Idle American: Weary of it all

I’m weary of TV and Internet ads, namely those promising more than is usually delivered. My focus today is largely on outlandish appeals thrust upon us by lawyers and political candidates. (If lawyers omitted references to 18-wheelers, their commercials would be significantly shorter.)

Much of my frustration can be traced to my computer's delete key. When I press it, my intention is to subtly unsubscribe from future emails. Many political candidates - as well as some office holders already in place - wouldn’t get my vote if they were aspirants for dog catcher or mall cop.

Often, politicos want to know why I request “no more emails.” It matters little if I respond, because my email address stays on their “send lists.”

I sometimes “fill in the blank” with insulting phrases, like, “I’d rather pick a name from the phone book,” or “your candidacy has made me decide to change parties,” etc., etc. Usually, I hang around to see if the computer message warning - that it will go blank in five seconds, as promised - ever does so.

It has not, so far.

Granted, I tend to paint the present tense and the past perfect, but there were more political figures worthy of admiration back in the day. For example, Christian statesmen - like the late Congressman Charles Stenholm - are in short supply.

Stenholm held big summer picnics on his West Texas spread near Stamford. Typically, he was accompanied by a fellow congressman. Once, the late Charles Rangle - a longtime NYC representative in congress - contrasted his district’s size to Stenholm’s. “It takes Charlie the better part of a day to drive between distant points in his district,” he laughed, “I can walk across mine during the noon hour.”

I remember one state representative back in the 1970s crowing that he had “become a Christian statesman.” Shouldn’t such descriptions be made by others? (Painting with a broad brush, Carl Anderson made this observation about many elected officials: “You can fool some of the people all of the time, and you can fool all of the people some of the time. That’s usually enough to get you elected.”}

Maybe I’d best drift back into my “wheelhouse” (if I have one) - higher education administration.

My brother, who also has spent his professional life on the “teaching” side, has won virtually all faculty honors. He’s heard the wails and moans (is there any difference?) of many students trying to gain sympathy and/or improving their class standing in numerous other ways.

Dr. Fred G. Newbury, professor of economics, has been associated with Dallas College’s Richland Campus since it opened in 1972. He remembers recommending to a whining student that he join a study group, particularly one organized by several international students.

“No way,” he responded, “All they do is study.”

Here’s another story from my career. Two late, respected colleagues sometimes were center stage in pratfall situations. Both were chancellors of Tarrant County College. Dr. Joe B. Rushing, founding CEO in 1965, served for some 25 years. Executive Vice-Chancellor C. A. Roberson was promoted to succeed Dr. Rushing. Both wore eyeglasses, a fact irrelevant to this story. Late one evening upon arrival at the Austin airport, they were “buffaloed” by a red light on their rental car dashboard that simply wouldn’t turn off.

When all efforts failed, they appealed to an agent for assistance. In a flash, the young man - even without glasses - solved the issue. “The red light means ‘high beam’,” he chuckled.

Sometimes, educational leaders have airs of superiority rarely observed in lesser mortals.

During my “pre-presidential” years, I enjoyed deflating arrogant egos whenever possible. (Granted, I eased up on criticizing when I became one!)

At a Fort Worth luncheon some 40 years ago, a banquet hall was filled largely by college and university presidents. I began my remarks thusly: “If a bomb exploded here today, it would set education forward by two centuries.” (It was a gentler time, when jokes could include words like “bomb.”

- Dr. Newbury is a speaker in the Metroplex, may be reached at 817-447-3872; email: newbury@speakerdoc.com. Column audio version at www.speakerdoc.com.