Three score years ago I was serving in the dungaree navy aboard a small destroyer that would pitch and roll with the slightest breeze while at sea guarding those floating cities called aircraft carriers. Actually, the duty worked to my advantage. No matter how rough the weather, my stomach was never upset when at least half my shipmates became too sick to enjoy the excellent chow the US Navy served, and still serves, while at sea. My shipmates use to complain with envy, “ Lefty you've got a cast iron stomach”. However, no matter how sick they became, they continued to stand their watch and do their duty while I ate their share of the excellent chow being served during rough weather.
One shipmate, Dave Reichert, was my mentor for electronic equipment repair. As we worked in close quarters trouble shooting a piece of malfunctioning equipment during bad weather, I'd oft times hear Dave mutter under his breath the Destroyer-man's Lament (cleaned up here for family reading):
“Pitch, pitch, gosh darn your soul, cause the more you pitch the less you roll.” When our forward motion slowed and we began to repeatedly wallow starboard to port and back again with sickening monotony he'd mutter, “Roll, roll, you mean old witch, cause the more you roll the less you pitch.”
When I finally mustered off the ship Dave concluded there was nothing that would ever turn my stomach. How wrong he was! Today, whenever a career politician is being congratulated for a “ long distinguished career serving the public interest”, I find myself in danger of upsetting Dave's prediction.
Today the Commonwealth is experiencing rough weather. With a few exceptions career pols have just been slopping at the public trough while laughing all the way to the bank. In Harrisburg they make much noise about nickel and dime issues while kicking the can down the road on major league problems like public pension reform and shrinking the overlapping, ineffective, bloated, public bureaucracies the Legislature helped create. Those bureaucracies, manned by their own careerists, remind me of Walking Dead zombies who threaten to kill small business development in the Commonwealth and add to our economic debt bomb of unfunded public pensions and meaningful welfare reform. Welfare, never meant to be a career opportunity, has exploded to represent more than half the Commonwealth budget. However, most career politicians don't have the guts to confront tough issues or the monsters they have created.
Never was I more repulsed and almost lost my lunch than on the day Eugene“ Snuffly ” Smith's son and House replacement, Sam, finally retired as Speaker of the House to end his 30 year political career. Combined, this father and son tag team match operated out of Punxsutawney for a combined reign of 53 years.
To the best of my knowledge both “Snuffy” and Sam were good family men who meant no harm to the taxpayer but were hardly made of the sturdy oak needed in the combat zone of today's political arena. Eugene's nickname “Snuffy”was given to him by local constituents who considered him,like the cartoon character created by Bill DeBeck, harmless but colorful while representing them in Harrisburg . Sam was able to secure his dad's seat on name recognition and party boss endorsement.
Back room bosses only require party loyalty. That priority trumps doing the people's business. Multiply that attitude by several hundred districts and you have today's dysfunctional Pennsylvania Legislature.
Sam's Swan Song was televised last month on PCN, a public service channel available throughout the Commonwealth. Sam and his colleges gathered in “ the peoples chamber” at the capital complex in Harrisburg to indulge in a meeting of their mutual admiration society. Toads from every corner of the Commonwealth came out of the woodwork to pay tribute to one of their “distinguished” members. Watching this charade found me repeatedly muttering the Destroyer-man's lament even though I was on dry solid land. The sickeningly sweet tribute to a fellow careerist had those political clowns strutting like barnyard roosters. It took a half roll of anti acid tablets and two Alka Seltzers to keep my lunch down.
Conspicuously absent was the POOP contingent( Politicians Occupying Our Prisons). The POOP boys represent nearly a score of Commonwealth career pols, from both sides of the aisle, who got caught with their greedy fingers in the public cookie jar. Now these guys are cooling their heels in prison with three hots and a cot instead of a fancy Harrisburg office and walking around money. Unfortunately many of them will still collect their six figure pensions when the jail gates are finally opened.
Ending on a positive note I want to pay tribute to another group missing from Sam's Swan Song. A group growing in number are citizen representatives too busy doing the peoples business to participate in a brazen slobber festival. To this group who view their tour of public service as Noblesse Oblige, I pay my respects and express my gratitude. You are the last hope for my grand children. Let's hope your ranks continue to swell.
Stratton Schaeffer is a retired consulting engineer and farmer who lives on Joe Hill.