1-3-14: Nostalgia, Defining Some Issues, Quantitative Easing and Short Story Contest Winners

The Roots of Nostalgia

Nostalgia involves recalling memories of things from the past which were pleasant and perhaps different from the world we live in today.  Somehow, we get a kick out of it.  Music by Tommy Dorsey or Glen Miller and their orchestras, old cars that aren’t manufactured any longer like Packards and DeSotos, advertisements for products you remember and may not be around any longer like Old Gold cigarettes and Spry shortening, daytime radio soap operas like Aunt Jennie and Life Can Be Beautiful, Thom McCann shoes, charlotte russes, and of course, motion pictures like Casablanca and Fantasia; they’re all part of the memory bank on which nostalgia feeds.

 

Jack Armstrong was the all-American boy on the radio just before supper time and there were baseball teams like the Boston Bees, the Washington Senators, the Saint Louis Browns and the Brooklyn Dodgers way back then.  Those were the “good old days.”

Fast forward at least a century from those nostalgic phantoms and see if anyone will still remember them, or will they all have been swallowed up in the maw of history, only there for those willing to become studiously involved in research into the past.   Will they have been replaced by Lady Gaga, Michael Buble, Lexuses and Teslas, Chobani yogurt, smoothies, Homer Simpson, the Duck Dynasty, Michael Kors, the Hobbit, Bill O’Reilly, Bo Diddly, the Dallas Cowboys and the Boston Red Sox as objects of trips back into the past in search of the comforts of days gone by?

The words of Francois Villon, fifteenth century French poet, are often quoted when one thinks of things gone by and now irretrievable: “Where are the snows of yesteryear?”  Well, you’ll find them at precisely the same location where you might look for the things about which we get nostalgic.  And to get to that place is  difficult.

                                  

                                                               Francois Villon

Actually, Villon was referring to women, complaining that “they don’t make them like they used to,” when he wrote the poem from which that line comes, but that thought really applies to all nostalgia.  Just as Villon wistfully dwelt on these long-gone women, so we today take pleasure in memories of things from the past. Here is Villon’s poem as translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti:

THE BALLAD OF DEAD LADIES
Francois Villon

Tell me now in what hidden way is
Lady Flora the lovely Roman?
Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais,
Neither of them the fairer woman?
Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
Only heard on river and mere,-
She whose beauty was more than human?.
But where are the snows of yester-year?

Where's Heloise, the learned nun,
For whose sake Abeillard, I ween,
Lost manhood and put priesthood on?
(From Love he won such a dule and teen!)
And where, I pray you, is the Queen
Who willed that Buridan should steer
Sewed in a sack's mouth down the Seine?.
But where are the snows of yester-year?

White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,
With a voice like any mermaiden,-
Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,
And Ermengarde the lady of Maine,-
And that good Joan whom Englishmen
At Rouen doomed and burned her there,-
Mother of God, where are they then?.
But where are the snows of yester-year?

Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
Save with thus much for an overword,-
But where are the snows of yester-year?

(If you're a purist and want that famous line in the original French, it goes something like this: "Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan.")

Jack Lippman

                                           

Quantitative Easing  . . . What's That?

(A Non-Economist’s Thoughts on a Very Complicated Practice Used by the Federal Reserve Bank)

This is a gross oversimplification but as I understand it, Quantitative Easing is the purchase of bonds by the Federal Reserve Bank as a tool to manage the economy.  Their doing so keeps interest rates low, by providing a ready buyer for government and commercial paper.  Were not the Fed doing this, bond buyers would be scarcer and interest rates would go up, resulting in higher borrowing costs for everyone. That would not be good for the economy.

To come up with the dollars to do this, the Fed has to increase the money supply, creating the funds for their increased bond purchases out of thin air.  This amounts
to printing more money, which one would expect would cheapen money already in circulation.  So long as the economy is growing, however, this does not create the inflation that cheap money usually brings about, because the funds that the Fed thereby pumps into the economy through its bond purchases serve to create economic growth. A company cannot build a new plant nor can a state build a new highway without the money they get from selling their bonds, and among the bonds' purchasers is the Federal Reserve Bank. The economic activity the Fed’s bond purchases bring about feeds on the newly created money. 

 

But where does that money end up?  Some shows up in the paychecks of otherwise underemployed workers, who are hired to build that plant or highway.  Some shows up in the pockets of the unemployed and the unemployable as part of the benefits they receive from the government.  While some of the funds for such benefits come from taxes, some also come from government borrowing, a portion of which is made easier because of the Fed’s purchase of our government’s securities.

in a year when corporate profits rose, it is possible that the increased money supply created by the Fed’s Quantitative Easing contributed to these profits as well. 

 

The stock market also had a banner year.  If all those whose portfolios are now blossoming with their paper gains were to get out of the market today, making a significant killing on their investments, a good portion of that gain would be in money created by the Fed’s Quantitative Easing.   Of course, that isn’t going to happen so long as investors anticipate that the value of their portfolios will continue to increase, but it should be kept in mind that even the prospect of those gains, when the day comes when an investor chooses to sell,  is dependent on knowing that there will be buyers around with the money to buy what they want to sell.  So long as the Fed’s Quantitative Easing continues, that will work out well.  The buyers will be there with their cheap money.  To that extent, Quantitative Easing props up the stock market (but not the bond market).  But we cannot keep doing this forever!

Federal Reserve Bank Chairman Ben Bernanke and his successor, Janet Yellin

So, it is important to keep a close eye on the Federal Reserve Bank’s approach to creating money with which to purchase bonds. Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke was a strong advocate of this.  It appears that his successor will continue Quantitative Easing as well. Nothing is forever, however, and someday the Fed’s approach to Quantitative Easing will have to change.  By then, hopefully, the economy will be growing by leaps and bounds in an almost full employment environment and the Fed’s creation of money to pump into the economy will no longer be necessary.   

What do you think?  I would appreciate the comments of those who know more about this than I do.

JL

                                                     

Short Story Contest Results

Here are the entries of the finalists in our 2013 Short Story Contest, published for your enjoyment.  The winner will be notified within the next few weeks.  Meanwhile, after you read these two stories, give serious consideration to entering the contest next year.  (The illustrations were my idea, so don't blame them on the authors.)

JL

     A CRASH IN THE NIGHT

By Harvey Sage 

I could hear the floorboards on the porch, weathered by years of exposure, creaking in the night.  That’s what woke me. I hugged my shotgun and rolled silently to the floor from the low mattress. My heart beat rapidly and I was scared.  What or who was out there?

Hunting for deer in these hills was a once a year exhilaration. And everything was fine till I heard the crash.  I almost died from heart seizure.   The porch floor had given way.  What the heck was happening?  I sure wasn’t about to go out to see, not on a pitch black night in the middle of Cameron mountain, umpteen miles from anywhere.  I had hunkered down in this old hunting shed, used by others, and felt no allegiance to it. I just wanted to survive the night.

I crab crawled my way to a corner opposite the door, checked that the shotgun’s safety was off, and pointed the Remington Pump in the general direction of the door.  If a bear came through I’d send a once ounce slug his way. That should stop him. Bears were out of season but I could care less.  I’d gladly pay the fine if it meant self preservation.  Time passed.

After a while I started to doze off.  I re-awoke bathed in fear.  Sleeping with a thing out there was not an option.  My heart began pounding again and I had to pee.  I sure wasn’t about to stand and go outside.  I rolled to my side and pissed under the bed. Sorry about that guys but any floor in a storm.  Then came the lightning.

A couple of flashes.  No thunder. The storm was far away. I froze!  Was there something out there? My gun swept back and forth as I tried to see if something was inside the shed. I couldn’t be sure but by the door there seemed to be a big black mass.  I cursed and fired a shot.  The sound died and then there was silence.  Nothing. No one nor thing was there. At this rate I’d be dead soon from seizure.  Damn, what a mess. I pushed another slug into the gun, pumped  it into the chamber and waited.

What was the noise? I could swear I had heard something outside. It sounded like it came from the rotting porch.  My imagination was running wild.  Could it be a coyote, a wolf, a prison escapee?  I almost called out. Good sense got a hold of me. Daylight was a few hours away.  Patience! Good hunters froze and waited.  Let the prey come to you. Make no noise and display no movement. Years of stalking wildlife had taught me that.  But this was driving me insane.

Another lightning flash and I hugged the gun so hard I almost bent it.  I began to pray. Lord give me strength. Protect me from evil.  Help!  Then it began to rain.

The rainfall deadened sound. Anything crawling out there would be beyond hearing, the footfalls indiscernible from the patter and splatter of the rain. Again a lightning flash. Something was out there. I knew it.  I pointed the gun. Bam!  Reload.  Wait!

This is how the night went.  A few minutes of sleep. A lightning flash. Some rain. An imagined critter. A shot to quell it. Then came the dawn.

I was happy to be alive. Slowly and gingerly I worked my way to the door.  The dawn was beautiful- red, rosy, pink. My heart would normally burst with glee at God’s glory.  Now it burst simply because I had survived the night. I edged my way outside and took a long refreshing leak, warily peering all around as I  did so.  Then I saw the hole.

The porch deck was splintered with pieces of rotted wood forming a five foot wide circular scar where it had been punctured by God knows what.  I felt like running but I refused to be a coward. I had to see what had crashed through the deck’s floorboards. With the gun leveled I approached.  Three feet from the hole’s edge I stopped and peered in at IT.

What do you think I saw?   Well, you know.  You’ve see it on U-Tube and CNN. A basketball shaped sphere that had crashed through  our atmosphere and landed on the  weathered porch. It was gray and ruggedly constructed with strange markings all over. Seemed harmless enough. It was a good thing I didn’t shoot it.  Probably came on a friendly mission. So we think.

Seeing that it lay there quietly impelled me to get going to look for help. Soon the authorities and experts came along with the media. I was declared a hero, a man brave and true who had lay there all night long, protecting this thing that came from “out there.”  Little did they know.

The experts decided it was a manufactured object from “out there”, proving that there was very intelligent life “out there” trying to contact us.  It was called the Cameron Mountain Probe and we’re trying to communicate with them “out there.”

Is that a good idea?  I don’t know. But right now I’m the hero of Cameron Mountain and that’s good enough for me.

                                                        *   *   *


  

   ORDEAL       
  

Sid Bolotin

I could hear the floorboards on the porch, weathered by years of exposure, creaking in the night, and I pulled the covers tightly over my head to drown out the terrifying sound.

He was back and I shuddered as I remembered what that meant. I had prayed that he would drown on this fishing trip…that he’d fall over board and get eaten by sharks. But like all the previous times my prayers went unanswered, and I sobbed with the knowledge that he’d come upstairs shortly to repeat his hideous violence on us.

I peered out from under the blanket to look at the other three cots in the glow from the moon shining through the single window in the attic’s dormer. I studied the shiny leg iron that fastened the others to the rail of their cot for signs of movement that would indicate that they had also heard the floorboards creak.

No movement and no sound told me that they were asleep, that I was the only one who knew he was back. By scratching marks on the beam next to me I knew that he’d been gone for two weeks. The slop buckets were overflowing, and the room reeked from the filth.

Who would he go for first? I wondered. Whose turn was it? Would he be ravenous after being away from his pleasure toys for so long? Or did he have other playthings on the boat? The thought of what was to come lodged a clump of terror in my throat, and I stifled a scream of anguish. “Let it be one of the others,” I prayed.

We all had been watching the small black and white television he had allowed us to have, and we saw rescue of the three girls in Cleveland who had been captives of Angel Castro. We all were in tears wondering if there was anyone out there who might come to our rescue. But no savior had appeared for us. We were doomed to continue our ordeal.

When I heard the door knob rattle and his shouting to be let in, I knew that the makeshift barrier we had lodged against the door would not keep him out. I began to wail and thrash against my leg chain. “Keep away!” I shrieked through my tears, “Keep away!”

The door burst open, and I felt arms around me holding me down.

“Why did you move the bureau in front of the door?” soothed my mother.

 

                                           *   *   * 



                                    
                                                      

A Defining Issue for 2014 and 2016

During the past month, Jack’s Potpourri has included two articles relating to “wealth redistribution.”  President Obama, Pope Francis, and most recently, newly elected New York City Mayor Bill DiBlasio have addressed the problem of economic inequality between the people of this country as well as of the world.  Solutions to this are hard to come by.

Pope Francis  NYC Mayor DiBlasio

There is a lot of wealth on our planet, taking many forms, and it is not distributed equally among mankind nor among the citizens of our cities, states and nation.  Nor should it be!  Economic inequality will exist so long as there are people who are smarter, stronger and willing to work harder than other people.  But that does not mean that those who, for a variety of reasons, have less than others should be condemned to lives of struggling and suffering.  Their misery is not very noticeable in the United States, but in other parts of the world, it stands out like an infected and chronic sore that won't heal.

  
                                            Poverty in India


And children anywhere should not be denied the opportunity to improve their lot and not automatically be locked into their parents’ economic quicksand.

What this comes down to is WEALTH REDISTRIBUTION, which for many is a very dirty word, reeking with leftist, radical, Marxist connotations.  No, it doesn’t mean someone is going to seize what you have and give it to someone who hasn’t worked as hard as you have.  What it does mean, in today’s world, is that we must take responsibility for others in our society.  The usual mechanism for this is tax-supported government funding of benefits for those who suffer from the wide inequities in the distribution of wealth.  (Private and charitable efforts in this area, however well intended, are inadequate alternatives.)  Beyond this, however, there is a need to recognize the interdependence of everyone in the nation and in the world upon one another, and attempt to define the limits and extent of that dependency.  And there are limits.  To say otherwise would be utopian.

I suspect that during the Congressional and Gubernatorial elections of 2014 and the Presidential election of 2016, this will become a defining issue.

 JL

                                                                       

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