any worker. I still maintain that most of the “services” only service the people who work in that department.
I feel pretty qualified to make these statements since I was the Oregon State employee os the Year in 1973. I was chosen Employee of the Year in District 8 and also for the entire state, and I have the plaques to prove it.
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If government employees think they are underpaid, why don’t they seek jobs in private employment? Only then would they realize how lucky they are to have a job. Only then would they be producers. /S/ Jean Roberts, Mehama, Oregon
I understand the new dictionaries have recently coined a new word: INEPTOCRACY – a system of government where the least capable to lead are elected by the least capable of producing, and where the members of society least likely to sustain themselves or succeed, are rewarded with goods and services paid for by the confiscated wealth of a diminishing number of producers.
© 2012 Betty Freauf - All Rights Reserved