The Best Reason to Vote NO on APFO

Campaign consulting, the kind that tells candidates to get a different haircut, or work certain buzzwords into their debate responses, is a booming business. Candidates and interests groups alike pay thousands, sometimes millions, for so-called seasoned campaign hands to give them the recipe for surefire success. Much of a campaign’s success can be attributed to finding that perfect can’t-miss message; most campaigns end without ever finding it.

In last week’s copy of The Shore Update, cleverly disguised as an ad for two pro-development amendments, was the best argument against making changes to the Adequate Public Facilities Ordinance that a campaign could ever hope for.    

Changing the Adequate Public Facilities Ordinance (APFO) means that developers, like those who write the checks for advertisements in The Update, can crowd the county’s schools with new students and the county’s roads with more cars, and then pass the higher tax burden on to you, the taxpayer. The changes that are being sought to the APFO on the November ballot give developers a free pass, and help them avoid paying their fair share for their impacts on the county. Written another way, changes to the APFO are little more than a subsidy for sprawl that comes at your expense.  

We are fortunate here in Queen Anne’s County to have very good schools. We consistently score great marks on a variety of metrics, and our teacher’s deserve our appreciation. Not only do they do a fantastic job in the classroom, but they also do it economically; county schools spend less per pupil than many jurisdictions in the state, and get a much better end result. The schools are a good investment, both from the standpoint of the student and the taxpayers. 

But what happens when class sizes swell and teachers are asked to do even more with even less? Well, as it turns out, the Business Queen Anne’s advertisement in The Shore Update has an important lesson for us, as we head to the polls in just a few weeks.

The advertisement, which is only half a page of text, has seven, yes, SEVEN, grammatical errors. Out of a mere 18 lines of text, all of which are printed in large, 20+ point font, five have at least one grammatical error of some sort or another. There are errors of possession, plural and punctuation (it is an alliterative adventure in miswritten English!). We’ve got random capitalization, missing punctuation, wrong punctuation, and even some confusion about to and too thrown in just for good measure. It’s enough to make an English teacher blush!

So ignore the photo on the top of the page, which might be the most soul-dead image of the inside of a retail establishment that one could hope to find. Ignore the ridiculously laughable assertion that not having Big Box keeps our taxes high. Finally, ignore the asinine implication that not having Big Box development somehow keeps everyone commuting to work (will your commute change if we get a Walmart?). All of that is just so much sophistry. 

Focus instead on what the future will look like if we let our schools get over-crowded; the proof is staring us all right in the face, right there on the bottom half of page three.  

Sign of the Times

Roadside political signs. We've all seen them, and we've all ignored them. I am not sure where they got their inglorious start, but it must have been a time when cars drove slower, or our collective high speed visual acuity was better, because they are perhaps the lowest grade interaction in what is decidedly a low-grade affair: campaigning.

Very few politicians enjoy campaigning. It is dismal work dodging yap-happy cockapoos while knocking on the doors of cranky strangers; pressing the flesh with party activists who have an altogether uncomfortable level of commitment to the cause; and making the heavy-handed pitch for monetary contributions. And on the flip side of this filthy penny, I don't know anyone who enjoys getting dinner time phone calls from robotic facsimiles of hopeful politicians or a daily stack of fundraising appeals in the mail. It really is the perfect combination of dreadful: people who don't want to do something to people who don't want it done to them. As I re-read what I just wrote, campaigning begins to sound more like some kind of dual action intellectual rape than it does a sensible way to choose our leaders.

Political signs are the hands-off and less-imposing low hanging fruit of the campaign world. In fact some highway-proximate landowners seem so indifferent to political signs that they will allow candidates from decidedly different political persuasions to erect signs on their property. There is no political statement that illustrates voter apathy better than a shoulder adorned with Romney, Obama, Cardin, Bongino, and Harris signs at regular intervals. The signs run together in the same way all politicians have managed to run together in the American psyche.

As a former (successful) campaign manager, I know many of the challenges associated with road signs (as opposed to yard signs); from finding suitable locations, to making sure the text is visible from a speeding automobile, to putting the signs back up after foul weather. I also know just how limited an impact even the most well-placed and numerous road signs can have on the ultimate outcome of an election.

But I have recently driven by a few signs for Dan Bongino's United States Senate campaign here in Maryland. Bongino, who I do not know personally, has been running for the Senate for what seems like an eternity. He has never held elected office of any kind, and as such, is suffering from something that doesn't take a campaign consultant to diagnose: lack of name recognition. So in what seems to be a transparent ploy, the Bongino campaign has taken to nailing placards on the side of Bongino road signs that simply say "Jobs Not Taxes."

This tagline represents all that is wrong with politics and government in this day and age. I cannot express how angry those three words make me, how much I'd like to berate the person(s) who think that its a good idea to dumb down a campaign with a slogan that makes no sense even in the abstract, who thinks it is appropriate to attempt to communicate with voters (at high speeds) with a throwaway phrase that insults their very intelligence. Mr. Bongino may have good ideas, might even have a compelling message, but when his campaign makes the strategic decision to forgo meaningful discussion in favor of something as basely moronic as "Jobs Not Taxes" then I am not much interested in hearing the rest of Mr. Bongino's message.


And it appears as though I am not alone. Mr. Bongino may be the only major party nominee for a US Senate race in the country to finish third in his race, behind both the Democrat Ben Cardin and the Independent Rob Sobhani. This despite a years-long campaign that has failed to raise enough money for a meaningful presence on television, and a candidate that is still fighting for "name recognition." With a month to go, the time for building name recognition is well passed. What might be even more insulting to Mr. Bongino is that his opponent, the incumbent Senator Ben Cardin, is now referring to the Independent, Rob Sobhani, as his opponent, apparently comfortable simply ignoring the Republican nominee.
     
 The issues of taxes (i.e. government revenues) and economic recovery are complex issues, intertwined with one another in a way that even the most qualified economic and tax policy experts can not and do not fully understand. Jobs Not Taxes indicates that Mr. Bongino is not interested in the hard and detailed work of actual governing (something he has not done, at any level), but rather in trying to (unsuccessfully) elicit a Pavlovian response in Maryland's voters by telling them what he thinks they want to hear, even if it is so simple-minded as to have the opposite affect.  

Costly Inaction

As the days get shorter, hunters and anglers across the Delmarva Peninsula get ready for fall hunting and fishing seasons. The tug of a trophy striper off Bloody Point or a flock of Canada geese setting down into a decoy spread will get the blood of Eastern Shore sportsmen and women pumping faster, and the anticipation for a productive autumn afield is building across the region. 

Hunting and fishing aren’t just hobbies on the Eastern Shore, they represent a way of life that has helped to define what it means to ‘cross the bridge,’ both literally and figuratively. Outdoor recreation is a huge economic driver for Delmarva. A duck hunter who launches his boat at Kent Narrows pays the county to use the facilities, fuels his boat up at the local gas station, gets the ethanol build-up knocked off his outboard at the small engine repair shop, and of course buys a hunting license that funds important conservation work all across the region. He buys ice and lunch at the corner deli, and when the day is done relaxes with friends at the local watering hole. 

Taken in total, Delmarva hunters and anglers contribute more than $1.5 billion dollars to the economy annually, and support thousands of jobs. Yet in the discussion of creating jobs, or even protecting the ones we already have, outdoor recreation is unfortunately often missing from the conversation.  

How can policy makers at all levels ensure that the future of hunting and fishing is bright? One great step in the right direction would be to restore the water quality of the Chesapeake and her creeks, rivers, and wetlands by continuing to move forward on the development and execution of the Watershed Implementation Plans. These plans, often referred to as a pollution diet for the Chesapeake Bay, set necessary goals for reducing harmful runoff into the Chesapeake watershed. They present the clearest way forward in a generation of Bay efforts.  

Elected officials and interest groups have found it easy to bemoan the cost of the Chesapeake Bay pollution diet. Restoring the Bay has costs. But the costs of inaction are more severe than anyone anticipates. As water quality continues to degrade, the impact on commercial and recreational fisheries, hunting, boating, and other forms of economically important outdoor pursuits will be substantial. When we talk about cleaning up the Chesapeake and restoring water quality, it isn’t just conservation for conservation’s sake. But an integral part of the Eastern Shore’s economic well-being.  

Opposing APFO revisions

I am a product of public schools. From my time at Chesapeake Terrace Elementary to my undergraduate study at St. Mary’s College, I was enrolled in public educational institutions. So I was pleased, but not surprised, to see on this week’s Record-Observer front page a headline that read: “County Schools Still Among Top In State.”

I do not believe that bigger education budgets automatically mean better education. Several counties in Maryland spend far more per pupil than Queen Anne’s and yet do not get the results we achieve. One can also look to the expense of public colleges versus that of private institutions; the difference in costs is a wide one, but after real world experience with colleagues from both sides of the public/private divide, I can see no obvious differences in the quality of education one receives, and certainly not a big enough difference to justify the price gap.

While there is no quid pro quo between funding and quality public education, municipalities have to spend something on schools and education, the trick is finding the balance. If articles like the one referenced above are any indication, perhaps Queen Anne’s County has found that balance, as we educate our children better, and for less money, than just about any other jurisdiction in the state. In Queen Anne’s County, from the standpoint of a price/earnings ratio, education spending appears to be a good investment.

Yet cash-strapped localities full of politicians loathe to raise taxes are often longing to wring more savings from the school system. But there is certainly a hazard in attempting to be too cheap, and the risk inherent in attempting to find the place where the teeter may totter is to court disaster. To try and put an educational system back on track after it has suffered severe financial, morale and performance setbacks would likely cost far more, both from financial and educational perspectives, than any reductions in spending ever saved. 

Currently Queen Anne’s County has a robust provision, known as the Adequate Public Facilities Ordinance (APFO) that requires every proposed new development above a certain size to assess its impact on schools, roads, and emergency services. The APFO covers several public sectors, but for the sake of this blog, let’s focus on the schools provision of the ordinance. 

If local schools are at one hundred percent capacity, then the APFO requires the developer in question to add the capacity necessary to accommodate the proposed growth. If the developer is unable or unwilling to mitigate the burden of his/her development on the county’s school system, rather than passing that burden along to the county, the development cannot progress.

The fact that the APFO exists at all serves as an official nod that residential growth would not otherwise cover the costs of educating the children it brings to the county.   

The APFO is the essence of good government. It serves as an insurance policy for those who already call the county home, seeking as it does to protect them from degradations in the quality of the government services they currently receive, as well as from costly increases in tax bills brought on by growth that does not pay for itself. 

Three of the five current county commissioners have suggested eviscerating the Adequate Public Facilities Ordinance, in order to pave the way for more growth. This short-sighted notion is the opposite of good government. Instead it is amateurish financial management, the same type of Wild West, ‘if it feels good do it’ mismanagement that has gotten Wall Street fat cats into so much trouble lately. Reducing the effectiveness of the APFO is a Ponzi scheme that promises big returns on behalf of county taxpayers, but in the end leaves them holding the bill. 

The changes that the three commissioners are seeking to make to the APFO would raise the capacity threshold on schools from 100% to 130%. That means that if Queen Anne’s County High School were over-crowded, at let’s say, 110% capacity, a development could be proposed that would add significantly to the already over-extended school system and it would be given the APFO green-light. The suggested changes to the APFO are recipe for school over-crowding and a reduction in the quality of education our kids can expect to receive.

Remember the delicate balance we seek to achieve with our education funding? Well, obliterating the APFO would throw the scales way off kilter. Because as it would add to the school’s rolls without increasing the ability of the schools to educate these new kids, changing the APFO is in fact no different than a further cut in school funding. Think of the impacts of reduced education dollars: larger classes, fewer teachers teaching more children, teachers teaching outside of their areas of expertise, more stress placed on physical facilities, more classes held in trailers. These are precisely the same impacts that an alteration in the county’s Adequate Public Facilities Ordinance would have on the school system.

In November the tax-paying citizens of Queen Anne’s County can take a stand in support of good government. New development has costs to the county, and the APFO as it’s currently written seeks in some small measure to account for those costs. Burying our collective heads in the sand, and pretending that new growth has no meaningful costs, and is always good for the county and her citizens is financial irresponsibility run amok. In November, support lower taxes and better schools, support the current APFO and oppose any attempts to weaken this protection for taxpayers and students.        

The Big Box Bamboozle

On Tuesday morning, July 10, 2012 the citizens of Queen Anne’s County are going to be hoodwinked by three of their very own elected representatives. 

Last summer the commissioners passed ordinance 11-06 which eliminated the 65,000 square foot limitation on retail establishments built in the ‘suburban commercial’ zone. This amendment was aimed, none too subtly, at opening the county’s door to ‘big box’ development, or, less euphemistically, Wal-Mart and Home Depot style retail. Some applauded the decision, others decried the decision. One half of that equation, a group composed of concerned small business owners, farmland conservationists, community activists and just plain folks started a petition to put the ordinance on the November ballot. 

That ordinance 11-06 only eliminated the square footage limitation on suburban commercial sites, and that it was assumed there were only a handful of these sites in the entire county suitable for large retail development, didn’t slow the effort. Dozens of people set aside other priorities, and set out to gather signatures. There is nothing pleasant about going door to door, or standing out in front of a grocery store, but important issues always seem to motivate people. Thousands of signatures came in, a series of strict Board of Elections deadlines were met, and the issue of the 65,000 square foot building limitation in the suburban commercial zone is going to be on the ballot this November.

But this issue has never been about a change in the zoning regulations. It has never been about whether those few specific locations might be suitable for big box development or whether the county commissioners should even be considering what amounts to a personal and largely speculative appeal from a single landowner who stands to profit handsomely from the ordinance. No, this issue, this successful ballot initiative drive has only ever been about what the people of Queen Anne’s County want their future to look like.

In hindsight, it looks peculiarly like the targeted effort to remove the square foot limitation in suburban commercial was a move aimed at deception, a strategic diversion meant to occupy the opposition while the weapon of choice was prepared. That weapon, ordinance 12-11 is scheduled to be launched tomorrow morning from the second floor of the Liberty Building in Centreville.

12-11 would remove the 65,000 square foot limitation from town center and urban commercial sites; a far more sweeping change to the county’s zoning codes. Whereas the suburban commercial amendment would not have impacted Kent Island at all, 12-11 would open a wide swath of the island to big box development, essentially the entire route 50/18 corridor and the towns of Stevensville, Chester, and Grasonville.

It has become clear that the suburban commercial amendment was a Trojan horse, aimed at snaring those various opponents of large, Western Shore and Easton style development in a long, arduous, and time-consuming battle. The hope of Business Queen Anne’s, and Commissioners Arentz, Dumenil and Olds was that the effort required for an undertaking such as a ballot initiative would exhaust those “pesky no-growthers” that the special interest commissioners have come to abhor. The strategy was simply, lose the battle on suburban commercial, and win the war on 12-11. But the commissioners have probably underestimated the vigor with which the concerned citizens of the county will fight to protect their neighborhoods from Wal-Mart. And they are clearly up to the task.  

But it should not come to that, because the issue will settle itself this November. That vote, when it happens, will not be about zoning code minutiae, but rather will be on the much broader implications of adding more development to a Kent Island and Queen Anne’s County that many already consider overdeveloped. The county commissioners should not play this game of semantics on Tuesday by approving ordinance 12-11. They should not perform this end around on the comprehensive plan and on the people of Queen Anne’s County. The commissioners should not vote on 12-11 tomorrow, but instead dare to let the vote on November 6 stand as the people’s voice on this matter.         

   

Unequal Protection

Like a white-haired volcano, Dave Olds sits in his plush chair behind the commissioner's dais ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. His reputation as a hot-headed bombast of little substance precedes him and many, friend and foe alike, openly consider him to be the least cerebral, and least effective, member of the Queen Anne's County Board of Commissioners. For the most part, Olds is able to hide his temper from the public, but not always. Last Tuesday's commissioner's meeting was the latest example of his always tenuous filter failing him: his smug rudeness was on display for all to see.

On the docket for the commissioners and the public to consider on June 25, 2012 was county ordinance 12-11, another attempt by the self-anointed business community of Queen Anne's County, and the three commissioners they hold dear, to open the county to Wal-Mart or Home Depot style 'big box' retail. You can find my opinions on bringing big box retail to our county here, but that is not what this post is about. This post is about the treatment the citizens of Queen Anne's County might expect if they ever come to disagree with Commissioner Dave Olds.     

For the better part of an hour, Olds was obligated to listen to public input on the 'big box' issue, on which he had already made up his mind. As such, he views the public hearing on 12-11 as a waste of his time, a friviolous exercise in delaying the inevitable, when he and the two colleagues he aligns himself with on every issue vote to support the ordinance.

Many people expressed an opinion about the amendment, several supportive, several more opposed. As you watch the video, you can clearly see that Olds' is not interested in the opinons of those he disagrees with. As Merle Rockwell of Queenstown stepped to the microphone, she being the first person to oppose the ordinance, Olds can be seen with his face in his hands, perhaps attempting to hide a brief snooze, but certainly not attempting to hide his brash disinterest. Over the course of the next eleven citizens, ten of whom opposed 12-11, you can see that Olds' patience was wearing thin: he began spinning in his chair, looking for all the world like a petulant child made to sit through a trip to the DMV. A tantrum seemed inevitable, and indeed it was. 

The unfortunate Pompeii to Olds' Vesuvius was Jay Falstad of Millington, also of the Queen Anne's Conservation Association. Falstad is a familiar face on many issues before the commissioners, but this night's testimony was not to be like the others. Soon after Falstad started in on comments opposing the ordinance, he was interrupted by Olds, who asked derisively if Falstad "was a paid lobbyist?" Olds followed up with "Do you get paid by Queen Anne's Conservation?" and "Is you lobbying for the anti-growth groups in this county? [all grammatical errors are the speaker's own]" Olds went on to imply that, by saying he was testifying on his own behalf, and not the Conservation Association's behalf, Falstad was lying about who he was representing before the board that night. 

Falstad is a citizen of Queen Anne's County, so whether he was lobbying on his own behalf, or the behalf of a membership organization which he represents, is largely irrelevant. The idea that he has no opinions as an individual, because of his organizational affiliations, is spurious and easily rejected. He, like everyone else who spoke that night, had the irrevocable right to share their thoughts with the Board of Commissioners.

The fact that the citizens supporting the amendment, many of whom represented organized interests, were not subjected to the same type of spur-of-the-moment disclosure proves that Olds in fact has no problem with paid lobbyists, so long as they agree with his positions. Nearly all of those testifying in support of 12-11, including Business Queen Anne's head Camille O'Donnell and Business Queen Anne's attorney Joe Stevens had a vested commercial interest in seeing the amendment passed, indeed Business Queen Anne's wrote the amendment. Yet they were not accosted by Dave Olds. None of those testifying in opposition, including Falstad, were so driven by dollar bills.   

At the end of his remarks, Falstad received moderate applause, for which Commission President Steve Arentz rapped his gavel to restore order, saying that applause "wouldn't be tolerated." Arentz made no similar attempt to rein in Olds during his highly uncalled for outburst, making it clear that while Commissioners would be permitted to disrespect public citizens, no such permission would be extended to the citizens. If you listen to the video of the meeting (linked below) at the 2:02:06 mark, you can clearly hear Arentz mutter a single word under his breath: "stupid." I will let the reader determine for him or herself just what Mr. Arentz thought was so stupid.

Is this the venom which with citizens of Queen Anne's County can expect to be exposed when they find themselves with a differing viewpoint than Dave Olds and this Board of Commissioners? Later in the meeting, during the Commissioner's Roundtable, Commissioner David Dunmyer disregarded his prepared remarks in order to express his displeasure with the way Olds had carried himself, saying he was "stunned" at Olds' behavior. Like a satiated playground bully, Olds responded to Dunmyer by saying "That is your opinion. Next." 

I question the seriousness with which Olds approaches his job, the time and effort he puts into the very serious task of running a county that is home to 50,000 people and where his vote, on an otherwise split board, will have lasting impacts. His election to the Board of Commissioners should serve as a cautionary tale, proof of the overused cliche that elections have consequences, and no elections are more acutely consequential than the ones closest to home. Yet these are often the ones we pay the least attention to.  

I encourage you to come to your own conclusions by viewing Tuesday's commission meeting in its entirety by clicking here. I also encourage you to attend a meeting of the Queen Anne's County Board of Commissionsers, to witness for yourself the way in which Mr. Olds carries himself.

Instagram and the Emotional Void

During my morning elevator ride to my Washington DC office, which takes at most 30 seconds, I am exposed nearly every day to one of the more serious impacts of our obsession with technology: our acute revulsion to even brief socialization. If someone else joins me in the elevator, they will invariably begin frantically fumbling for their smart phone. No doubt to check for emails or text messages that might have accumulated since the last time they checked, several minutes ago.

Smart phones have become modern day leashes, keeping us tethered to others in a way that forgoes intimacy for the sake of instant connection. The notion of an in-person interaction with a stranger has become foreign, something we have almost come to dread, even one as brief as an elevator ride in a city where no building can be taller than the Washington Monument. 

It has gotten to the point now where people will actually hit the 'Close Door' button on the elevator control panel, even when they know someone might be approaching who wants a lift. I don't think this is done out of any sense of rudeness per se, but rather because being rude has now become preferable to being forced to make eye contact and perhaps say hello.

But on the iPhones and Droids that we use as social crutches, there lies what may well be the seeds of a revolution, in the guise of a free app known as Instagram. 

For the uninitiated, Instagram is a photography app that applies gauzy filters to digital photographs, turning them instantly into images that one might expect to find in an attic, or in your mother's scrap book that she pulls out whenever you bring a date over to the house. The real version of these photographs, that is the ones you actually would find in an attic, might feature your Uncle Bob in a tank-top, with a Schlitz in his hand sitting in the backyard during a summertime pool party. He might be wearing too high shorts and a Cheaters Gentlemen's Club hat with the mesh in the back. The photo is yellowed from age, but is also washed out from the sun of that warm day, 30 years ago.

These days, we rarely even print our photos, but rather just post them to Facebook or peruse them on our phones, reducing their tangibility and their ability to age gracefully. We have fantastic photograph technology right at our fingertips: many people's best camera is built right into their smart phone, but there is often something lacking from our photographic efforts, something those Instagram photos attempt to replace. 

Warmth.

But the warmth in those old photos isn't in their age or in their imperfect visual quality, but in the connection they provide us to a time when we actually spoke to each other, when our relationships were meaningful in a way that cannot be replicated in the emotional and contextual vacuum of a 140 character status update or even in an online photo album.  

Is it possible that Instagram is our not-altogether subconscious effort to replicate a time before technology dominated and defined every waking moment of our lives? It used to be said that a picture spoke a thousand words, do today's Instagram photos even have a story to tell, or are they just fabrications of an emotional reality that has ceased to exist, but that we cling to longingly?        

Made of Steel

Updated: This piece won Filson's Second Annual Father's Day Writing Contest; you can see it here.

My dad plans on retiring at the end of this week, which began by us celebrating Father's Day together. The holiday and the momentous occasion of his retirement after a very long career gave me reason to reflect. 

 

If you look south out the window of my childhood bedroom in the winter, after the summer green has fallen from the trees, you can see the house my dad grew up in.  We were both children of a steel mill town, hearing the same thunder from the blast furnaces just a few miles away. When my dad graduated high school, he didn’t have to look far for work and for 33 years, he had a two mile commute. He parked his truck in the exact same spot each and every day. He is a creature of habit. His habit then, as now, was hard work.

As a kid, my life was defined just as much as my dad’s by his swing shifts. When it was a 3 to 11 week, dad made it a point to wake up early to man the cereal bowls and see me off to school since I wouldn’t see him when he got home; when the shift swung to ‘daylight’ or 7-3, dad was usually in good spirits, able to mow the lawn and make dinner after work. When 11-7, or ‘midnight,’ came around, I remember that my dad’s work week started on Sunday nights, and he spent many of the daylight hours attempting, but failing, to catch up on the sleep he lost from being in front of the #9 rolling mill all night. It was through this ever-changing lens that I came to know my dad.

I remember on Friday nights when dad worked 3-11, my stepmom and I would often put a warm plate of food together from our dinner to take to my dad for his lunch. We would sit with him, while he took his twenty-minute break and if it was nice out, we would sit on a picnic table just outside the plant. But when the weather didn’t cooperate, we went inside the plant, to a table and chairs. I remember fondly to this day what it felt like to be a kid in that factory, smelling the grease that was used to keep everything functioning, seeing the coils of steel that were the lifeblood of the mill. I used to be thrilled when my dad would take me on a quick tour of the plant. I was awestruck; the men who worked there, were to me at least, the modern equivalent of John Henry.   

It was bracing then, the night that my college dorm phone rang and my dad’s voice, laden with the weight of bad news, told me that the plant was closing.   For as long as he cared to remember, and as long as I could remember, our lives had been built of steel. In a few short months, that would all change, and the prospects for the future were hazy. I was studying political science at a small public school in Maryland; it was by no means guaranteed that I would be coming back the following year, at least not without assuming a lot more student loan debt. Selfishly, it was a scary time for me. I didn’t think much at the time of what he might have been going through. The weight he was bearing through it all. 

While there were no manufacturing jobs to be found, in relatively short order dad found a second career as a highway inspector, where because of his commitment to working hard he quickly rose further up the ladder than he likely had any reason to expect. After more than a decade on the ‘new’ job, he now plans on retiring near the end of this summer. To relax, certainly, and to do the things he enjoys doing; but knowing my dad, he will find something to keep his brain and his body working, solving problems, getting things done. Work just appears to be in his DNA.   

My dad is a portrait in the heroism of the everyday. Perhaps not the chest pounding heroism of sports or the medal winning honor of military achievements, but certainly of the kind of toil that every day moves a little bit of mountain, to find one day, the mountain itself has been moved.

As a kid, when my dad went off to deer hunt with his own father, I would wait for his return excitedly. I had a lever-action pop gun that I would pretend to bird hunt with in the backyard. Pigeons became pheasants in my mind’s eye, as I honed my aim for the day when I might be able to join the family deer hunt. When the year finally came, I wore camouflage gear that hung off me comically, but my smiles in those photographs, taken inside my grandfather’s rickety cabin in the woods, show that there was no place I’d rather be. 

At the time, dad likely thought he was doing the same thing that generations of fathers had done with their boys: introducing me to the outdoor traditions of hunting and angling that so many American fathers and sons have enjoyed together. He was only half right. For I am still an avid hunter and fishermen, and while I have had the opportunity to enjoy some epic hunting and angling, whether duck hunting in the flooded timber of Arkansas, or fly-fishing the Henry’s Fork in Idaho, the hunting trips I look forward to the most, are the ones that start with my dad pulling into my driveway at 5AM, ready to join me in the goose fields of the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay.

And my dad was only half right because he wasn’t just introducing me to a hobby, but to a career. For ten years, my entire professional life up to this point, I have worked in Washington DC as a conservation lobbyist; that future generations of sons and fathers might be able to set out for their deer stands together the same way my dad and I have done. 

From time to time, while working the halls of Congress I ride an escalator in the basement of the Rayburn House Office Building on Capitol Hill. It is an escalator that building renovations over the years have seemingly forgotten, but for me this simple piece of mechanical technology holds a powerful connection. The smell of the escalator, of the grease that keep it forever moving higher, is the same smell as my dad’s steel mill. I am reminded, as I do my job in suit and tie, of the job my dad did in steel toed boots, and it is the type of feeling that can raise the hair on my neck.

As an adult, I can now appreciate better the worry my dad went through trying to raise two kids largely alone. I can now appreciate better the toll swing shift must have had on his mind and body, and the fortitude it took to agree to work the overtime necessary to give his kids the life he thought they deserved. Showing emotion was not, and is not, something my dad is particularly good at, but now I see that he illustrated his love for us in the clearest way he knew how.  

It is through my dad’s own work in a steel mill that I can embark on a career that in some small measure pays tribute to him.    

Field Test: McAlister Waterproof Fleece-Lined Jac-Shirt

On a trip to hunt Arkansas' flooded timber this past January, I took the obligatory trip to Mack's Prairie Wings in Stuttgart, duck hunting capital of the world. Or as a friend and colleague (and Arkansas native) puts it, duck hunter capital of the world, a critical if slight alteration. The hunting at the Dixie Duck Club had been fantastic, but the problem with great hunting is that you have to find something to fill the rest of your day, because the Maker's Mark just won't hold out. What better way to kill time than to empty the contents of your wallet on things you didn't know you needed?

I saunter in to Mack's thinking I'll just have a look around. $200 later, I leave feeling like I have just ate too much bourbon chicken from the seedy Chinese buffet squeezed between the nail salon and the dry cleaners in some nondescript strip mall on the outskirts of Cleveland. Spending fairly large sums of money, unexpectedly and without a clear plan of what I intend to do with the newly acquired product always sends me into an upward trajectory of confused regret. Why did I buy this? Will I still be able to afford my car payment? Might we lose the house? And so on, and so forth. It's like buyer's remorse that has metastasized into buyer's epilepsy.

On my inaugural visit to Mack's Prairie Wings, I purchased two things that I figured would serve me well as an Eastern Shore outdoorsman, the first being McAlister's Waterproof Fleece-Lined Jac-Shirt. The first thing I noticed as I lifted the jacket off the rack is how heavy the thing was; it's weight is surprising given that it looks like a shirt. After trying it on, the fit of the XXL seemed best suited for under-layering, so I made the purchase, delighted to find that the Jac-Shirt was 20% off. 

I am not a fan of bulky camo hunting coats. I don't like the singleness of their purpose (as I am not the fellow to wear camouflage to the local watering hole), and I just don't like how they fit. I am not interested in wearing anything that anyone might be able to confuse with a parka. It helps that I tend towards being warm, which alleviates some of the need for goofy looking clothing (as I don't need any help from garments in that regard).

The McAlister Jac-Shirt that I purchased is a dark olive color, perfect for days afield. The outer shell of the Jac-Shirt seems to be a cross between moleskin and fleece, and is quite soft, but also sufficiently tough. A winter of hunting, stacking wood, and household outdoor chores has seen the shirt hold up quite well, with no rips, pulls or tears in the fabric. True to its name, the garment boasts the warmth of a jacket, but wears like a shirt, something I really enjoy and appreciate.

Another feature of the shirt that I appreciate is a huge left chest pocket, that has a vertical opening, complete with a strong magnetic snap for keeping things in the pocket, and off the muddy floor of a goose pit. The pockets are designed to easily tuck away duck and goose calls on lanyards, to keep them from swinging around when not in use. I find the pocket also works remarkably well for iPhones, flashlights, and my wallet. The magnetic enclosure is stronger than you might expect, and closes with a confident thunk.

The Jac-Shirt is almost too good at keeping me warm, and while it may appear to be a three season addition to the closet, for me, it will remain only a winter option. It is not very breathable, and can be sweat-inducing on days that climb into the upper 40s, or even in colder temperatures when activity will keep you moving. But for a chilly day spent peering at the sky from a goose pit, the Jac-Shirt will henceforth be in heavy rotation.

The Jac-Shirt is also waterproof, in that it keeps you from getting wet; but as the Jac-Shirt itself gets wet, it gets still heavier and once wet, it takes quite some time by the wood stove to dry out completely.  The only real complaint that I have about the McAlister Jac-Shirt is the cuffs. Weird place to lodge a complaint, I know, but the cuffs on the Jac-Shirt are cut ridiculously tight. I do not have large wrists (or at least, I have never been accused of having large wrists), and the cuffs are so tight that I have to punch my hands through the ends of the sleeves. It gets even tougher with layers on, and trying to wear gloves with the Jac-Shirt can be difficult, because you cannot tuck the gloves neatly into the cuff. Perhaps this is intended to make the fit of the garment more 'shirt-like,' but these cuffs are much tighter than any shirt I have. Normally I would have my better half move the button over a hair, but the button on the Jac-Shirt doesn't leave much room for this modification. So the designers at Drake should definitely take a look at the cuffs in any future re-designs of the Jac-Shirt.

The McAlister Jac-Shirt is a versatile outer layer that doesn't have to be kept in a silo with the hunting gear. It's a great casual winter coat, that serves equally well in the duck blind as it does paired with khakis while watching the annual Centreville Christmas Parade. For those who especially don't like and don't need the bulk of heavy winter jackets, the McAlister Jac-Shirt is a nice addition to the winter wardrobe.

Fixing Major League Baseball

Major League Baseball is currently considering proposals for changing the MLB schedule to make the game more appealing. You haven't seen much about sports here at Kline Online, but I thought that as a baseball fan, MLB's reworking of the schedule presented the perfect opportunity for a blogger to offer up some ideas for making Major League Baseball more enjoyable, more competitive, and return the sport to its rightful position as the national pastime.

1. Stop giving home field advantage in the World Series to the team whose league wins the All Star Game. In an attempt to make the All Star Game 'relevant,'  MLB has implemented one of the dumbest rules imaginable. The vast majority of the players in the All Star Game won't make the World Series, and have no stake in home field advantage for the Fall Classic. What's more, in one three hour game, Major League Baseball has marginalized an entire seasons worth of work. For instance, in 2004, the St. Louis Cardinals (with an astonishing 105-57 record during the regular season) started the World Series on the road in Fenway Park, giving home field advantage to a Boston Red Sox team with a 98-64 record. St. Louis lost the series. In 2012, the Cardinals backed into the playoffs with a 90-72 record, but boasted home field advantage against the 96-66 Texas Rangers. The Cardinals won that series. In one fell-swoop, a 7 game advantage in 2004 and a 6 game advantage in 2012 were negated by a single game played in early July.

2. Eliminate interleague play. The rivalries are fabricated out of whole cloth for marketing purposes. The Cardinals natural (and long-standing) rival is the Cubs, not the Royals, and no amount of geographic proximity can supplant the fact that the Cubs and Cardinals have been playing one another for the better part of a century. Same in Baltimore, where the so-called 'Beltway series' between the Orioles and the Nationals is just a gimmick between a team that hasn't been above .500 since 1997, and the Nationals, who were still called the Expos, and still played in Montreal in 1997. There is also something fundamentally satisfying about keeping the two Leagues separate and identifiable from one another until the World Series.

3. Since interleague play won't be eliminated, eliminate the Designated Hitter. The DH is one of the goofiest rules in baseball, applying as it does to only the American League. It is an attempt to increase offensive production, a mindset that has also led to other beneficial developments, like steroids. The DH helps managers cram as many meat-headed homerun hitters into a lineup as possible, many of which wouldn't know how to put a baseball glove on if their lives depended on it, let alone use it. In other words, the DH rule serves to dumb down the game, and takes emphasis away from the chess-match strategy that, in my opinion, makes National League baseball so much more satisfying for the serious fan. If the powers that be are going to pretend that the Leagues are interchangeable, then its time to get rid of the Designated Hitter.  

4. Re-train umpires on the width and height of the strike zone.  Whatever happened to the letter-high strike? It apparently got buried with Jimmy Hoffa in Giants Stadium. A called letter-high strike is now apt to get angry glares and words of derision from players aimed at umps. And now that hitters crowd the plate, the inside strike that catches the corner is called a ball as well; I can't tell you how many times I have shouted at the television that just because a hitter crowds the plate (adorned with Roman warrior-style protective armor) doesn't mean the width of the strike zone changes. By re-establishing the strike zone, you will force hitters to swing the bat, move the game along quicker, and likely save a starting pitcher a couple hundred pitches over the course of a season (the equivalent of a start or two).

5. Establish a real salary cap. This one is by far the most important. Communities invest a ton in their baseball teams; building stadiums, roads, and public transit to accommodate teams that in turn will serve to support local and regional economies. So that while teams certainly have owners, the communities that spend significant sums on these teams' well-being have a significant (and legitimate) stake in their team being competitive. Unfortunately, many teams spend years, decades even, as sub-.500 cellar dwellers. The Pittsburgh Pirates, Cleveland Indians, Orioles, Kansas City Royals, Seattle Mariners, have been down on their luck for so long that high expectations can be interpreted as a .500 season; the playoffs, or a World Series, seem like so much fantasy. There is also a subset of teams just above this one, like the Houston Astros, Oakland Athletics, Milwaukee Brewers, Toronto Blue Jays, and a bunch of others who perhaps find fleeting success for a season or two, but then settle down into a much more comfortable performance of middling character.

The gap in Major League team salaries is astounding. The highest team salary for the 2012 season belongs to the New York Yankees at $195 million. The lowest salary goes to the Oakland Athletics at $49 million. The difference between the highest and the lowest salary is more than the team salaries of 26 MLB clubs. The disparity is ridiculous. Some teams, like the Yankees, choose to invest big dollars in their teams, and they have the means to do so. Other teams, like Oakland or Pittsburgh, likely have the means to spend more, but choose not to, for a variety of reasons, some legitimate, some questionable. 

One of the reasons why professional football has surpassed professional baseball in the American popular psyche is because teams can reverse their fortunes so quickly. Teams like the Detroit Lions can go from 0-16 to the playoffs in the matter of just a few seasons, and completely revamp the lineup in the process. Parity is the word of the day, and for the most part, every game is competitive, and every team has at least a glimmer of hope when the season begins. This is manifestly not true of baseball. There are very few 'surprise' World Series winners, the Orioles for instance are currently astounding fans and prognosticators, but Baltimore fans are waiting with baited breath for the other shoe to drop; somehow it just can't be real.

Major League Baseball should, beginning in 2015, establish a $100 million salary cap, and a $75 million salary minimum. If you don't spend $75 million on your team, penalties apply. Likewise, contracts that violate your team's salary cap would not be approved by MLB. Existing long-term contracts, (like that given to Albert Pujols this off-season) would have to be grandfathered in, but there is a way to make it work without voiding existing contracts. 

A salary cap would restore sanity to Major League contracts (which is why it will likely be opposed by the MLB Player's Association), and improve the overall health of the game and the financial health of the teams. Renewed competitiveness would also help the cities that support Major League teams, and while I wouldn't necessarily argue for federal legislation to force a salary cap on Major League Baseball, the league does enjoy antitrust protection from Congress, so there is precedent for federal involvement in the way professional baseball operates.

6. Cut twenty games from the MLB schedule. If a salary cap becomes reality, individual player salaries will abort their skyward trend; many players will not see their salaries change at all, but big-time stars likely will, as teams can no longer afford to spend wantonly on a single player. So if we are asking players to make less, we should ask less of them, in terms of the length of the MLB schedule. To go from 162 games to 142 games (cutting ten home games, and ten away games) makes every other game more important. A shorter schedule would also help reduce injuries.

But again, taking another cue from the NFL, fewer games creates more drama around the games that do get played. At the end of a football season, serious fans feel like they have lost an important part of their lives, both college and professional football serve a critical social element. At the end of a baseball season, the fans that are still paying attention feel relived that they survived. The baseball schedule hasn't always been this long ("Spring" Training in February and a World Series that can stretch into November) and the sheer length of the season can tax the average fan's attention span. A shorter season will also permit last place teams to put a headstone on a brutal season without laboring through the month of September in an empty stadium. Put simply, the 162 game schedule serves to prove that more isn't always better.

So there it is; a few ideas from a more-than-just casual fan for improving Major League Baseball. It is a great league, full of great players, teams and fans. But good as it is, it could be better. Look forward to your thoughts in the comment section.  

Growling Conscience

There is a photo floating around the Internet. A photo taken in Idaho and featuring a wolf caught in a leg trap. As is generally the case with leg traps, the animal is still very much alive, and very much sentient. Snow covers the ground, and in a ten foot circle all around the wolf, the snow is tinged unmistakably with the color of blood.

In the forefront of the photograph is the trapper. He is wearing a grin from ear to ear. His smile indicates that he is clearly proud that the trap he set, here in the chilly wilds of Idaho, has done its job.

But the image seems terribly incongruous, an exercise in polar opposite emotions. Clearly evident joy offset by plainly obvious misery, and what's worse, is that the latter is the reason for the former.

As an avid hunter, I am aware that a successful hunt, speaking in the utilitarian sense, inevitably means that a living creature, with blood coursing hot, will experience pain. What's more, if I have arranged myself in an appropriate place, and if my aim is true, a life will end. If I am targeting birds, sometimes more than one life. This is part of the powerful realism that hunting provides; namely, a stark reminder of what it means to eat meat. I believe very strongly that more meat eaters (people like you, reading this) should experience first hand the taking of a life that you intend to eat.

But as a hunter, my first responsibility is to the animal I seek to harvest. It is up to me to ensure that the task at hand is done quickly, effectively, and with as little suffering as possible. A fast and clean kill is of utmost importance, it is how I define a successful hunt. A shot that seems likely not to kill, but to injure, is not a shot I take. Better to go home empty handed and with a clear conscience, than to go home with thoughts of an animal lost, wantonly wasted, at my own hands.

Trapping is not hunting and trappers are not hunters. But while the means to the end may be different, the fact that when done effectively both hunting and trapping lead to the same end, means that the two activities are linked.

When a goose lands crippled into the decoys, as is sometimes inevitable, an ethical hunter clears his mind of anything but a swift kill. There is no time for photos, for celebrations, for anything, until that animal's suffering has been ended. It should be no different for trapping; the fact that this trapper found the time to snap a photograph, to allow an animal's suffering to go on, at best, a few seconds longer, is unjustifiable.

There is no defense for the existence of this photo. For ethical hunters, we should all pledge to distance ourselves, to shun the company of those who find this behavior acceptable. Whether it be a refusal to hunt with them, or kicking someone out of a club or lease, our conscience should not be asked to tolerate such a direct affront to common decency.

The same standard should be true of trappers. Traps should be checked frequently, and trapped animals should be quickly dispatched. Trappers who fail to abide by these reasonable codes of conduct should be ostracized by the trapping community at large. Yet, that community has, by and large, defended this image, mostly behind the flimsy sham that there is nothing strictly 'illegal' taking place in the photo. But there is a law being broken, a basic tenet of humanity clearly violated.     

You can see a copy of the grisly image here.      

The Farm Divide

In some places, Maryland's Eastern Shore still resembles a Norman Rockwell painting. In just about any Eastern Shore town, if the weather is right, you can still find a kid walking down the street with a fishing pole and a jar of worms; farmers still get together at local coffee shops to talk about corn yields, fertilizer prices, and combine repairs.

But there is a risk in getting too misty-eyed about farms and rural life. There is a danger in thinking that farmers aren't businessmen and women, but are rather museum curators or reenactors; protectors of a pastoral idealism whose sole profit comes in the appreciative smiles of those speeding down scenic rural byways. Unfortunately for everyone involved, aesthetics just don't pay the bills.

It seems obvious that farmers have to make a profit to keep farming. Just like everyone else, farmers have to make a living; but unlike everyone else, farmers have to make that living in an industry that is subject to constantly changing variables; input prices (for things like seed and fertilizer), environmental regulations, market considerations, weather, complex federal farm policies and a variety of pressures from the local communities in which they must live and function. It is often said that on any given day, a farmer has to be an economist, a mechanic, a chemist, a veterinarian, an accountant, a meteorologist, a biologist and a lawyer. And then somehow find time to farm. Farming in 2012 ain't for the faint of heart.

As a group, farmers are often placed in a starring role in the tug of war over the future of the Chesapeake Bay. This presents environmentalists with a Catch-22 they don't like to talk much about; namely, their desire to preserve farmland on the one hand, and a desire for cleaner water on the other. Are these mutually exclusive goals? Absolutely not. Should we expect farmers to follow environmental laws, and be subject to suitable punishment if they do not follow those laws? Certainly.

But if the relationship between environmentalists and farmers is permanently poisoned, to the point where no farmer trusts anyone who works for an environmental organization, it is likely that both keeping farmers on the land AND enhancing water quality will become more difficult. Environmentalists can often be prone to finger-wagging self-righteousness, something farmers find especially revolting. Often, environmental groups will use the same organizing techniques for farmers and rural stakeholders as they use for other target audiences; many have learned this is a surefire recipe for disaster and mistrust

Most conservation organizations have learned (some the hard way) that sending a fresh-from-college social do-gooder to a Farm Bureau meeting, or any other place where farmers tend to congregate isn't likely to meet with success. So now many have transitioned to sending slightly older social do-gooders out to do the same job, only now they do it in what might be called a rural uniform. Carhartt pants, dirty ball cap, boots. But they risk quick exposure the first time they are asked a question about fertilizer application rates or their opinion on air seeders versus seed drills.

The most effective groups have actually put farmers on the payroll; as advisors, organizers, and in some cases, spokespeople. These highly-credible messengers have an inherent rapport, and a much easier time building trust, with those with whom they seek to communicate. But as environmental groups writ large continue to take positions that are easily portrayed as anti-farm, anti-farming, and anti-farmer, conservation groups of all kinds will find that farmers not only aren't interested in coming to work for them, but aren't interested in working with them, either.