Beating Around the Bush

by Buchwald, Art

  Another supervisor said, “If we thought Legree would benefit financially from tearing your house down we would not rule in his favor.”

  Legree told Fenstress. “You are lucky your house is going to be taken and you will get a fair price for it.”

  Fentress replied, “But where am I going to live?”

  A supervisor said, “Ask the Supreme Court.”

  You Can’t Sue Me

  I DON’T SUE EVERYBODY, but I like to know I can if I want to. This came to mind when I read that in the Senate’s final days, just before it went on vacation, it passed a bill that says I cannot not sue gun manufacturers or dealers if I am the victim of a crime.

  I called up Hammer, a lawyer with Hammer, Hammer, Hammer, & Thumb, and asked him for guidance on a story.

  “If a company sold a pacemaker that didn’t work, could I sue them?”

  “Of course. No one wants to walk around with a faulty heart.”

  I asked, “Asbestos—as in roof shingles and ceilings—sue or not sue?”

  “Sue. A jury will be on your side.”

  “You find a ball bearing in a can of chicken soup.”

  Hammer said, “It’s been known to happen, and the soup company has to take the fall.”

  Suppose a crooked executive of a communications company defrauds billions and billions and I lose my life savings. Can I sue him?”

  “Of course you can, and we would take your case. Suing people is what lawyers are for. We have one class action suit now against a chemical company that is running arsenic in the Hudson River. Launch a suit, and they will settle out of court for millions.”

  “What about this one? I am in an automobile crash because the brakes on my car don’t work. The automobile maker never told anyone they didn’t work, but there are e-mails indicating the company was aware the brakes were faulty and could lead to death.”

  “You can sue them for every golden parachute that the designer of the brake will get after he is fired.”

  I said, “I love America, because if somebody does you wrong, you can do them wrong.”

  “Not so fast big boy. There are things in this country that are so holy you can’t sue—even if the product is responsible for putting you in the hospital or making your wife a widow.”

  “What is that?”

  “You can’t sue a manufacturer or a dealer in guns if you get shot.”

  “Why not?” I asked Hammer.

  “The Senate passed a bill just before going on vacation that says you can’t sue anyone in the gun business because it is sacred. What it means is, if for example, someone goes to a gun show and buys a weapon to commit a crime, you can’t sue the maker or dealer. It is not their fault.”

  “Why did the Senate pass such a bill?”

  “Stupid question. They were doing it to protect the Second Amendment and to support the National Rifle Association out of fear of losing money.”

  “How do you feel about it?” I asked

  “I’m a lawyer. They are taking business away from me. At the same time, I believe that the Senate is looking out for my best interests. If we allow lawsuits against gun manufacturers the courts will fill up, and then you will have to wait a long time to sue for the things the senators say you can sue for, such as sex abuse in the workplace.”

  Therefore, when it comes to guns, their manufacturers had a great victory. The Senate’s bill says you can’t sue gun makers and dealers for the misuse of a firearm during the commission of a crime. If someone goes to a gun show and then uses the purchased gun to commit a crime, you can’t sue the maker and dealer who did no more than provide the weapon of choice.

  The senators passed this bill to protect the U.S. gun manufacturers and to keep the NRA happy.

  Canceling Out O’Reilly

  WHEN THE VIETNAM WAR was going on, a man stood in front of Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara’s window at the Pentagon and set himself on fire to protest the war.

  Mr. McNamara said it was one of the darkest moments of his life.

  Last week in Crawford, Texas a “Gold Star Mother” who lost her son in Iraq, held a vigil outside George Bush’s ranch to protest the Iraq war.

  The press covered it and the pro-war supporters attacked Mrs. Cindy Sheehan for spoiling the president’s vacation.

  Leading the attacks was Bill O’Reilly, the Fox TV spinmeister, who said that the mother was being supported by the far Left who are against the war.

  When I watched him on TV, Bill was mad. When he gets mad his face gets red and he demands that somebody do something about it. He wants to fire judges, impeach prosecutors, and he lets you know in no uncertain terms how he feels about the “far Left media.”

  The night I watched him (before Mrs. Sheehan left Crawford because her mother had a stroke) he told us that Mrs. Sheehan was to be on his show, but canceled. O’Reilly hates people who won’t go on his program, and lets us know about it. He feels he is giving them an opportunity to debate with him (he doesn’t let his guests talk). He behaves like the kid in school you always hated.

  The more O’Reilly railed against Mrs. Sheehan, the more supporters he made for her. Many who came to Crawford planted white crosses on the highway.

  O’Reilly said she was a puppet of ideologues who were using her to embarrass President Bush.

  He went on to say that Mrs. Sheehan flip-flopped on President Bush’s role in the war. Bill hates someone who flip-flops, especially when he thinks they should flip and not flop.

  It isn’t easy to trash a mother who lost her son in Iraq, but O’Reilly has managed to do it. He has tied Mrs. Sheehan up with Michael Moore, MoveOn, and Maureen Dowd.

  O’Reilly said he only deals in facts and told us Cindy’s husband was getting a divorce from her, which says more about what kind of woman she really is.

  What started out as a vigil in Crawford became an anti-war protest. Reporters from all over the world showed up. Mrs. Sheehan appeared on every television show (why didn’t she appear on Bill O’Reilly’s?).

  President Bush was shown trying to have a vacation, while the protestors stood outside the ranch holding up signs against the war.

  It was Viet Nam déjà vu all over again.

  The President, Donald Rumsfeld, and Condoleeza Rice were assuring us things are getting better in Iraq if we “just stay the course.” People who refused to stay the course were not loyal Americans. Holding vigils in Crawford could be compared to immolation in front of the Pentagon.

  The questions flew all over the lot. “Why doesn’t Cindy go home and leave the President alone? He is the Commander-in-Chief, and like Lyndon Johnson, he knows how to fight a war.”

  The O’Reilly Factor went by so fast I hated for the hour to be over.

  I didn’t know at the end whether Bill was mad at Cindy for being used by the Left or because she never went on his show.

  Darwin Go Home

  WHAT DID I DO last summer? Part of the time I sat on the beach discussing Darwin versus creationism. Those who believed in Darwin sat on one side of the sand and used sun tan oil, because scientists say you don’t want to burn your skin.

  On the other side were the creationists, who maintained they didn’t need oil because God would protect them.

  One religious bather said, “Darwin didn’t know what he was talking about. I did not come from a monkey—or even a horse.”

  A Darwin supporter said, “Conventional wisdom says the creationist belief is just a theory, while Darwinism is a science.”

  “If creationism is just a theory in the Bible,” a born-again Christian said, “Why does President Bush want it taught in the schools?”

  “It’s good for him politically, and shows he believes in God,” I said. “I can believe in Darwin and God, but I don’t believe creationism should be taught as science in public schools. Besides, I thought the question was resolved years and years ago.”

  There was stirring from the right. “Anyone who says that doesn’t believe in God.”

 
“I am not an atheist. I go to church every Sunday, but that doesn’t mean I have to buy the Adam and Eve story. I still want to know who wrote it.”

  Things were getting more heated. The Darwin supporters started to kick sand at the creationists.

  I tried to get the discussion back on track. “Intelligent Designers have no proof as to how life began, but we still have to respect their beliefs.”

  A Darwin spokesman said, “I don’t say there is no God. All I am saying is there is no proof there is one.”

  An evangelical retorted, “Proof is in the eye of the beholder. Anyone who doesn’t believe in Intelligent Design is a pagan.”

  “And who is the father of Intelligent Design?”

  “The people who wrote the Bible. They knew God’s words had to be passed on. Everything was just fine until Darwin took a trip around the world and said we descended from animals.”

  “Why do people hold such a grudge against Darwin? He brought order to the human race. The Intelligent Designers have been fighting with each other for thousands of years,” a scientist said. “Even today they are arguing about God.”

  “Yes, but you need scientists to provide the weapons used against people who don’t believe in your theory. You can’t have strong beliefs without guns to back them up.”

  A creationist who was building a sand castle said, “How do we know Australopithecus wasn’t a hoax?”

  The Darwin man retorted, “How do we know God is not a hoax?”

  I said, “This is getting rough. It is tearing the people apart. Creationists live by moral standards and unquestionable beliefs. Evolutionists believe nothing unless they see it for themselves. I believe the two shouldn’t be in the same ball park—or on the same beach.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Let’s have a volley ball game. The creationists against the evolutionists.”

  A scientist said, “I’ll play only if the playing field is level.”

  An Intelligent Designer replied, “God always makes the playing field level. That is why we love him.”

  Katrina

  SOMETIMES AN EVENT is so staggering it is impossible to absorb. And so it is with Hurricane Katrina.

  We are all involved, and as I watched my television screen, my mind kept jumping around and was unable to stay on any one part of the tragedy for long.

  The immediate messenger was television. The reporters stood in front of destroyed houses and debris and told us what they saw over and over again.

  First came floods, and then came the rescues. Then, because it was good television, came the pictures of the looters.

  The National Guard arrived on the scene, but as the waters receded, the blame-sayers went into action.

  Why didn’t the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers predict what would happen in a Category 5 hurricane? How come the state did not communicate with the federal government, and how come it was so slow in going into action? And how come no one knew the Super Dome would leak?

  Why did the president take so long to tell us the recovery would take such a long time? What will it do to the nation’s budget? How will Katrina affect the price of gasoline?

  Questions . . . nothing but questions.

  As I looked at all the destroyed homes I thought, “People lived in those houses. They had families and all their worldly possessions were washed out to sea.”

  Was Katrina an “act of God” as some insurance companies may claim, or did it have anything to do with global warming?

  It is hard to absorb the numbers. How many dead, how many refugees, how many homeless?

  So the hurricane becomes personal. You know people in New Orleans; you know people who knew people.

  I know a lovely lady named Ella Brennan. She owned one of the finest restaurants in New Orleans, Commander’s Palace. Whenever I went to New Orleans I made the restaurant my first stop. Ella and I talked politics. We both thought alike and had many friends in common. It was the conversation as much as the food that attracted me.

  At this moment I don’t know where Ella is, but I care very much. Somebody else’s tragedy is really yours when you know the people involved. No matter how far we are removed from the Mississippi, we are affected.

  I feel stupid writing about the effects of Katrina from so far away. But I would feel stupid not writing about it.

  We will hear about Katrina for weeks, possibly months, and then it will fade away, except for those who were there. They will never get it out of their minds.

  We will have congressional hearings, commissions appointed by the Justice Department, and, politics being politics, the disaster will become a big issue in the next election.

  The jury has yet to be called to decide who was right and who was wrong. Until then all we can say is, “No man is an island. Ask not for whom Katrina blows, she blows for thee.”

  Once Upon a Time in New Orleans

  ONCE UPON A TIME in New Orleans, as everybody remembers it, is no more. This much we know now. The bottom line is no longer the bottom line. Everything about the American Dream has been washed into the sea.

  People on the Gulf have no jobs, no money, no clothing, and have lost all their possessions.

  How do we know this? We saw it on television and we read about it in the newspapers.

  That is where they are now in America. The people in Washington will give them money if they have none, or say they will. But you certainly can’t start your life all over again on a government handout.

  We now know the poor people did not have much money to start with. But even the middle class was wiped out by the hurricane.

  They are now living in sports centers, trailers, or with relatives, and are on the dole. It is not a pretty picture because now they have lost their center and many are experiencing post-hurricane trauma.

  Since they lost everything they had no choice but to lash out in anger. People are playing the “blame game.”

  It is the only game they have left to play.

  As everyone who has a microphone will tell you, there is enough blame to go around for everybody. The obvious people to blame are the mayor, the governor, the Washington bureaucrats, the Army Corps of Engineers, and FEMA.

  Blaming them will not put money in anyone’s pocket. We know this now.

  When you lose an entire city people argue whether they should rebuild it or not. The experts as well as the talking heads on TV have strong opinions, though most of them have never been in a hurricane

  The president remembers when he had good times in New Orleans in his youth. He told reporters this when he flew over the city in Air Force One.

  The most tired words we hear are “below sea level.” Everyone knew New Orleans was below sea level, and now everyone knows the dikes would not hold when a Hurricane came along.

  It is self-evident now. Under these conditions we all know everything NOW about things we didn’t care to know before.

  The country is full of experts sitting in their living rooms in front of their TV sets giving Monday morning quarterback opinions.

  People have been very generous, either because these are fellow Americans who are suffering, or out of guilt for the victims they ignored for so many years.

  The question now is, what happens the next time?

  Will Homeland Security protect us? Will someone get us out of town? Will the National Guard rescue us in time? Will the director of FEMA, who was relieved of authority in New Orleans, receive the country’s Medal of Honor?

  These are questions we have no answers for, except from the president—and if you don’t believe him you are not a patriot.

  So no matter what happened, people have to face up to what they know now.

  We never knew it would be this bad. No one ever imagined it.

  The bottom line can now only be reached in the muddy waters of New Orleans by boat.

  I’ll Drink to FEMA

  ROTHMAN AND I WERE drinking margaritas, just like Michael D. Brown after he was dumped as the head of FE
MA.

  I said, “I am frightened that I will never be evacuated out of Washington if the balloon goes up.”

  “Not to worry. FEMA has a plan.”

  “What is it?” I wanted to know.

  Rothman took out a pamphlet. He showed it to me.

  I read from it, “‘The most important thing is not to panic and have a full tank of gas.’

  “Tell me Rothman, why should I not panic?”

  He said, “Because FEMA is there to help you. That’s their job. When the balloon goes up you call this private toll free number, 800-XYZ-FEMA, and leave a telephone number where you can be reached. If you don’t hear from them in three days, it means they are very busy, and you are on your own. It’s all in the pamphlet.”

  I said, “I need another margarita.” I made one for myself and one for Rothman.

  I raised my glass, “Here’s to FEMA, which is part of Homeland Security and blessed by the Bush administration.”

  Rothman said, “I’ll drink to that. Let’s study a map and see what is the best way to get out of town.”

  We studied an AAA road map. “My suggestion is that we go out to the beltway after crossing Key Bridge and getting on the George Washington Parkway,” Rothman said.

  “Have you ever tried to get to the Beltway during rush hour?” I asked.

  Rothman replied, “We will leave at midnight.”

  “But if we leave at midnight and their sirens go off, everyone else will leave at midnight, and the cars will be bumper to bumper. It will take us six hours to get out of town.”

  “Then we will go by bus. FEMA will supply people with busses. It is part of their plan.”

  “How will the busses get out of town if the cars can’t?”

  “They will have National Guardsmen on each one, and if you don’t have the correct fare they have orders to shoot you.”

  I said, “Let’s have another margarita.”

  Rothman agreed, “Things look so much better when you’ve had several margaritas.”

  We drank them down.