REMBA Alert Successful: Hope Not Found For Silver Street Elementary School

On February 28, 2007, I published a REMBA Alert asking the public to assist with the non-search of the hopelessly missing. The outpouring of non-assistance was overwhelming and I am happy to report evidence that item 3 (Hope for the poor children of the Indiana Elementary School after their principal bragged that GWB is coming to visit because they have improved "every year since the implementation of NCLB", and then said the students are asking every man in a suit if he is the (p)resident) will never be found.

Last night, Tony Duffy, Principal of Silver Street Elementary School explained to the public how he thought the White House phone call was a prank. He asked if the caller was with Candid Camera, or Punked; suggested it might be a radio station.

After repeating a number of his silly statements for us on the local news, he closed with the big question he had asked the White House caller: “Is there people laughing at me somewhere?”

I hope Silver Street Elementary has a copy of Is Our Children Learning on hand for each student.

Musical Chairs

On the last day of the retreat, I dropped into what had become my favorite position in the discussion circle, back to the windows, facing the door. "Carl Hiassen? John Grisham?" I mulled over possibilities with the young girl in the seat next to me.

"Maybe Barbara Kingsolver!" she said. "It's bound to be someone we talked about this week."
I folded my new handouts into the collection already in my purse, and shoved the bag under my chair while a hotel staffer thanked us and reviewed departure plans. When I rose again, Hillary Clinton had replaced the young girl beside me. Hillary Clinton! And no one else seemed to notice.
Unashamed, I regressed to teenybopper mentality, choked, grabbed her hand, and blathered like a fool. "I can't believe it! I'm a huge fan. I have your books and your tee shirt." In case she had amnesia, I threw in, "You're Hillary Clinton!"

She pulled the tight, closed-lip smile and greeted me with a wink as our moderator took the floor. A revelation and carotid thumping slammed me at the same time. Bill Clinton was the mystery guest. His book was out. Hillary would be waiting in the wings if she were the speaker.

"I have to call my daughter," I announced and stuck my head between my legs to find the purse. "My granddaughter is in love with your husband," I went on once I had the bag on my lap. "She has to bring her here. My daughter, I mean. She has to bring my granddaughter."

Hillary nodded. I think she leaned away from me but I didn't have the composure to be embarrassed. I was to busy fighting the zipper on my purse. Finally, phone in hand but speed-dial number on vacation, I punched in my daughter's home number, managing to hit all the numbers on the second try.

A kid answered. Even in my star-struck state, I knew it wasn't one of my daughter's kids. I asked for Jessica, using my hand to hide the phone and my voice from the frowning moderator.

"She's not here. This is Brian."

I kept my eyes on the floor and whispered. "Get Brent."

"He's not here. Just me."

There was no way my daughter and son-in-law had left an eight-year-old nephew alone in their house. No way on earth, and I didn't have time to play games with this kid. I disconnected and hit redial, hoping an adult would answer this time.

Hillary clamped my shoulder in a vice grip. "Don't move." She twanged, in a nasal monotone. Without turning my head, I rolled my eyes to confirm the nightmare. Hillary had turned into Laura Freaking Bush.

The cell phone slid to the floor as the doors across from me opened and secret service agents, one for each of us, flooded the room. They circled the group and stood behind our chairs. That could only mean one thing, and it was the last thing I could bear.

"He's never written a book," I cried. "Probably never read one."

"Don't move," Laura repeated. "And don't speak."

The air stopped. My life ended. That was the only logical explanation; I died and there was a hell.

Smirky swaggered through the door, blinking and clearing his throat. He started on the left, shook a hand, and made an ignorant statement that had nothing to do with writing. I wanted my money back, but I probably couldn't use it in hell. He moved to the second guest, hand outstretched and on topic this time. "Gosh durn, I like books. The American people like books. I tell the American people all the time how much I like books."

My stomach rolled into my throat. My sweaty hands shook. I leaned over to pick up the phone but it slid from my hand. He moved to the third chair, getting closer, Laura reprimanded me again, dizziness set it.

I pulled my sleeves over my hands and realized that wasn't enough. He would still be in my face, breathing the same air. He would have me arrested when he saw the look in my eyes, but they'd probably shoot me if I tried to run.

I woke in a sweat, just after I slid my face below the neckline of my blouse. I'm still afraid of writing retreats, and I don't try to interpret this dream.

Was It Really About Morals?

The War President is flitting around the country trying to sell a pack of lies about social security this time. Does he not have any work to do? If any of you happen to catch him, maybe you can ask a few very important questions, since this plan is so vague that no one else seems to know the answers.

I know this is a trick question, and probably unfair since it is sure to confuse his face into a painful grimace, but I think we deserve to at least ask for the answer. How does adding personal accounts to Social Security solve the perceived problems in the system? I realize it might keep congress’ paws out of it (does the word lockbox cause flashbacks for anyone other than me?) but think it might be easier to teach the government and to “just say no” instead of setting up new departments and hiring thousands of people to oversee this personal account project. Anyway, if you could ask him that question, and to explain the actual numbers so we can see how this is going to work, it would be nice.

You might also ask him if he realizes the average disability check is around eight hundred dollars a month, which isn’t enough to cover the average rent and pharmacy bill for the average disabled person. I’m sure he doesn’t know that, or he would surely work to increase benefits, not decrease them. And while you’re on the topic of disability, will you ask how this personal account will play into the picture in his future plan? If someone becomes disabled before their personal account reaches that magical level of eternal self-sufficiency, what happens then? And will the disabled person be expected to drain their personal account before receiving any benefits? Will their benefits be based on previous work record, and adjusted according to personal savings? Will those who saved the most be penalized in this case?

Oh, here’s an easy one. Ask this one first since it only requires a two-word response. Since this new plan can’t possibly change the fact that he has used the surplus for other things, and soon the program will be paying more than it collects, which will he do – raise taxes or cut benefits?

How is the plan personal or private when the government is going to tell people what they have to do with it? For example, low-income seniors would be required to purchase an annuity that guaranteed poverty-level monthly benefits until death. Will we hire psychics to predict dates of death? And workers will “automatically be invested” in a fund that becomes more conservative as they approach retirement. Hmm… seems like freedom, choice, personal, private are all changing definitions these days.

What if an emergency came along, like an expensive life-saving surgery for someone who was out of work and had no insurance (can’t help but think of this when we have so many in this situation right now)? Wouldn’t it just plain suck if that person had to die while they had money in a personal retirement account that couldn’t be touched? Or wouldn’t it suck even more if they were allowed to use the money and then had to die in the streets later because they had nothing to fall back on?

What if the stock market crashes? What if our creditors call in their markers?

If he answers all of these questions, you might ask the big one. Wouldn’t it be easier and fairer to just take back that tax cut, since that amount alone would solve the problem?