Festering Human Putrescence

This has been festering since the news broke. The thoughts I’ve had on others' comments are a whirlwind in my head I haven’t been able to anchor long enough to construct the simplest of sentences. The spectacular contradiction between what I grew up knowing and what has come to be the truth is staggering. My Grandfather, captain of the 1933 National Championship Michigan Wolverine football team, taught me what it meant to be a Michigan Man. He plays the game with toughness, sure, but also with honor and integrity. After graduation, Gramps wound up Harry Bennett’s right hand man. If you don’t know who Harry Bennett is, google him. Mr. Henry Ford hired him to keep the unions out. Back then, they muscled them out. My Dad claims Gramps never beat anybody up. He always maintained “they had people for that.” I think it’s the Fonzie phenomenon. You have to have hit someone at least once to establish your fear based respect. The family has a certain admiration for Gramps’ stint as a professional thug. Are you talkin’ to me? I have thug genes in case you want to take this outside. Americans love a badass. I adored Gramps. We all did. I was completely aware that even as an old man sitting in his favorite leather chair appearing quite innocuous, he could kill you with his bare hands. Ford Motor needed to match the local Cosa Nostra with their own brand of intimidators just to keep from getting fitted with a pair of cement shoes. The mob leaned on Ford, Ford leaned back. In those days there was honor among thieves (I think you can classify either side in this contest as such) and sometimes a good punch was necessary to keep the peace. Gramps ultimately abandoned his post, much to the bitter disappointment of Mr. Bennett. Gramps had a strong compass for fairness and would occasionally revise his role when his sense of injustice was stirred, resulting in hilarious and poignant stories the family retells regularly.

After my Grandmother died, I assumed her season ticket to Michigan Stadium and sat next to Gramps for several years. He impressed upon me the importance of annihilating your opponent, but to do it within the rules. Not sure his thug exploits were completely within the rules, but at least it was man to man, face to face. Akin to a holding penalty? Face mask? Dirty, but part of the game? Ok, I love my Gramps and may be rationalizing a little. Leave it. He can still kick your ass. From the grave. That’s how tough he is. Point made, move on, sheesh. I remember when Penn State joined the Big Ten and the first time they came to the Big House. Joe Paterno. My God. In my book he was second only to the mighty Bo Schembechler. During a pre-game warm up I watched Coach Paterno walk up and down the rows of players and speak to every single man. Even the ones who wouldn’t see a down that day. I was in awe and impressed. Joe Paterno was the gold standard for integrity. Other teams were getting busted for breaking NCAA rules in order to sign the hot players. Not UM or Penn State. I admired a coach that could run a clean program and still beat the pants off damn near anybody. You could be honest and still win. Oops.

What I see happening in the hands of men with power is heinous. From the church to Penn State, the offenders chose their stuff, titles, money, prestige and influence over the welfare of another human being. They tortured and tormented a weaker someone for what? To feel even more powerful? Kept silent to maintain his legendary post as the winningest coach in college football history? That legend has an entirely new ring to it. Sports’ farthest fall from grace in the history of ever. You’re epic, Paterno. Human putrescence.

Why can’t we stand up for what’s right? From student bullying to political posturing, what are we so afraid of? We’re Americans for Chrissakes. Even Hermione Granger knows how to throw an effective punch. We’ve become a nation of cowards. It’s time to name names. Come clean and speak straight. I’m going to tell you this. I could have lied and kept all the money the productions paid me last year like Ariana Gallery did. Ann got paid $15,000 by ABC to rent art to Detroit 1-8-7. She cited the labor involved in preparing the art for delivery and paperwork left no commission for the artists. They’d get national exposure in return for the use of their work. Really? You got $15,000 and you couldn’t manage even $100 payout? You are that greedy, desperate, what? An acquaintance of mine claims her as his friend and explained that she has “a different way of doing business.” “Yeah,” I retorted, “unscrupulous and I don’t want anything to do with her.” When this event went down, I decided to take the high road and not engage in gossip or badmouthing so I didn’t name her. Is it the high road then if I let her get away with it? If I don’t call her out and other artists fall for her bullshit? I’m calling it. I paid the artists that got rented through me more than I paid myself. I felt that was fair because it was their art. Maybe that was foolish. But I can sleep at night. I feel really good about what I did and I think it may have helped a couple people.

From Lehman Brothers and Bernie Madoff, to the church and Penn State. To the Republican candidates that remained silent (during a debate) while a cheer rose in the crowd over the death penalty and the dismissal of an active fighting in Afghanistan because he’s gay, I’m thrilled to be small and fighting hard for what little I have. Those in power not only have no idea what my life, our lives, is like, and don’t care. If G. W. Bush woke up with my money tomorrow he’d shoot himself in the head. I think this kind of power wielding has been going on for a while. It’s been covered up because those that knew would have forfeited something they didn’t want to lose. Fame, Power, Wealth are that important to some. It’s unfortunate the days of being able to reconcile it via a hot poker up the ass then flung naked into the street are over. How’s it going Edward II? Ouch. We could use a little of that kind of crime and punishment. If only my Gramps were still alive. Once he’d gotten over his heart being broken, we may have enjoyed some old school justice. I’m headed to Home Depot for a bag of Quikcrete. Who’s with me?