Across the Great Divide

Righteous Hiker Meets Trespassing Four-Wheeler.

Less than a mile from our house sit a few hundred acres of empty private land. It's unfenced and unposted and apparently—except for its future value as desert home sites—unloved by the people who own it.

But others do. It attracts dog walkers by day, underage partiers by night, and according to the season,  occasional cross-country skiers, mountain bikers and four-wheelers who find this a convenient playground, though far inferior to public lands farther from town.

In fact, we have better trails out our back door, but lately our dog has wanted to walk in this direction and, permissive father that I am, I let her pick the route.

Today, Roxy spotted a man in blaze orange walking his Shiba Inu across the road from the paved trail where we were walking, so I let her cross and we made our way along the maze of double track the four-wheelers have made through the snow. I know from biking here the ground shifts from a soft red sand to a sticky gumbo—each nearly impassible in their own way and therefore irresistible to a guy with a 4X4.

It's not my property and thus none of my business who else is using the land, but it does grate me when I come upon a hidden bowl where four-wheelers have been spinning circles and unsuccessfully trying to climb one of the hills. Elsewhere their driving has simply packed the snow, but here they've churned up the ground enough that the crust had melted and my boot slipped into a generous patch of the gumbo. (Think rubberized wet concrete that will adhere the rest of the walk, even as I scuff through snowbanks and stomp on rocks.)

When someone's sport tears up the earth this way, it doesn't seem like a game to me. I entertained a scenario in which I'd come upon some of them, pretend to be the property owner and run them off.

As Roxy and I circled back toward home, I spied one of those trucks coming up the road toward us. And then I saw the two big Labradors running along behind.

I confess uncharitable thoughts in that moment. A trespassing four-wheeler too lazy-ass to walk his dogs. We stepped off road which cut through a hillock and waited for him to pass. Meanwhile, the yellow Lab of the pair passed the truck and ran toward us.

"Tahoe... Tahoe, get back here," the driver yelled.

Though Tahoe was twice Roxy's size he didn't look like trouble, and Roxy is usually fine with other dogs, but she was leashed and you always have to watch how dogs react in that situation. They sniffed each other and then Tahoe headed back to the truck, which had stopped partway up the incline. The driver was out and loading the other dog into the covered back.

Roxy and I moved closer and to the other side of the road so he could see us better when he resumed.

That's when I saw the wheelchair symbol on his license plate.

He worked his way slowly back to the cab, leaning on the side of the truck for support and shuffling his feet a few inches at a time. When he reached the door, he had to use it to lift himself up to the seat, but because of the truck's angle, the door kept trying to swing closed on his fingers.

I said, "Your dog was fine," and he just nodded. He had a long greying ponytail (Western Colorado must be the men's ponytail capital of the world) and looked to me like a motorcyclist who'd come back from a bad accident, but not all the way. He had one leg up on the floor and rocked a bit as he lifted his left leg with his hands against the closing door and the skew of gravity.

Not the sort of man you ask if he wants help.

I waved as he drove past. He kept both hands on the wheel and drove out of there, and I realized I felt like the guilty one for cutting his outing short.

Shelter Report: Good, I Guess, to See You.

I'm back volunteering at the Catholic Outreach Day Center* in Grand Junction, Colorado. Leaving the pre-school in Minneapolis and starting here again always involves transition.

The most abrupt change, of course, is moving from teaching homeless kids to serving homeless adults. The kids demand an active, engaged presence, and they compete for attention almost all the time. The adults at the Day Center socialize mostly with their peers. The volunteers adopt the friendly, non-judgmental demeanor of shop clerks who've been told "I'm just browsing." We stay out of the guest's faces and only try to help those who ask for it.

The biggest difference, though, is in the trajectories of the lives I get to know.

When I leave Minneapolis for six months, I can be almost certain to start over with a new group of kids after I return. For the most part, the shelter is aimed at families who are seeking to get back to stable housing situations. When they leave, it's usually good news — at least I can be hopeful — but it means I'll never see the kids again.

Here, I expect to see many of the same people I've been serving since 2009.

My first day back, several of the regulars parked elaborate shopping cart configurations at the bike racks. They typically showed up with shopping bags of clothing and other possessions, but these contraptions approached Mother Courage scale. I don't yet know what it means about how they are living or how their circumstances might have changed.

Because the weather has started to turn cold at night, it was possible to tell those living rough at the camp by the river from those who had a shelter bed. The layers of clothing and the grime are tip offs.

I don't mean for this to sound bleak. I saw several people who were doing much better than when I was last here.

It's odd to be glad to see someone again when it means they are still homeless. On the other hand, it also means they're still alive.

_____

* I've been volunteering there since 2009. The Day Center provides guests with laundry and shower facilities, a mail drop and phones, a safe storage for some belongings, and a warm place to sit with free coffee, creamer and, perhaps most important, sugar.

Self-serving or Serving People: My Dinner with Teachers.

A dinner party last night got me thinking about the interface between political rhetoric and where people's hearts really are. Of the seven gathered at the table, two were former teachers, one taught seventh grade and a fourth worked in a high school and was also involved in its drama productions.

Despite the depths of Colorado's educational funding problems and the precariousness of teaching jobs — seen in increasingly challenging classrooms, threats of layoffs and the red tide against "public employees — the table talk didn't go there.

Instead, it focused on the kids: The hard-working ones, the medicated ADHD kids, the malingerers, the amazing ones, the autistic one, the singers and dancers and shot putters and drug users. And it was spoken with an  awareness of and concern for their nutrition, upbringing, social circles, inspirations and prospects.

An ex-teacher inquired about one of his former students and whether he'd stayed out of trouble in high school. The math teacher, who taught a "gifted" class in addition to classes for kids with behavioral problems, said her gifted group was largely made of kids who might have been considered normal a generation or two ago. She also expressed mild regret that she'd passed on an opening to teach science (her specialty) because she believed science positions would be the next ones to be cut.

That's as political as it got last night.

This morning, back in the realm of daily news and conflict, I wondered how the conversation at a table of political job holders might go — say, appointees who rode the coattails of November's victory and are now intent on shaving government down to size as they collect nice paychecks and enjoy benefits just like other public employees. Would their undirected talk focus on the people they serve — all of them — or toward the advance of power and the progress of their unmaking government?

I don't know for sure, but this framework comes to mind as way to imagine it.

Let's say we can derive satisfaction from four dimensions of work: the work itself, the people we serve, the compensation we receive, and the control we can achieve. All are forms of reward, and the greatest theoretical reward comes from achieving satisfaction in all four dimensions. In reality, there are variations, overlaps and exceptions, but let's keep this simple.

Those who enjoy the work itself can include writers, programmers, scientists, athletes, artists, entrepreneurs and others who don't necessarily require other people to enrich what is already a rich interior experience. The work can be primarily mental or physical; it's the activity itself that gives pleasure.

Others may primarily derive satisfaction from serving others. Let's include teachers, ministers, health professionals, restauranteurs, certain salespeople and various social service professionals.

Then there are the managers and financial types who could be equally at home in banking, consumer electronics, taco franchising, insurance or the cake mix business. They need other people, but primarily as abstractions — "human resources," "consumers" and "shareholders" — necessary to the system that provides their financial gain.

The fourth dimension certainly overlaps with the others, but the control sought by a composer or a farmer is very different from that sought by the political and business classes, which must exert power over others to achieve their goals. And one of the levers of their power comes from characterizing and mischaracterizing others.

Of course, people aren't this simple, but these categories provide a framework for seeing through motivations as well as self-deceptions.

After all, there's more than one way to serve people.

 

 

 

 

 

Shelter Report: The Woodpecker's Tongue.

Today I did my weekly volunteer turn at the Day Center in Grand Junction. Since it's been a year since I posted from here, here's a link to some background. 

Things got off to a great start when one of the other volunteers took me for a client waiting for his laundry to finish and another one mistook me for one of the sex offenders who periodically drops by.

Last week, a soulful-eyed version of the Monkees' Michael Nesmith told us how his tent had been stolen — one he'd bought with his own money. But he was philosophical: "Whoever took it must've needed it more than I did," he said.

This week I asked if he'd gotten a replacement tent. He looked at me like I was nuts. I said, "I thought you told us last week your tent had been taken." Apparently not.

Also today, I got to see an unconscious young man picked up by the paramedics from our entrance; a young woman showing what appeared to be a fresh epidural port; and a technique for sleeping sitting up which involves sticking your hands in your suspenders so your arms don't drop and wake you.

I declined to help a man on medical marijuana sue the VA Hospital for causing him mental distress for bringing joints onto the VA grounds. I watched a woman meticulously rub a bleach solution into every screw and air hole in a drier before putting her clothes in. I listened to a discourse on the effects of nuclear radiation. And I was cheerfully informed by a client waiting for a shower that woodpeckers' tongues wrap around their brains, helping cushion the shock from pecking trees. (We do have quality reading material for clients in our waiting area.)

Human beings are an incredibly resilient species. But we haven't evolved an effective way to protect our brains from addiction, abuse, war and whatever other trees our clients have been banging against most of their lives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Alcohol Tax Glass is More than Half Empty.

The latest debate over Sunday liquor sales in Minnesota has featured claims that Minnesota is somehow missing out on $10 million in tax revenues.

Puhlease.

I've debunked parts of this claim via twitter and comments sections, but thought it worth a post because this shows how interest groups can use data to mislead the public and policy makers. I wrote about this when it came up last session and won't repeat myself here.

Let's focus on this commentary by the Distilled Spirits Council published in the Strib with the subhead: "The Sunday ban on liquor sales costs state an estimated $10 million." The author says:

Colorado, the most recent state to enact Sunday sales, even saw its 2008 alcohol excise tax revenue collection increase by 6 percent despite the toll of the recession.

Well, not quite. Colorado's 2008 alcohol tax revenue, according to the state's annual report, only increased by 1.5 percent over 2007. But since Sunday sales took effect July 1, 2008, perhaps the author meant the 2009 fiscal year ending July, 2009. A Denver news report says:

Colorado State Treasury’s data shows that liquor, beer and wine tax revenues increased by $2,056,858 in the 12 months following July 1, 2008, when the bill allowing Sunday liquor sales went into effect.

Now, there may be various reasons why Colorado saw a bump in 2009, but why should we suppose the growth in FY 2009 was due to Sunday sales? Especially when Minnesota's alcohol tax revenues increased almost $3 million between FY 2008 and 09 [PDF], without benefit of adding Sunday sales?

Another claim made in the piece:

A national analysis of states that allowed Sunday sales between 2002 and 2005 (12 states) showed that in 2006 each state saw an average 5 to 7 percent increase in tax revenues.

I have no doubt that's true, since during the same period, Sunday-deprived Colorado saw a 10.3 percent gain and Minnesota saw a 3.3 percent gain.

In other words, revenue from alcohol sales slides around from year to year, and depending on the period you select, you can make the numbers dance your dance.

But the most troubling thing to me is the takeaway the Strib opinion piece is allowed to leave. Even by the Distilled Spirit Council's own estimate, only about half of Colorado's $2 million gain in one year could be attributed to higher liquor store sales. (Two percent of the 6 percent gain was the national average gain and about 75 percent of the alcohol taxes collected come from package liquor stores, according to the Council,)

Allowing for Minnesota's higher alcohol tax rate overall (it takes in roughly double what Colorado does), how do we get to $10 million more in tax revenue with Sunday sales?

We don't.

And if you think the difference is coming from recaptured sales lost to Wisconsin, please comment here so I can debunk that one, too.

UPDATE:

For the real tax nuts, I've added a couple analytical footnotes to his post over at the Growth & Justice Blog.

Colorado GOP Candidate Needs Help. Paging Robert Erickson.

While Minnesota's GOP nominee for governor Tom Emmer is thanking Robert Erickson today for changing the subject at a disastrous town hall meeting with restaurant servers, Colorado's nominee Scott McInnis is trying to get Erickson's number.

McInnis needs a squirrel, any squirrel.

The McInnis campaign is reeling after a series of reports that opinion pieces and a series of "Musings on Water" essays, for which he was paid $300,000 contained plagiarized material. The editorial board of the  Denver Post, which reported the original stories, has called for him to withdraw from the race — and in an unlikely convergence, talk radio righties agree.

McInnis used to represent Colorado in Congress, from the same district that produced the fictional "The West Wing" representative and eventual vice president Bingo Bob Russell. I've never known for sure whether that was a coincidence.

Politicians have overcome plagiarism claims before. (See the current, real VP.) But prolix politicians lifting passages for speeches is a lower-order offense than taking pay — big pay, all you out-of-work journalists will note — to recycle material for a think tank.

As a fellow of the Hasan Family Foundation, McInnis was paid $150,000 a year over two years to do speaking engagements and "research and write a monthly article on water issues that can be distributed to media and organizations as well as be available on the Internet."

At 13 grand a pop, you'd think he might pay closer attention to the content of his "original work."

McInnis's response to the flap hasn't helped him one bit.

Hey, Robert Erickson, they have an immigration debate in Colorado, too, and Tom Tancredo is old news.

Seminars are Filling Fast!

A local business ran an ad in today's paper. Can you guess what Strategy Resource International does? I had to go the website, www.happinesswarehouse.com, to get the whole picture.

The balance of Kindness and Professionalism is what makes us different.  We put kindness and the legitimate understanding of your goals first.  We follow up with true professionalism that makes you feel comfortable as you receive high quality attention in the area it is needed.

Guy's experiences across America, Israel, India, Sigapore, Thailand, England, Scotland, Whales...Offers you a rarely valuable, truly international, quality of insight and opportunity to apply many of the very best strategy sources available to any area of your life and work.

I'm not sure what a "rarely valuable" quality of insight might be, but the company has a pretty interesting mashup of offerings.  Guy sounds like a combo of Tony Robbins, Joel Osteen and Winston Wolfe. 

Here are just a couple:

Devotion Defense - When faith leads to firearms, Graceful Guns by Strategy Resource International is the answer for the training you need to be safe and effective.  Called to carry?  Special training for firearm students working to satisfy scriptural injunction or direct summons.  The different quality of respect wherein we operate offers an important difference to the person required to satisfy divine compulsion.

Graphic Design & Concept Development.  "Marksman for Justice by Design." True Blue Branding is a widely applicable function of S.R.I..  When you can't quite get other designers to do justice to your cause, give us a shot. 

No. 1 Bike City? Either Way, I Live There.

Yes, it's just a small town as official population figures go. Grand Junction is only Colorado's 15th largest city, about the size of Edina, Minnesota, but it's also the center of the nation's 268th largest Metropolitan Statistical Area, a little bigger than Sioux City.

But those comparisons aren't what struck me today. I'm thinking about bike-crazy towns like Minneapolis and Portland. Last week both The Daily Sentinel and The Free Press ran 24-plus-page cycling inserts.

Show me another daily newspaper that has a drop-down menu like this. Grand Junction has two of them, plus four downtown bike shops in a four-block area.

Shelter Report: How High Unemployment and Worker Shortage Coexist.

Between my shift at the Day Center and attending a trial (for background research on the prosecution of child abuse cases), I stopped for lunch at a Main Street Pizzeria. Grand Junction's Main Street is being reconstructed, a few blocks at a time, so the businesses in those closed off blocks must rely more than normal on pedestrian traffic for a few months.

[The redo is an update of a pedestrian-oriented, serpentine mall lined with trees, planters and sculptures that was originally built in 1962 — six years before work began on Minneapolis's supposedly groundbreaking Nicollet Mall.]

As I walked down the street, I noticed virtually the entire workforce doing concrete finishing work and other construction was Hispanic. Inside the pizza joint, which was doing a good business, I came across a newspaper with this story describing the challenges of local orchards finding good local labor. This, in a town with unemployment hovering around 10 percent.

More than 300 local job-seekers have trooped into Talbott Farms' office this year to inquire about jobs in the orchards and vineyards.

Still, out in the fields, most of the workers doing the early thinning and spraying have come here on temporary guest-worker visas from Mexico.

It is not that Talbott and other growers don't want to hire fellow Americans hurting from extended unemployment. But many of those job-seekers aren't willing to tackle the tough, low-wage, long-hour farm labor.

Coincidentally, I had spoken with a number of men at the Day Center about their efforts to find work.

One man has been doggedly pursuing a dish washing job at local pub. Nearly a month after his first contact with them, he headed out today for an interview and was optimistic about landing something.

"I always want to work," he told me, "but I haven't had a job since November. It's been really tough."

Another man, who showed up here last week from Moab, now has his feet under him and has lost that dazed look he had when he arrived at the Day Center. One of the regulars escorted him around town and showed him where he could get assistance, a daily meal, a bus pass and a bed at a shelter.

He, too, wants work. He has been to the Workforce Center, which told him about a meat cutting job. "I have experience — you need it to cut meat — but it only pays $7.50 an hour," he said. "A skilled job like that should pay at least $12."

This man likes it here, better than Moab, where there's no shelter that accepts homeless men and the only soup kitchen serves leftovers from the school lunch program. He has some serious psychological effects from his alcoholism, bad enough that he has stopped drinking for eight months and takes antabuse and other medications. He seems determined to be productive, but he will struggle for the rest of his life.

"Are you taking your medications?" is a serious question I hear all the time here.

The third man talked to me about his plans to leave town. 

His theory, the opposite of the other man's, is that smaller communities are more receptive to homeless people who want to work. Because there's no safety net in those towns, there's no identifiable homeless population, so he can look for employment without being branded as "one of those."

He is intelligent and very presentable. He keeps himself busy here playing guitar or reading, and at the end of the day he helped with the clean up. But like the other two men, he exhibits the stream-of-consciousness talk that signals other issues at work.

I like all three of these guys and wish them luck. But I also see how Hispanic laborers can come to town and "take jobs away from the locals."

Language and cultural barriers are a piece of cake compared to what some of these guys carry.

Fiery Illumination.

Fires are a pretty common news item out here, usually meriting a photo and brief story — whether the structure affected was a high-end home, tract house with melted vinyl siding or a remote trailer.

When this fire photo ran in the paper last week, it was black and white, which made a salient detail a bit harder to pick up.

What do you see?

Daily Sentinel photo by Dean Humphrey

Grand Junction firefighters battle a blaze on a frame structure at the Rocky Mt. Court at 1211 South Fifth Street early this morning. A man living there fell asleep with a lit cigarette while on oxygen, which investigators believe started the fire. With the help of neighbors, the man and his dog escaped.