Monday, December 31, 2012

Passions

Passions

Long in years,
when passions pout -

Old's seen change,
heard hymn and shout -

Wondering still,
what life's about -

Fire in the belly,
long turned to gout -

Thin's in,
so we shun the stout -

The long haired poet,
termed a lout -

His poetic wish,
to shout it out -

Wisdom through thought,
to live without -

We are the lesser,
left yet in doubt -

Deep in years,
time when passions pout-

Ronald C.Downie.















































Sunday, December 30, 2012

Changing Drivers

Changing Drivers

Into the emancipation of thought,
Innocently born, clambering escape
From the drudgeries of ordinary
People, an exceptional person
Emerges through ingenuity and
Spunk to become a public leader.

But the crucible holding their future
Spills, from time to time its holdings
Onto written pages, seers construct.
Fiction or oracle must pass inspection
Of those of inquisitive minds and such
Feelings that poetry or prose reveals.

The drumming which holds the beat,
The strings that arc to heaven's door,
The woodwinds which carries the tune,
The voices that peel away at sadness
Are pent up in a discordant population
Struggling for their chance at survival.

To them, nothing rises to challenge
A way of life long lived, well satisfied,
Tempered by experience, uncontested.
Miracle of the mind forgotten, ordinary
Life forces decisions to be crudely made,
Unexamined, rather than knowledge based.

Leaders must weave their way through clutter
Left behind in the wake of earlier disciples.
Is pandering to get reelected a baton passed on,
Or, for the better good of all, a banner's made ?
Needed, exceptional people, those who will grasp
The reins, control the team, then change drivers.

Ronald C. Downie


Saturday, December 29, 2012

The Light Warden

The Light Warden

Born of The Great Depression, I entered
A World of constant turmoil, endless strife.
Lazy year, 1935, of dull, drab malaise,
Heralded me on this Earth a poor boy.

The only constant of first memory
Was of moving, seems we moved yearly.
Older brother, Andy, changed schools so
Often every elementary school saw him.

A knock on the door caused an instant fear,
But it was usually the defense light warden
Telling Mom and Dad to close our black blinds,
Light slivers could bring German planes overhead.

We lived in rural northern Chester County
Just north of Harmonyville on Houck Road
Next to Camp Rock Run, a teenaged girls camp.
Sadly, I was far too young for girls back then.

With War's end we moved to Lower POttsgrove
Township on North Keim Street, at Ringing Hill.
Completed schooling at Lower POttsgrove
Elementary then Pottstown's Junior&Senior High.

Since 1950 I've continually anguished over
Sixty two long years of man made carnage :
Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Sudan, Afghanistan,
Yugoslavia, Egypt, Africa's potential explosion.

Will I reach my natural end before
Man causes an unnatural World's end ?
The twenty-one trillion hoarded dollars
Off-shore World wide can't buy eternity.

The fear of light peeking out when a boy
Has been replaced by all the lights going
Out when the electric power grid goes
Down imploding under its own vast weight.

An ineffective person that I've become,
A farmer by nature drawn toward words,
Feels lost looking at the peril facing man.
Are my words adequate for this vast task ?

Hell yes ! Each must speak up and shout it out -
" We are sick and tired being lied to over and over."
The cesspool we politely call, political rhetoric,
Is as pungent, as down wind sewage spills, are.

Ronald C. Downie

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Silhouettes

Silhouettes

I've been far too lax lately to really appreciate the trees for the woods, or rather, the trees for the hubbub of modern living, viewing but not seeing anything that has a meaningful degree of depth. Maybe, it's because trees have just shed their leaves so now their silhouettes just pop out which composes the skyline.

When you have some time to spare drive along Hanover Street in Pottstown and take a look for yourself beginning down at the Hanover Street Bridge at the Schuylkill River. Just a short way west on College Drive at the pedestrian crossover look right to the north and see a silhouette of a huge American Elm tree growing on the bank of the spillway which used to carry water to the old Roller Mill building when it was still grinding grain into flower. This Elm, when you calculate its age by the diameter of the girth of its trunk is quite old, which is remarkable since most Elms died off years ago due to the Dutch Elm Disease. You could say, "this old giant is some tough bird".

Drive further north up Hanover and you'll cross High, King, and Chestnut Streets to, on the right hand side, in the raised lawn area between Zion's Church and Emanuel Lutheran Church two fairly large shade trees are growing. The more memorable one, an Oak, has a well formed canopy that compliments with its spread the area it shades. This area for years has been the focal point for lawn parties especially for musical programs these churches put on. A shaded lawn area becomes outdoor living space at its very best in an earthly attempt to bring civility back into civilization.

Travel again north on Hanover for about two and a half more blocks to where Hanover goes down a grade after Beech Street and begins a gentle curve to the east at East Third Street. There, smack in front of you, on the left hand side of Hanover, are two large trees : one's, another Elm ; the other's, an Oak, both living together in this small front yard for a long, long time. These two notable trees were probably planted at same time very long ago, most likely, no one remembers the event. Growing together, as they have in girth and canopy all this time, they seem from afar to be one huge silhouette. Kudos to those who plant trees for posterity.

Just further on, no more than a block and a half on the right hand side, the east side, up in the Pottstown Cemetery stands a magnificent Oak tree spreading full 360 degrees around with well placed branches that allows a free flow of air through its canopy which insures a more healthy, long life. This Oak, I would think, is a Red Oak. At least in my mind, around here, the Red Oak is the premier tree to plant for character and for shade if a sufficient amount of land around it is dedicated for its size at maturity. This Oak is truly a splendid specimen living well and, I certainly hope, will live on to shade generations yet to be born.

An appreciation for life must not stop with the human species but should extend to all species living in our Planet's environs. That which gives meaning to your personal desires should incite within you an awe of reverence for life. A saying goes something like this : To plant a tree under which you know that you'll not be able to feel comfort of its shade is the highest form of empathy. These five trees are but a few growing in Pottstown which attached my eye over the years. The compulsion to write about them now is my attempt to turn a personal awareness into a public one.

Ronald C. Downie

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

The Three Legged Stool

The Three Legged Stool

The young of our generation need, desperately need, all three legs of life's proverbial stool. They have their physical presence embodied in youthful statures that forms one leg of the stool. That's the easy one, stemming from the union of a male and a female that has happened for millions of years, the striking of the flints of flesh creating the spark to fire a breath of life.

One third of the legs of the three legged stool is set,
it's the other two legs that I'd like to think about, I'd like to write about, I'd like you to read about.

I suggest the other two legs are life factors of each individual's personality that makes them particular to themselves as they maneuver through life. They are aptitude and attitude.

Aptitude is the inherent ability of an individual to perform at a level commensurate with their physical makeup. Their ability, their capability, their instinct, their power has an individual's imprint on society that I call another one of the legs of the stool.

Attitude, though, is a mental state. It is the third leg completing the integrity of our stool involving beliefs and feelings and values and dispositions to act in certain ways. It, too, defines an individual by that person's brain waves. Attitude seems to be, not only the crucial third leg, but also the glue that holds a stool together.

I contend most of our youth have the physique complete with a goodly amount of aptitude which bolsters them as individuals as they grow into adulthood. They grow along with their ability and power to physically improve at all visuals of their lives.
This is certainly meaningful but woefully inadequate to enter into a competitive society with all its varied
innuendoes.

Attitude becomes paramount to our youth's survival. It is the the educated youngster with an expanding mind who can weigh alternatives to the rigid norms which stagnates our adult society. We find in our youths, as in all advanced generations, the hope inherent in a future worthy to pass on to our descendants.

These descendants will honor this generation for constructing stools that, not only withstand the riggers of time, but become the standards for future societies.
Body, mind, and spirit is the bulwark of some institutes. I am encouraging stature, aptitude, and attitude to be our pillars, or if you will, our legs of the proverbial stool. Upright and solid, the tripods are to hold up a universe.

Ronald C. Downie

Sunday, December 23, 2012

A Birthday Wish

A Birthday Wish

Little else do I have aptitude to do but to shuffle words together and come up with their meaning really representing my heartfelt thoughts. Birthday verse fits this definition.

This birthday poem is something special. Written for Connie my wife of nearly 49 years at her new age of 73 years while living in our home on Evans Street for nearly 39 years. Time does march on into the ages.

To Connie My Wife

The clock, on the mantel is ready
To receive all three hands pointing
Up, converging on the hour of twelve.

The sun, at its low point in the sky,
Is poised to begin its accent again,
Longing for spring, seeking summer.

The clock, makes its cycle twice each day;
The sun, does its thing needing only once.
But, you and I, ours is made in a life time.

Both of us, we are of a similar earthy substance,
The combination of both time and sun energy,
Joined these many years, like a clock at noon.

The sun, has an additional duty to perform
While sweeping throughout the vast universe,
It draws the Earth to orbit it in one single year.

We mark the passage of a year by birthdays,
As your's today, the twenty third of December.
You have made another orbit, the clock tics on.

Ticking, as it does, recording the inevitable passing
Of all cycles, not cognizant of spring nor summer,
But, in spite of time, we deal in a love for each other.

Love may not surface in traditional ways enough
To stop clocks or alter our own universe's actions.
Instead, being unsaid, does not mean it is dead.

I love you more each day knowing there is a limit
To our time together. Hopefully the seasons are
Limitless, clocks march on, and our love is eternal.

With All My Love,
Your Husband, Ron

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Too Early,Old - Too Late,Smart

"Too Early, Old - Too Late, Smart"

Go anywhere out in the farm country,
Talk to any native sod busters, you'd
Hear them, back in the era of my youth,
Speaking Pennsylvania Dutch like this.

Language of simple souls was so darn
Descriptive, modern speaking, so drab.
So drab, we have reverted to texting
Rather than talking on the telephone.

As a society, we've already lost
The art of letter writing to the phone.
Now, a hand held device can do both,
Along with taking photos and paging.

No going back cause the genie's out !
Having popped right out of the bottle,
His etherial vapors in gypsy spirits
Join those of all our past ancestors.

To have known another time, to assure
Myself there is more than only today ;
On the shoulders of our predecessors
We stand peering beyond comfortable.

We must harvest the eatables that grow
In gardens we plant, cultivate, and weed.
Like the Dutch speak : quant, impressive,
Colloquial - yes, we will harvest this - also.

Ronald C. Downie



Friday, December 21, 2012

The Crime Of Property Taxation

The Crime of Property Taxation

A leader, from its inception as an original member of The Thirteen Colonies, Pennsylvania, with its abundance of swift moving streams, coal, iron ore, timber, and industrious immigrants, led the early Colonies in industry and manufacturing. The value of her real estate rose proportionate to her industrious muscle and raw material opportunities.

In the mid Twentieth Century, post WW2, Pottstown reached its pinnacle in industrial production and commercial activity. Along with numerous heavy and light industries we were the regional hub for professional businesses, banking, and service related companies. Both laborers and their managers lived within the Boro limits as our population topped thirty thousand citizens. Property values reflected the upward vitality of the Town's strength.

Then came the crash when three quarters of Pottstown's industry began their exodus along with their payrolls, not only of the workers but also the wages of the managers, and, adding insult to injury, houses came on sale at a lower than ever value in a race to the bottom price we find now. Professionals also moved out of town as everyone became more mobile in the age of the automobile. During this fifty year decline the population dropped by ten thousand and even as the cost of living rose each year property values declined or remained flat.

The only constant during this time was the cost of education which went up each year and property taxes to fund the increases went up also. No matter how much you squeeze an orange you get only so much juice from it. As a stabilizing force in most small towns, seniors, many of them on fixed incomes, must reduce their daily living costs in order to pay the rising costs of property taxes if they decide to stay in their homes. When forced from their homes the character of that neighborhood changes many times to the negative eroding the tax base further.

It seems a consensus in public thinking that an educated citizenry is an imperative to having a strong healthy country. An after thought in an agricultural society, education became more and more important as we moved into and out of the industrial revolution and we are now in the information age where education is a must.

Today, just as important : as highways, as bridges, as water ways and ports, as trains and air lines, is education which needs to be funded accordingly. To function in the 21st Century and beyond we can't rely on outmoded methods to raise money for schools. Anchored to the land, anchored to a community both life styles of agriculture and industry adapted to property taxes supplying funds to educate her young. Now in the information age where everyone is mobile and everyone needs more education the means to pay for it is vastly inadequate.

Education is the bridge to the future and as all bridges serve all travelers an educated American serves all countrymen. Bridges are high cost structures, education costs a lot too and as bridges need to be paid for out of a general fund so must we pay for education in the same way.

Taxing property, once acceptable when agriculture and industry ruled the economy, no longer serves a proper role in the 21st Century. Building the universal bridge through education needs us to develop a non property universal method to pay for it.

Ronald C. Downie

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Why

Why

Caught again ! No ! Not with my pants down, but without a camera ( seems, if my wife and I own a camera, it's either lost or not working ). Today, you're just a minor league player without pictures to show what you've been doing, so I took to putting words together to create mental pictures which must substitute for camera shots since no click, no picture.

Take, for instance, veal. Back fifty/ sixty years ago after see a documentary about the wholesale slaughter of very young calves for their succulent meat, I swore off eating anything veal. No more veal. The images of those wobbly legged young calves herded through a narrow, tight chute only to be hit between their ears with a heavy hammer killing them could not escape my mind.

Then, the horror which scunners me even to this day, as the image appears in my mind's eyes just as I begin to close them, of men battering to death helpless young seals on windswept Arctic beaches. Killed and skinned for their soft, supple, fur hide so some affluent young matron could promenade in the latest style.

A chill runs up my spine each time I catch a view of industrial style feed lots for Christmas turkeys or wire pens for chickens. Packed tightly, hardly able to turn around, force fed both feed and fluid their only possible salvation are the sharpened knives which ultimately kills them. It's a huge quota needing to be filled and an unsuspecting public or an unconcerned public makes these enormous demands without the big picture in mind.

I am a hypocrite, also, along with most people in this over analyzed World. I am aware of things I've vowed I would not do, but with the passage of time and a weak internal fortitude, I've broken my vows. Yes, I've eaten veal since my awakening. I am not proud. And yes, I've had both turkey and chicken from the supermarket over the years, again, I'm not proud.

Today, I'm trying to put closure to the tragedy which occurred Friday in Newtown, Conn.. How can I erase the image of twenty vibrant, young, elementary children and six professional adults being slaughtered by a deranged twenty year old discharging an untold amount of bullets into their midst. I have a few years left to live, I think, but what time I have left will be spent trying to answer maybe the unanswerable question. WHY ?

Ronald C. Downie

Monday, December 17, 2012

Gold Verses Guns

Gold Verses Guns

If our Country, by the half way mark of the 20th Century, would give up owning and trading in gold after lovingly fondling it's sheen since the beginning of recorded time; isn't it conceivable, that Americans could do something similar at this time and give up owning assault weapons ?

In the 1930's, during my adolescence, Gran'Pa Downie my father's father often argued with Dad about the advocacy of owning gold coins. Both Dad and Gran'Pa immigrated to America from Scotland during the first quarter of the 20th Century. They gathered all the funds they had in the World to exit Scotland and come to "the land of milk and honey" to find fortune through challenging work and frugal living. Depression was already at work in the British Isles long before it began debilitating the wheels of industry here. They mentally and especially physically chose The United States Of America to immigrate to, to give their allegiance to, to pledge this nation as their own. Surely they dreamed of the highlands of ancestry, of the ballads of Robert Burns and others, of tartans and stories of the clans. They both never were able to get over rolling their RR's and took with them to their grave this vestige of the Old Country.

Even though Dad and Gran'Pa both were true blooded Scotsmen, one would think in a true Scottish way, they would have squirreled gold coins into hiding, but not to be. The Great Depression was a universal equalizer, everyone was broke, just securing the very basic needs for the the family was a gigantic task. Dad brought his young family to Pottstown in 1935 where he gained work at Bethlehem Steel as a draftsman. Years later he brought his mother and father to Pottstown and helped them along with their neighbors to completely hand build a house they occupied until their deaths.

Some of the most stimulating discussions occurred when Dad and his father talked (or maybe I should call it argued) over the present day's goings on. The issue of gold which was federally settled years earlier was one item cursory discussed still. Guns, during this time, were a non issue since the Second World War had just come to an end and the returning soldiers were sick and tired of guns, ammunition, and militarism. I'm sure, if the present state of gun mayhem had occurred during my elder's time, no stone would be left unturned during their discussions about gun use carnage. All practical, as well as, philosophical avenues of debate would flow from these two men who thoroughly analyzed and emphatically
pressed their points of emphasis.

This present gun debacle would have gained their unified displeasure. They each knew right from wrong though came at their conclusions from different generations, sort of like me and my grandchildren. Sadly they lost their way from underage and lack of life experience. These same deficiencies seem to happen in every generation, even yours.

Ronald C. Downie

Sunday, December 16, 2012

A John Berger Sentence

A John Berger Sentence

John Berger, the noted English artist and art critic, who turned to published writing and later became a prominent philosophical writer, surveyed the world around him and wrote this rather long frightening sentence :

"Everywhere these days more and more people knock their heads against the fact that the future of our planet and what it will offer or deny to it's inhabitants, is being decided by boards of men who control more money then all the governments in the world, who never stand for election, and sole criterion for every decision they take is whether or not it increases or is prone to increase PROFIT." (John Berger)

In Berger's mind, I believe he thinks, profit must be an endpoint these men on boards base their personal
understanding of the most important element in their lives. Not children, or wife, or immediate / extended family, or music, or profession; but, the almighty lust after profit, gaining more and more for the sake of more and more. Profit, in their minds, must be like the Holy Grail of their living, gotten in spite of all odds, not even death would get in the way since off shore accounts last forever, the names listed are secret.

This is a world wide phenomena far beyond our shores where money, profits, have become the God head for those who have plenty but seek more. Their's is one a demential living devoid of rounded depth which limits interaction with people other than those of similar intentions. The disease of lust for profits is insidious while acting in concert with selfish characters
whose personalities parallel their own. They beget one another. They are, in the end, devoid of character.

The fear they illicit is that they have little or no real empathy for the ordinary citizen going about their daily business believing in a dignity of the human condition. They substitute their personal lust for more riches, therefore power, rather than having a universal love for all of mankind.

Ronald C. Downie

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Guns Without Bullets

Guns Without Bullets

About ten years ago while working at the River along the Riverfront Park Trail we saw a nocturnal animal, raccoon, out in the daylight acting strangely.
Immediately we surmised rabies. Since more people were using the trail, many with dogs, this rabid animal had to be remedied.
We called the police dispatcher who told us an officer would be notified to respond. Two came and accessing the problem one officer cleared the area of walkers while the other drew his weapon and fired two shots killing the diseased animal.
While the first officer collected the carcass into a plastic bag the other asked our help to recover the spent shell casings which had ejected his gun upon firing. I thought this odd since I had hunted when young and had never retrieved spent casings after firing my rifle.
I questioned the need to recover the casings. The officer replied that a policeman must account for every bullet he or she is issued. Enlightening as this was it did not register with me until last Saturday. The shooting in Arizona of twenty, killing six, should wake up each of us to think about the ease of purchasing a gun and magna clips of thirty bullets.
This begs the question : If a police officer sworn to uphold the law, by definition a pillar of the community, needs to account for ammunition why in heaven sake don't we require citizens to be held to the same standard ?
Guns don't kill, bullets kill. The NRA has a strong strangle hold on guns and gun sales. Therefore, control must be gained from a new angle, namely, through sale and registering of ammunition. It should start with control of mega clips and proceed from there in a logical sequence.
Realize that I am regulated as to how many prescription pills I can have in my possession at a given time. I can't shout "Fire" in a crowded hall. I must obey the laws governing behavior between me and my fellow human beings or else mayhem occurs.
The Cowboy society romanticized in our history is long gone and shouldn't be resurrected in this the 21st Century. Zealots, though, will cry foul and quote the holy writ of our Constitution as the framers wrote it. Let them have their guns, yes, those flint locks of the 18th Century to lock and load to their heart's content.

Ronald C. Downie

Friday, December 14, 2012

Westward Ho !

Westward Ho !

Way, way back then, in the earliest days,
The dream of a river walk's out of the haze.
A full fashion boardroom caught onto the craze,
Surveyed the Schuylkill, watched its flooding ways.

Seventy-two, " Water, water everywhere
And not a drop to drink", pure and clear.
Blue Marsh is built to tame flood's rage
The Schuylkill is calmed, she's come of age.

Berks County men and their women too
Began planning to build their dream come true
But the river is longer then a Penn Street view
Up and down stream needed work from a crew.

The Silver Fox and her Nordic Man,
From western plains in hand a plan,
Strode arm in arm into Pretzel Town,
Saw the Schuylkill flowing easterly down.

No matter there's no Apostle Keith
Nor a Dixie Angel to ward off grief,
They set their compass, surveyed the land,
Wrote the guidelines, finished their plan.

Now, into the sunset with our wishes of love
West goes the Silver Fox and her Turtle Dove,
A debt of gratitude and much more we owe you,
We will honor your work, your foundations are true.

Ronald C. Downie

The Swenson's : Dixie, Executive Director ; Keith, Planning Director assumed leadership of The Schuylkill River Greenway Association ( SRGA) from Victor Yarnell and moved the office from Berks County to Montgomery County at Pottstown .When they left to return out west, Kurt Zwikl replaced Dixie as Executive Director.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Our Schuylkill Mother

Our Schuylkill Mother

Awake ! Wake up you Norfolk Southern Man
You slept too long on an old Pennsy plan
To keep public from our Schuylkill Mother's
North shore. A rusted railroad track covers
Her bosom, which nurtured first settlers here,
Who reached her banks by sweet waters clear.

Shout ! Shout out ! Release my river to me !
Our Schuylkill Mother's in jail. Set her free !

Long gone's that era of iron and coal -
Of black lunged miners who gave their soul
To fire hot furnaces that belched out bars
Which produced steel tracks and railroad cars.

No longer tire nor steel pulse Pottstown's veins.
The Twenty-First Century asks our brains
Fashion life new from the strengths of the past.

Schuylkill of birth, unlike us, you will last
So unborn heirs may enjoy your green banks,
Your freedom's required to merit their thanks.

Renaissance marries the mind to the heart.
Our responsibility - provide it - a fertile start.

Ronald C. Downie

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Young Man's Journey

Young Man's Journey

Hand cupped, placed on the brow,
Interrupting the sun's glare blurring
The horizon a long way off. There,
At the curvature of the good Earth,
Beyond eye sight, no Man's Land,

Not unlike the barren pastures we all
Experience quite early on in our lives.
A land of the unknown without books,
Books that capture the world of thoughts
Neatly in words, growing ripe for picking.

Surveying the fact of living at land's end
Is the beginning of wonderment, of being
Inquisitive, finding strings that play the heart.
Within their covers, books have moved Man
Past ignorance through the pangs of tolerance.

From there : word upon word, book by book,
Writer after writer, studier supplanting studier
The World of Knowledge marches in step.
You've entered this universe at an early age
Committed to horizons as they stand in review.

Happy Birthday, Evan
Love Nanny & Pop Pop
12/11/2011

Monday, December 10, 2012

CANCER

CANCER
( Talking about its scourge )

(1)
Up from all fours, erect, mobile,
Scared by cold ice and scorching heat,
Thunder and lightning, rain and snow,
Struggling for power, attacking for
Dominance, man verses beast and man.
Gathered tribal, he rapes and plunders,
To feed their wants, demand their needs.
Profits from World riches plundered
For personal gain by a scoundrel few
Who elevate themselves disguised
As corporations claimed immune from
Universal Law meant to protects life.

(2)
Unquenched greed drives obscene profits
Wrung from degradation of Earth's environment
Despoiling life giving, life sustaining elements :
Waters become polluted, friable soils spent,
Our air choked with unspeakable contaminants,
Great forests withdraw under constant assault,
Ice caps melt away, vast seas and oceans rise,
Shore lines sound retreat, islands washed over are lost.
Man verses diseases as cancers populate vast clusters
Fanned by chemical pollution obscuring Universal Law.

(3)
Brash ignorance prevails but harsh power assails
To pervade the Holiness of our good common sense.
The overabundant Earth is a living, breathing sphere.
It is our bodies that are grim, beaker less, test tubes,
Over analyzed, shocked at the findings, disease rampant.
For hope The College Of Doctors seek garish chemicals,
Their practice is to probe and probe with answers few.
More chemicals, for profit not cure, masking men's deeds.
The Human Dilemma: Not if, but when? Not how, but why?
We cry, eyes red and teared, for answers, and hear,"I don't know."

(4)
From nonbeing, into being, finally back to nonbeing.
Since our genes have passed through living as stardust
Many times before, they will recycle again and again
Before the Earth crisps into dust and rejoins as elements.
Matter is never lost just changed in its composition.
Energy as a force just shifts from one to another form.
We live within our consciousness, in Universe Time, a moment.

(5)
The shock of inhumanity where wild greed prostitutes Man's ego,
Exposes a weakness in him, that acting for self, choses either flight or fight.
Wealth, worshiped as God, finds money is only the Devil's elixir.
Power is the true Deity, power to lord over a crumbling planet,
Power to pollute water ways, power to deforest, power to expand deserts,
Power to despoil land, sea, and air; and power to deny the public true health care.

(6)
What is the true cost of health, cost of life?
Through introspection we will act with intelligence
To find sound reason for answers acceptable,
But with emotion, we act in knee-jerk ways.
Always challenge wants and needs,
The Big Picture is always necessary.
Strong of will are challenged to lead,
Leading requires a great strength of
Character found only in a very few,
You, my daughter, Sherri, are one of those few.

Ronald C. Downie, (Dad)
Upon Steve Kurtz's Death, 12/8/2009
(At A Pivotal Time for his wife Sherri and family)

Sunday, December 9, 2012

CANCER

Random Thoughts Upon Steve Kurtz's Death
(At A Pivotal Time for wife Sherri and family)
Talking about the scourge of Cancer

(1)
Up from all fours, erect, mobile,
Scared by cold ice and scorching heat,
Thunder and lightning, rain and snow,
Struggling for power, attacking for
Dominance, man verses beast and man.
Gathered tribal, rapes and plunders,
To feed their wants, demand their needs.
Profits from World riches plundered
For personal gain by a scoundrel few
Who elevate themselves disguised
As corporations claimed immune from
Universal Law meant to protects life.

(2)
Unquenched greed drives obscene profits
Wrung from degradation of Earth's environment
Despoiling life giving, life sustaining elements :
Waters become polluted, friable soils spent,
Our air choked with unspeakable contaminants,
Great forests withdraw under constant assault,
Ice caps melt away, vast seas and oceans rise,
Shore lines sound retreat, islands washed over are lost.
Man verses diseases as cancers populate vast clusters
Fanned by chemical pollution obscuring Universal Law.

(3)
Brash ignorance prevails but harsh power assails
To pervade the Holiness of our good common sense.
The overabundant Earth is a living, breathing sphere.
It is our bodies that are grim, beaker less test tubes,
Over analyzed, shocked at the findings, disease rampant.
For hope The College Of Doctors seek garish chemicals,
Their practice is to probe and probe with answers few.
More chemicals, for profit not cure, masking men's deeds.
The Human Dilemma: Not if, but when? Not how, but why?
We cry, eyes red and teared, for answers, hear,"I don't know."

(4)
From nonbeing, into being, finally back to nonbeing.
Since our genes have passed through living as stardust
Many times before, they will recycle again and again
Before the Earth crisps into dust and rejoins as elements.
Matter is never lost just changed in its composition.
Energy as a force just shifts from one to another form.
We live within our consciousness, in Universe Time, a moment.

(5)
The shock of inhumanity where wild greed prostitutes Man's ego
Exposing a weakness in him that acting for self chose flight or fight.
Wealth worshiped as God though money only is the Devil's elixir,
Power is the true Deity, power to lord over a crumbling planet,
Power to pollute water ways, power to deforest, expand deserts,
Power to despoil land, sea, and air; to deny the public true health.

(6)
What is the true cost of health, of life?
Through introspection we will act
With sound reason, with intelligence
To arrive at answers we find acceptable,
With emotion we act in knee-jerk ways.
Always challenge wants and needs,
The Big Picture is always necessary.
Strong of will are challenged to lead,
Leading requires a great strength of
Character found only in a very few,
You, Sherri, are one of those few.

Ronald C. Downie, (Dad)
12-4-2009

Saturday, December 8, 2012

In Memory Of Steve Kurtz

(A repost of an essay from two years ago but still as relevant today.)

In Memory Of Steve Kurtz

Yesterday, on the anniversary of the horror remembered as Pearl Harbor sixty-nine years prior, Elizabeth Edwards died from the scourge of breast cancer. Cancer has taken the lives of more people than all the wars combined but this crucible of death kills its victims one at a time. Each of us have experienced the death of a loved one or an acquaintance from cancer one death at a time.

Steve Kurtz, my son-in-law and soul mate of my daughter, Sherri, for forty years was the father of two : daughter, Alix, and son, Stephen. He died one year ago today, December 8th, from a losing battle with cancer. To all who knew Steve his death was a close personal loss. To number crunchers his death added one to the total number someone tallies for a report.

This is also "Jimmy V Week" known to basketball enthusiasts when country wide donation appeals are everywhere on television to support cancer research. A much heralded basketball coach, Jim Valvano, died from cancer during his prime years, much like my son-in-law, and, to their credit, the basketball community unselfishly took up the challenge to fund cancer research and labeled it "Jimmy V Week".

Off budget our country has fought two very expensive wars while also off budget our country has decided to add nearly one more trillion dollars to the debt. As a culture America has long passed over the idea of paying for things as they occur; such as for wars or tax relief for the super rich. What would happen if a couple of trillion dollars were spent on eradicating cancer instead of buying bullets or drones or nukes?

Parceled out, one at a time, the enormity of the total deaths from cancer looses urgency in a society's psyche. The public embraces the aftermath of hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tornadoes, just about any earthly malfunction since they visually abrupt the norm of the day. Cancer is stealth like, progressively declining its victim's vigor, silently encroaching on a life style, and then cancer begins its demand for its pound of flesh. Only the end remains !

The Relay For Life has taken up the challenge locally with an appreciated success for its record fund raising performances over the years. When will the spirit of The Relay For Life enter every legislator's soul to draw their thinking to make war on cancer rather than war on countries and cultures?

I think of Steve, my parents, my business partners, my classmates, my co-workers, my relatives, my close friends, my ... the list goes on and on in an endless addition. To me the enormity of just my total of cancer victims mirrors an earthly catastrophe. Legislators-where are you hiding when the sky is falling down all around us ?

Ronald C. Downie


Monday, November 26, 2012

Reading Pleasure

Reading Pleasure

The pleasure to read, put off way too long, becomes like a drag on a boat, slowing it down while making it less manageable to steer, as it puts in jeopardy a person's desire to better find themselves. The need to read is more like hitting an iceberg if you can't rather than a drag on your boat.

Where in the World could America get a better return on her investment if our country would make education a top priority by pouring investments into it. It's not like a brand new program, we've had an universal education agenda in place for most of a Century here in America which now needs a shot of financing to make education truly a 21st Century accomplishment.

Americans pride ourselves in the excellence of our higher education institutions which serves those whose parents can afford their exorbitant costs or are willing to mortgage their futures by borrowing to attend. Many slots are taken up by foreign students of financially able parents. More and more, a belief surfaces that a higher education is but a "right of passage" of all young inhabitants of our Earth as they pass from youthful adolescence into adulthood and as their aptitude and attitude allows them. This passage is evermore controlled by a young person's ability to be served by money instead of by raw mental ability.

Why in the World does America eat its seed corn or eat her children or eat the future away? Because we, as a country, are awfully short sighted thinking only for today or no longer than this week. The rich are really dumb thinking this way. Their own best interest is in having buyers of products their industries produce. These buyers have to be nurtured, growing into consumers which is the backbone of America's economy. They need disposable income to purchase goods and services. Expanding the poor is the last thing providers of good and services need unless these providers are bent on a short time run. Too often, it seems the well to do, need little time to make their vast wealth so they're only in for the short run and those younger financiers replacing them the same.

It once took a generation to accumulate an old time fortune, but now, ten years is a long time for a fortune to be realized. Get mine now and be gone is the moneyed's song when their interest should be in rising tides lift all ships. A rising tide is needed in education to bring it along in a way that truly raises the pursuit of knowledge to a level our World needs. The ability to read is the golden rule for all living beings.

Ronald C. Downie

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Changing Drivers

Changing Drivers

Into the emancipation of thought,
Innocently born, clambering escape
From the drudgeries of ordinary
People, an exceptional person
Emerges through ingenuity and
Spunk to become a public leader.

But the crucible holding their future
Spills from time to time its holdings
Onto written pages seers construct.
Fiction or oracle must pass inspection
Of those of inquisitive minds and such
Feelings that poetry or prose reveals.

The drumming which holds the beat,
The strings that arc to heaven's door,
The woodwinds which carries the tune,
The voices that peel away at sadness
Are pent up in a discordant population
Struggling for their chance at survival.

To them, nothing rises to challenge
A way of life long lived, well satisfied,
Tempered by experience, uncontested.
Miracle of the mind forgotten, ordinary
Life forces decisions to be crudely made,
Unexamined, rather than knowledge based.

Leaders must weave their way through clutter
Left behind in the wake of earlier disciples.
Is pandering to get reelected a baton passed on,
Or, for the better good of all, a banner's made ?
Needed, exceptional people, those who will grasp
The reins, control the team, then change drivers.

Ronald C. Downie


Saturday, November 24, 2012

Golden And Great

Golden And Great

What bridges the living with the spirit world,
Was answered today in a highly visible form.
Majestically over our Schuylkill River Valley
On strong feathered wings which tightly tethers
Rising drafts - up, up, up, - spiraling to sightless heights,

A noble Golden Eagle winged over us today .
Sir Eagle has a range too far and so vast,
Soaring, gliding, effortlessly on golden wings
Brushing Heaven's gate . So sharp its eyes which
Views all the lands and all inhabitants found there .

For eons what are the tales, the hallowed stories ;
Songs of the aboriginal native sung to tribal drums ?
The unified dance around tribal fires sending embers aloft ?
The quest for tail feathers to adorn a magnificent head dress ?

As a badge of honor, a scepter, the feather's connected to the Gods
Granting the possessor any wish he desired from the great beyond .
Passing over unknown to all of us, a mere speck in the high sky,
An Eagle touches many people without their knowledge, as would,
A thought, an idea, a premonition, an erie feeling, seeking escape .

A Great Golden Eagle, as does an undetected spirit, moves across
The high sky stealthily to the unobservant looking only ahead .
Dancing over the ground in a graceful ballet the great bird's shadow
Silently announces its presence in the sky above as a spirit may do .

Timeless, the grandeur of this magnificent bird elevated by worship,
Which blurs the line dividing that of the living world from the spirit .

Ronald C . Downie





Friday, November 23, 2012

The Art Of Listening

The Art Of Listening

When we lean on the cluttered din of the day
Few sounds can escape chatter's deafening wake.
Sharp piercing sounds squeal loud, so far away,
The rest, cloud like, low muffled sounds make :

Then in conversation which guides this very day,
From clouds back to Earth, beckons our own reply.
Uptempo, finding why's and wherefores, we may
State truths and falsehoods out loud to the sky :

And then, do we really wait for an answer returned,
Or, have we retreated back into the heavens cloudy,
Not hearing the din nor if the responder's concerned,
Which has bearing living silently, if not, then loudly?

Lost is the "Art Of Listening" basic to Earth as sod,
But, grown so close, we are just as "Pees In A Pod".

Ronald C. Downie
A sonnet

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Turkey Day

Turkey Day

High School Football season ends officially
In towns about noon on Thanksgiving Day,
Not on Ringing Hill or down Sanatoga way .
The grunt's game began at 2 PM traditionally .

In the 1950's about 1 o'clock Turkey Day
Fellows began arriving out behind *LPE School :
Young and old, in shape or not, wise or fool,
Rag tag or football wise, kick off to come soon .

Ringing Hill :Jack, Bill Bechtel ;Sanatoga :the Burns's,
Eddie Albert, Jack Babel, Tassy, and the Schott's
Ringing Hill : the Spohn's, Lin Bieler, the Mitch's,
And me . I played in this game for many years .

Fifty years later, memory slipping, who'd I forget ?
The Koren's for Ringing Hill ;Earnie, George for them.
Age presses up against the reality of fleeting
Time to rob the picture of faces, bodies, and play.

Rules, who worried for rules, kick off the damn ball. No one wore pads, some wore a hat if it was windy, But it wasn't until the shoes or sneakers came off That a true earnestness surfaced, in barefoot, speed accelerated .

Since August some of us had practiced in full gear,
Played a full schedule of High School Football games,
Prided ourselves in wins and discounted our losses
With less fanfare, then was anticipation for this "real" game.

Up and down the wind blown field from sideline to sideline
Men and boys played at blocking and tackling,
Running and throwing, in an earnest effort, or, just to have some fun.
The yearly game of random intent came to forgotten conclusions.

Gone, but for memories, some still living others long dead.
The Prize, bragging rights for a short while, the true worth,
As always, individuals banding together at some sort of play
Where the journey far outweighed the outcome of the contest.

Ronald C. Downie

*LPE- Lower Pottsgrove Elementary School on Pleasantview Road, Sanatoga,
Dedicated to many friends, lifelong closest, Jack Bechtel and Linwood Bieler.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

A Name

A Name

For more years than I want to admit, I've religiously watched the trailers of movies wanting to find the Downie name shown on the screen as a active participant of its filming. Certainly this form of narcissism couldn't be centered only on me. I wonder how many other people have my desire to see their
surname in print on the big screen? Even today, at my age, I enjoy the wait until the very end of the movie to see the acknowledgements flow, sometimes far too rapidly, across the screen. I've never seen my Downie name on a screen. I guess, Downie's must be lack luster at best and just a run of the mill family with no screen aptitude at all.

Long, long ago in Elizabethan Time it's been rumored a Downie ancestor, a fellow named John Dowie, was a drinking companion of Robert Burns, the poet bard of Scotland. Of course, drinking companions of Burns were quite plentiful. Often, as stories embellish themselves, the numbers of drinkers though palled in numbers compared to Burns' conquest over women, here he seemed to have few equals. He prided himself in pure numbers somewhat like me counting the names listed in movie trailers.

What's in a name, anyway? And, I'm too cheep, too Scottish, to pay ancestral search to find out. Rather, I'm willing to look incessantly at cinema trailers for the Downie name so I can dream some more about our place in this big World.

Ronald C. Downie

Monday, November 19, 2012

Electric Woes

Electric Woes

Why does it seem like the distribution of electricity unravels more and more with each storm cluster that comes along. What trees will uproot this time and bring down lines ? Which segment of their franchise will the electric company purposely turn off so their whole system won't go down ? These are some of the questions each of us have on our minds.

We the public are dependent on our electric company, a corporate monopoly, which through government edict gave us as customers to these corporate giants just because we settled in this area. Back then we had no choice, and now, still have none. Even with our independent streak, there is nothing we can do to change the relationship between the government and the electric companies unless we as a united group join together to press our combined displeasure.

The big question arrises, why aren't monopoly electric companies responsible for supplying their customers with uninterrupted power ? If they don't, why aren't they required to pay a default payment to each customer left without power ?

Just as soon as some regulation like this is adopted the electric companies will join their minds together and eliminate most of the impediments causing outages because it's in there own best interest. It seems self interest is the best driving influence to force change in the attitude of almost anyone and cash payments are the a greatest motivators.

As long as a monopoly is not required to function at near 100%, it won't. It is too easy to trim some trees, some times; or bury some wires, somewhere; or weatherproof substations, to a degree; or take the easy way out, turn off electric to some areas.

No, I don't know the particular problems but, I do think,
If we don't require a monopoly to work to their fullest potential, someone in the process will figure out a way to flaunt the system and alter the spread sheet to show cost savings from inaction which would feather their personal nest.

It is great to see large caravans of lift trucks for wire work flow into your area when you're out of electric, but, wouldn't be better not to be out of electric in the first place. "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound cure" even today, whether you believe or not. It's up to you to voice your interests or remain silent and put up with what you have.

Ronald C. Downie


Sunday, November 18, 2012

Bono

Bono

Who am I to write about Bono ? I wouldn't know his music from a million other singers of - gee I don't even know his style - I guess Rock and Roll. I know of him because of his human philanthropy efforts especially in Africa.

Bono spoke earlier this week at Georgetown University and it was recorded and then shown on C-Span this past Saturday night while two very important college football games were also being broadcast on their sport channels. Like most viewers, I surf the channels during commercials, which I was doing last night when I came upon Bono on C- Span and got mesmerized.

I didn't get the title of his lecture though I know he was on stage in front of a large audience at Georgetown University. He emphasized that the future will consider Africa as the apt replacement for China and India in the new order of things for the engine driving the World. The first hurtle is to turn Africa's natural resources into a form of wealth which will elevate the living standards of all of Africa's citizens.

Bono insists, through IPhones and IPads in the hands of more and more people throughout the present Third World, transparency will surface and suspect politicians once prone for shenanigans would now become more responsible to their constituents. Transparency, it seems, hasn't quite broken through in our First World country to promote honest politicians so I hope Bono has better luck with Africans.

Through his efforts with - UNICEF, One Campaign, and Make Poverty History - Bono lends his stardom found in his music to these initiatives. Bono seems to have matured far above music into becoming the imperative voice for justice throughout the World. Find his lecture replayed on C-Span and see if you too become a Bono fan as I've become.

Ronald C. Downie

Thursday, November 15, 2012

First Blizzard Of The Season

First Blizzard Of The Season

Relish the first blizzard of the season
Watch for swirls of yellow and brown ;
Autumn early seems the real reason
All the lawns are covered in the town.

It is a time when :

Damp mist steams up from the river,
Foot steps leave their prints in the dew.
Morning sun gets red and redder,
Vast flocks fly all birds but a few.

Thin herringbone clouds stripe the sky,
Heading south geese V in a flock,
Crows land and depart with a cry.
Farmers watch weather like a clock.

Goldenrods garnish the meadows
Stately corn tans tall on the stalk,
In home gardens wilt the tomatoes,
Deep breaths smoke great puffs as we walk.

Pumpkin orange rough petal's fashion,
Straight up, smoke stretches chimneys tall.
Witch and goblin excite a child's passion.
Snowing down - leaves announce - Fall !

Ronald C . Downie


Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Sing it out loud and clear, listen to the choir echoing in the rafters, "Hallelujah, Hallelujah" - our 21st Century civilization is safe, safe now from future wars. Love has finally won out over hate, love is the great emancipator from conflict, it demands turning over the other cheek or set of cheeks.

The top general of our longest ever war, or is that wars, has found the answer. Not even penis envy could dissuade him from his newly found amour. He has unleashed the secret of the Holy Grail, not a cup or what the cup holds, but the secret is in an attitude. Neither parades nor Navy seals grab his attention but his command to attention is centered in his groin.

Our country, once so homophobic, cursed all over the World not even comfortable with "Don't Ask, Don't Tell", finally hit its stride last week when fondling between ranks became the new norm. Coupling's now commonplace ; even the birds and bees do it.

Foreign countries are to be embraced in their struggles for independence once was just between leaders but in the future may mean individually embracing. Its outcome may truly cause a World wide melting pot, colors fading away, language blending into indefinite twangs. Killing them with kindness will be the ammunition of the future, a kiss there, a hug here, a pinch or two, and then some real foreplay. "Goodbye, My Fancy" will make a grand comeback.

Hypocrites invade our lives far too often unannounced and undiscovered telling us, "do as I say, not as I do".
They love the choir singing loud and clear, "Hallelujah, Hallelujah" since the music drowns out their dishonesty. The question plaguing us all seems: are we better off knowing the truth, or better off not knowing it ?

Ronald C. Downie

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

This Love Affair

This Love Affair

This love affair's been going on for years !
What ? What fuels a flame that endears
A relationship to outlast earthly fears
Of outward affection, of overt tears ?

Cordwood stacked by fore bearers, I suppose,
Or chestnut coal nugget parents at repose,
Maybe, a pilot flame honor which we chose,
Or warm sun rays coaxing forth a fragrant rose .

Out in the open in the bright light of day
Dressing and disrobing simple back yard play
That everyone observing is so fond to say,
" What loving affection this public display."

South of the railroad I look to the right,
The end of the garden absorbs my sight,
Dancing and swaying to a breeze calling night,
Late autumn season brings passions to height.

I'm timid to stop and just ask their name ,
Their aim to live simple without any shame .
But why do I write ? I seek them no fame .
To grow the best fig tree in town - their game .

Ronald C. Downie

Monday, November 12, 2012

Hippocratic Oath

Hippocratic Oath
"First do no harm", as I understand it, is an oath administered to graduating medical school students to guide them forever in their profession. We all hope they follow this oath.
Legislators, both state and federal, take an oath to uphold the Constitution of their State, if a state official, and The Constitution of The United States if federal. We all hope that they follow this oath also.
I wish legislators had to take the Hippocratic Oath too since their decisions can really cause wholesale harm to a society. Much of this harm seems to come about when a legislator legislates in a way to keep themselves in office. A vote on a bill not to upset the voters may seem prudent at the time and for future reelection, but in the long run may be the worst thing for the future and generations yet to follow.
Our Country's Framers had little idea legislators would become full-time professionals at their occupations. Most envisioned farmers or millers would serve a term or two then go back home to live out their lives there. Times have changed and the minds of legislators have changed along with time. Eating from the public trough must be enticing. The easy move from legislating to lobbing must be so very inviting too.
Today, our Country needs a redirecting of basic priorities starting with the limiting of terms of service for legislators. We always hear," lame duck session "and how much progress is to be made during that session. Why ? Because legislators including presidents are not running for reelection; therefore, they can vote their conscious instead of pandering for votes.
Churchill said of The United States, " You can always count on Americans to do the right thing - after they've tried everything else." Maybe that's where we are now, having tried everything else and now we 'll do the right thing. The impending World financial crises with us as a prime player makes Congress look like babbling fools in their pre-positioned stance about the debt ceiling and cuts to entitlements and raising revenues. All these talking heads blathering talking points only to gather in potential votes can't have you and me in their heart of hearts.
We are better than this I was always taught.
"Of the people, by the people, for the people", that is us : when young sent to War, when healthy asked to build a nation for the future, now when old asked to sacrifice gains worked for so the effluent few can get more. This, my friends, is not a representative democracy but it is a plutocracy. The rule over us by the rich is one of the harshest governments of them all. To them : money is power and power is money. We are merely pawns, numbers to be crunched, throwaways.
My time is running out so someone has to pick up the baton and run with it. I only hope one of you who reads this bends over, picks up the baton, and runs like "hell".

Ronald C. Downie

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Lia Alexandra

Lia Alexandra

Girl of the Tamiami Trail, Lia's
Our warm Florida connection, our nurse,
Our confidant, our strength, our go to girl.
Born last of the girls to our family,

She tans well, rides well, steers the boat well,
She's a good cook, she has beach etiquette.
Lia has proven she can hook the big one.
Riding trail to work, she nurses the sick.

Red Barn beware cause she's heading back home,
Though Hog's Breath Saloon is her southern stop.
Fine grain her two wheeled ride dress attire,
Leather also are her boots for riding.

Lia, at four score and five, not yet half life,
Excels at demanding a good full life.
The big Greek is cooking now in North Port,
But, with places go, she's never hungry.

Cares for the ill and cares for the flowers.
Lucy's trail, listen for her chirp on wing,
But from her other end you'll see that trail.
Watch out for the snake, check out the big cranes.

She travels well, such a good visitor,
Makes her hosts at ease as she flows the day.
Lia will take control of difficult
Situations unassumingly well.

The Tamiami Trail Girl, Nocomis,
Florida, On Dante Drive, Gulf Coast.
May your smiling good looks forever be
With you on your birthday and every day.

May your life be fulfilled and fulfilling.

Happy Birthday, Lia Alexandra Downie,
With All Our Love - Mom & Dad







Saturday, November 10, 2012

Of Flint, Be

Of Flint, Be

Would my words ignite, if I of flint, be ?
Would my verse billow, if west winds blew free ?

Would rhymes ring loudly, as iron strikes steel ?
Would my muse enthuse, if less wordy, feel ?

Would couplets surface, if in magma, yet ?
Would rhythm inspire, if no fuse, be set ?

Would craters irrupt, or heaven's poems, spew ?
Would Earth's mantel crack, if posies were true ?

Could I attest these improbable dreams -
Will you see through my insidious schemes ?

Ronald C. Downie

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Tom Quigley

Tom Quigley

I've known Mr. Quigley ever since he came on the Pottstown political scene. Swimming now against the tide of a Democratic swell sweeping over Montgomery County, Tom Quigley's time in office, if not over now, will be over next election.

What has a Republican led legislature in Harrisburg done for Pottstown voters these last few years ? Zip, nana, nothing is their record, of which, Tom Quigley is a long term member. What have they done for our greatest encumbering legislative initiative, that of local property taxation paying for education. Nothing, all talk - no action is their song.

Pennsylvania's legislature must have a very low approval rating but, I bet, the Federal Congress shows them up handily. Something like 10-15 % approval is Washington's rating. This question begs an answer :
Why would an intelligent electorate vote back into office legislators who compiled such a low rating ? It seems crazy to me to return them to be even worse.

Almost any fairly run office can handle constituent generated problems which needs no help from the legislator. Yes, the Congressman or Senator is needed to collect checks from "heavy hitters" and lobbyists. Payola is still Lord in political circles.

Mr. Quigley, I'm sure, is a very nice man. I've talked to him quite often about various themes but he seems not able to get things done. I believe, he is a party man first, the people's man second. He's now caught in the next election syndrome, at all times running for the next election not for legislation to help his constituents. I'll suggest, Tom needs this job and he'll fight to keep it, he will not challenge the leaders to get legislation for his people.

The best we can do is replace him, get him an honest job, and find someone else who'll work for we the people, we the voters.

Ronald C. Downie

Old World Wisdom

Old World Wisdom

Gran' Pa Downie in his distinctive Scottish brogue, rolling his RR's, dropping words of Old World wisdom advised me sixty-five years ago "to look at music and listen to art". In other words, don't be content with the apparent, but rather, see into the depth to which organized sound takes us and, as importantly, hear our inner voice when we view any work of art.
More real today is the need to go beyond the obvious and find truth where it may lie hidden just out of easy reach. Captured as we are by being spoon fed by a twenty-four hour news cycle, we choose not to critically think for ourselves, but rather have some talking heads shout out catch phrases which easily excite the emotion pent up within us, an unthinking public. Easily fed as " garbage in, garbage out" just as easily led which becomes our peril.

Ronald C. Downie.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Haiku 90

Haiku 90 - Words That Work Your Minds

By way the crow flies,
Rather, the way to eat crow -
Tough chewing for some.

A wait in line counts,
Counts when your vote's important -
"Lean Forward" with all.

Harsh war on women !
Females unshackled, now free -
Determine their life.

Hear these words linger,
"When roll's called up yonder -
I'll be there", right there.

Number crunchers wince,
Their Man's not winning, duty
Reminds them, honor.

Waves of the tide - change,
Winds of the land - change - progress -
Solid trumps fluid.

Ronald C. Downie

Monday, November 5, 2012

Electric Woes

Electric Woes

Why does it seem like the distribution of electricity unravels more and more with each storm cluster that comes along. What trees will uproot this time and bring down lines ? Which segment of their franchise will the electric company purposely turn off so their whole system won't go down ? These are some of the questions each of us have on our minds.

We the public are dependent on our electric company, a corporate monopoly, which through government edict gave us as customers to these corporate giants just because we settled in this area. Back then we had no choice, and now, still have none. Even with our independent streak, there is nothing we can do to change the relationship between the government and the electric companies unless we as a united group join together to press our combined displeasure.

The big question arrises, why aren't monopoly electric companies responsible for supplying their customers with uninterrupted power ? If they don't, why aren't they required to pay a default payment to each customer left without power ?

Just as soon as some regulation like this is adopted the electric companies will join their minds together and eliminate most of the impediments causing outages because it's in there own best interest. It seems self interest is the best driving influence to force change in the attitude of almost anyone and cash payments are the a greatest motivators.

As long as a monopoly is not required to function at near 100%, it won't. It is too easy to trim some trees, some times; or bury some wires, somewhere; or weatherproof substations, to a degree; or take the easy way out, turn off electric to some areas.

No, I don't know the particular problems but, I do think,
If we don't require a monopoly to work to their fullest potential, someone in the process will figure out a way to flaunt the system and alter the spread sheet to show cost savings from inaction which would feather their personal nest.

It is great to see large caravans of lift trucks for wire work flow into your area when you're out of electric, but, wouldn't be better not to be out of electric in the first place. "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound cure" even today, whether you believe or not. It's up to you to voice your interests or remain silent and put up with what you have.

Ronald C. Downie


Sunday, November 4, 2012

Lone Voice

Lone Voice

Am I a lone voice speaking for retired home owners still living in Pottstown ? We wonder where our tax dollars have gone, where has all the money gone, money which we believed was invested in an improving school system ? Recently we learned the Pottstown School District had been put on notice that the High School is one of four Montgomery County Schools in Pennsylvania listed as a low-achieving school.

We oldsters have over the years made huge investments in our school district by paying property taxes yearly on our homes which continue to lose value. The value lost is caused by the market which reflects a buyer's desire not to purchase a home in Pottstown. If you were a buyer would you come to Pottstown and bid up the price of a house so you could bring your kids to a under achieving school system ?

Our local school system is broken. Taxing of property for education is broken. Out of every five dollars of a Pottstown resident's annual taxation, four of those dollars go to the school district. The Pottstown District has been singled out by the state as a poor administrator for the money's invested by "we the people".

My wife and I are caught, as many other old couples are caught, in a home lived in for scores of years as the value of our house, once our largest investment, continues to plummet in value. This is like being caught in a "catch 22", damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Being taxed out of your home is a stark reality for many retirees who can no longer work and must rely on social security and savings until that runs out to pay ever rising school taxes which seems to be wasted by the administration.

My true disgust can not be set in printable words for public display. As a graduate of Pottstown's schools, a school board member for four years, and in Pottstown's inner circle of governance even now, I am ashamed of my inability to change the direction our hometown has taken. We need elected officials much better then I was able to do

Ronald C. Downie

Saturday, November 3, 2012

A Eunuch's View

A Eunuch's View

Handsome, big and strong is the outward impression; unable to physically function in a basic human union is the reality of a Eunuch's existence. By seemingly being castrated, the America we want to be, gains tarnish throughout the World when we flounder from a storm we often see hammering third World countries.

The wealthiest, with the most super powered military force ever assembled, and is the most longed for country to emigrate to, our own USA accepts these honors. Such honors should swell our chests and bring a whistle to our lips. Instead, after a half hour watching television which reflected the aftermath of the storm, Sandy, we seem to be no better off than those third world countries, in fact, we may be worse off since we expect more out of life then many third world citizens.

Mired in denial born of political trumping, the science of climate change has been brutalized by an inept congress where a group of ostrich acting legislators bury their heads in the sand as all deniers should. Can you hear them after Sandy, do you hear them swallowing their tongues ? We need a World led by scientists who evaluate by learning facts and then postulate alternatives based on the weight of those raw facts.

The eunuch, maimed early in life for purposes left unmentionable to those of us living today, is an apt metaphor for a country strong in politics but weak in governing. This limited soul was unable to procreate by passing on his genes so he is steeped in the theater of life not life itself. He's like the blowhard politician that can not pass up a
camera opportunity, slick and smiling, surrounded by pretty people, his props are his claim to fame. For sale to the highest bidder, this politician also is devoid of basic human values though his lacking is wholly self imposed.

America was, from its inception, a bastion of civilized government formulated for and by the people, for the good of the many by a few representing their portion of the whole. "We hold these truths to be self evident" was their clarion call. May our America of tomorrow free itself from the indignities of scoundrel politicians who put their personal benefit before the public's good. The days of the eunuch are long gone; the time of renewal is around the corner.

Ronald C. Downie

Thursday, November 1, 2012

The Hidden Gene

The Hidden Gene

You could say, over my three quarters of a century of living, I've seen more than a lifetime of Medieval
Age movies. Cowboy flicks may be my favorites, but the era of Kings and Queens always draws me in, so I spend too much time watching our European past in all its grandeur.

I've always wondered how a down trodden people, the surfs and common folks who often had to beg for food or for a roof over their heads, still held homage to their ruthless King who often starved them. There must be some hidden gene in ordinary people that drives them longingly into servitude. I've seen pictures of men belonging to a religious sect who march bareback through throngs of countrymen thrashing themselves on their bare backs with multi tipped whips to the point of severe bleeding. This display of self flagellation takes the idea of demeaning oneself before their own kind as an exultation elevating those in power to sort of being saints, anointing them and their surrogates into sainthood by their weird whipping actions.

The hidden gene concept must popup in various generations, in fact, it seems our generation must be prone for similar instincts. Kings and Queens and their extended court complete with jesters, in today's World, are in their realm as upper 1%R's free of financial cares, the embodiment of today's oligarchy. This present day aristocracy would never divulge the size of their treasury or the account numbers of off shore banks. They certainly would have multiple homes throughout the country. Their children may not be titled Dukes or Counts but they are no the less endowed by huge sums of money from the cradle. And, this newly begotten King and Queen, all powerful, surround themselves with a Court of made-up of followers smitten with a rouge gene lurching them into unquestionable servitude.

Common folk, at least about half of our fellow countrymen, posses some of the symptoms of this wayward gene which alters rational thought. How else could clear thinking people vote for the party made for and of the oligarchy. Ordinary canine conversation tells many tales of a dog owner kicking or whipping his dog only to have that abused dog seek to lick his owner's hand and leap to attention at his owner's command. Your vote, to these politicians, is like the dogs leap to attention, though the beating you got was subtle, it came in questionable advertising that shades the truth by altering comments and disguising falsehoods.

I imagine in the future humans will be at birth, as someone just suggested to me, impregnated with a chip that through devious programing find that all kinds of latent responses could be expected. Heaven help the backward party who discounts the insidious nature of the information generation. Heaven help the World and all the living who will be forced to live in it here.

Ronald C. Downie







Tuesday, October 30, 2012

The Message, Sandy's Wrath

The Message, Sandy's Wrath

There is in every crises a message, a warning to change one's ways. Sandy's wrath was the message.

Will Man take umbrage with obvious answers and continue in his old ways ? Or, finally, will Man embrace science which tells of dire consequences if change is not undertaken by people living today ?

History will be able to tell our heirs what we did, but that's not adequate. An unknown World, one which our heirs would feel uncomfortable in, is something I am not willing to pass on.

Climate Change is a byproduct of Man's activity on this Earth. The billions necessary to clean up Sandy's destruction are in similar dollar amounts power plant operatives took in cost savings ill gotten from allowing pollutants to poison our air.

Standing alone, one plant here or there seems of little consequence, but multiplied over the Earth in almost incalculable numbers their pollutants enter our stratosphere to effect Climate Change on our same planet.

At some future date, catastrophic events will equal pollution emitters and then the scales will tip favoring mandatory change as a must. Will the Earth, as we know it today, still be salvageable for our offspring ?

Future historians hold the cards, they don't play in the games of life, they just record the outcome of those who played in the games along the way. Some of us today wish we could peer into the future and in some way alter history to our liking. Wishing has its place, wanting only an urge.

Ronald C. Downie

Monday, October 29, 2012

The Mini - The Macro

The Mini - The Macro

I don't rightly know just how I learned about this latest scientific initiative, most likely from television's "Modern Marvels" or some other show about science. My interest, spanning well over half a life time, was peeked again by a science show which stressed that the information age is not satisfied with computers of today. They're too big and therefore far too slow.

Today's cutting edge scientists figure they can develop a one cell thick filament which would allow computers to store facts up to tens of thousands of times greater than those commonly in use today. Simpler means faster and smaller which translates into how much more efficient they'd be. Hand held models are tools in size dictated by the average person's hand girth not the amount of informational guts inside the casing. The informational guts of the future will only be a very minor portion of the total size of the unit.

Fifty years ago I attended a Sunday morning service at The Mainline Unitarian Universalist Church at Devon, Pa. where Professor Emeritus, Doctor Harlow Shapley, of the Harvard Astronomy Department spoke to the assembled congregation about our own universe.

That morning was memorable to me to the nth degree, its ora will follow me to my grave. Spring warmth was in the air brought by bright sunshine as I entered the large room for the service. Once a grand old Main Line mansion now a church used the largest room, a grand room with a huge fireplace centering on its north wall, for its Sunday services. The lectern was up front just to the left side of the logs burning in the fireplace and on the mantel sat a beautiful arrangement of cut flowers placed in quite an attractive vase. To the right side of the fireplace sat a lovely long blond haired lady playing a harp which drew everyone into a quiet mood as her cords filled the room.

A hushed quiet captured the entire room before the service which began with the reading of a number of announcements concerning church matters. Finally Doctor Shapley was introduced. Harlow Shapley was by then, the mid60's, a fairly old man with an arms length of honors and academic accolades. Doctor Shapley spoke some of his place in academia and then he began on his main theme as the audience hushed to listen. Looking to the south out the expanse of glassed French doors making up the whole south wall, he said something to this affect, referring to the sun peeking through the straight trunks of mature oak trees growing just beyond the south patio.

"I wonder what those trees are thinking of us ?" he nudged the congregation.

From there he took us into the cellular structure of trees and their place in the architecture of life. He then turned to an explanation of the universe, from the smallest to the largest, and he put humans within this scale somewhere in the middle. He admonished all of us to remember that the study of science is never finished, it is ever evolving, it builds upon the newest findings with discoveries happening each and every day all over the World.

Now, punching through way-out space, probes are on their course beyond our solar system's gravitational grasp and will continue out beyond our galaxy's pull. Also representing the macro would be the rover leaving its marks on the surface of Mars.

The micro may be realized by a pill which when swallowed sends a television signal to the doctors and lets them see the inner workings of their patient's body. And, a judicious look at the history of the silicone chip shows an ever reduction in size beyond an amateur's perception.

Somewhere between these extremes we "live our lives in quiet desperation", as Henry David Thoreau stated in his book, Walden. Our needs are realized in understanding the role of science in our lives. The scientists explain the relativity of things in the cosmos, the philosophers explain the interaction between these things, and the poets hope to bring both of their positions together.

Ronald C. Downie

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Humanity's Grand Mosaic

Humanity's Grand Mosaic

Within the stitches
holding together your
patch work quilt,
you live your life
just peeking out
from under its cover.

Your birth, infancy,
childhood, teen years,
adulthood, marriage,
family, midlife, old age,
infirmity, and death are
recorded with their own patch.

Each one's story, a quilt some
could easily hang on their wall.
Others would wrap themselves
snugly within its warm comfort.
While some would fold up
their quilt and place it in an old
trunk, with moth balls for keep sake.

Those, though of a shattered life, who
understand their quilt's unthinkable
nature, seek not to remember,
but, just in case, keep theirs hidden
in a safe place, there to be a reminder.

Walk down any street, anywhere,
look at the people, look closely,
are they that much different from
each other in looks and physique ?
Now, conjure up in your mind's eye
what their individual quilt would look like.

All the writers in the World,
all the singers and songsters too,
the poets, historians, and the story tellers,
have yet to unfold the totality of patch work
quilts which makes up this,
each is our contribution to
humanity's grand mosaic.

Ronald C. Downie



Friday, October 26, 2012

Haiku 88 - The Value Of Women

Haiku 88 - The Value Of Women

God's child, raper,
His offspring - God's child, too -
Inhuman values.

Women under heal,
More like Islam traditions -
When to cover heads ?

Female voices sing -
"Are we at least Man's equal" ?
Superior ! Yes !

Of women we're all :
Mothers, wives, daughters, life force -
How can men not care ?

Your body, your choice.
Make your female decisions
Known by your actions.

Without women, weep,
No World could survive for long -
Females create life.

Ronald C. Downie



Thursday, October 25, 2012

Eagle Verses Big Bird

Eagle Verses Big Bird

The eagle, life so fragile its eggs cracked,
Could not mature exposed to DDT,
Which until stopped by Federal agents,
Was everyone's spray chemical of choice.

This sixty year battle seems nearly won.
The eagle, symbol of our pride and strength,
The aggressive beak, piercing eyes, muscle
Overlapping muscle for the kill, groomed.

Many countrymen are militarist
Bent on pursuing their hawkish death dreams.
They seem oblivious to the eagle's
Earlier plight by Man's own ignorance.

The Eagle, the Flag, the Cross : are symbols ;
Each will stir man's blood to spill even more.
Their World is male dominant, ego driven,
Power imposing power, trample weak.

What has been the plight every militant
Country that history has had to endure ?
Its downfall - external or internal.
The World, slowly but surely, is leaning

Toward Peace. Yes ! Big Bird's teachings are so
Effective, that his forty year long term
Of instruction swept the World. A cadre
Of peaceful followers praise his teachings.

The Peace Corp and Doctors Without Borders
Do good, while doing no harm, free of guns.
Theirs is an outgrowth of a populous
Grounded in education, dogma free.

They project America's greatest wealth,
Freedoms our Constitution guarantees,
Which are universal to all free Men
And Women no matter their birth country.

Like the Eagle's egg - tenuous, fragile,
The World moves toward peace, slowly pacing.
It will take interaction of people
Giving up egos while blurring their turf.

Leaders better wake from their own malaise
Which draws them to do nothing, status quo.
If the World is to survive forever,
Pease must rule the minds of common people.

Ronald C. Downie





Tuesday, October 23, 2012

My Body Of Work

My Body Of Work

When my finger becomes a stump from pecking away
On my iPad, with just the right hand pointing one ;
I look at my body of work, shrug my shoulders, pray
That I'm not as lame in ability as thought by some :

Then gathering myself, I think, what the "Sam Hell"
Am I doing out in this arena of original thought ?
Me, a boy of the soil, with pulsating words to tell
Audiences about education's purpose, as it's taught :

And then, a Scottish Highland stubbornness invades
My innards and rescues an inbred arrogance for life.
If not me, who the hell will write of grand parades,
Of awakening flowers, children, theirs, and my wife ?

However menial the task, it's the full effort given
Which measures a person's metal, sung by the liven.

Ronald C. Downie

Monday, October 22, 2012

The Stone - The Stone

The Stone - The Stone

Hone yourself a sharp mental edge
Lest politicians ply their wares.
Silent with skill they drive a wedge
Dividing life into cares and fears.

"Care, yes care, I care for you."
Tongue cheeked message driven,
Script weak, thin, seen clear through.
Be self driven, fall not to speeches given.

"Fear, not me , fear the other guy."
"Believe me , I am not conceited."
Through lips drawn tight of teethe sly,
Bravado loud, dishonest call repeated.

Stone, the stone apply it often
When mind at rest in dullness creeps.
In apathy's folly the robber's hidden,
Citizens engaged, informed, America seeks.

The stone,* the stone apply it often,
Hone yourself a sharp mental edge.

Ronald C . Downie

*One of the more important tools of early America was a unique looking device, a household need and especially a farmstead requirement, it was the four foot curved handle scythe. The scythe was the premier grass, weed, grain, and hay cutting tool with about a three foot long curved metal cutting blade about three inches wide with a sharpened leading edge. Keeping the edge sharp was accomplished by a stone, a graphite abrasive stone stick six inches long, held in one hand at an angle to the cutting edge and vigorously run back and forth to sharpen the blade's edge. Scythes were very efficient when properly used and craftily sharpened. The stone was the key to making the scythe work so well and it allowed early America's life to be more livable.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

The Light Warden

The Light Warden

Born of The Great Depression, I entered
A World of constant turmoil, endless strife.
Lazy year, 1935, of drab malaise,
Heralded me on this Earth a poor boy.

The only constant of first memory
Was of moving, it seems we moved yearly.
Older brother, Andy, changed schools often
Every elementary school saw him.

A knock on the door caused an instant fear,
But it was usually the light warden
Telling Mom and Dad to close our black blinds.
The War could bring German planes overhead.

We lived in northern Chester County
Just north of Harmonyville on Houck Road
Next to Camp Rock Run, a teenaged girls camp.
Sadly, I was too young for girls back then.

With War's end we moved to Lower POttsgrove
Township on North Keim Street, at Ringing Hill.
Completed schooling at Lower POttsgrove
Elementary then onto Pottstown.

Since 1950 I've anguished over
Sixty two long years of man made carnage :
Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Sudan,
Afghanistan, Yugoslavia, more.

Will I reach my natural end before
Man causes an unnatural World's end ?
The twenty-one trillion hoarded dollars
Off-shore World wide can't buy eternity.

The fear of light peeking out when a boy
Has been replaced by all the lights going
Out when the electric power grid goes
Down imploding under its own vast weight.

An ineffective person that I am,
A farmer by nature drawn into words,
Feels lost looking at the peril facing man.
Are my words inadequate for the task ?

Hell yes ! Each must speak up and shout it out -
" We are sick and tired being lied to."
The cesspool, political rhetoric,
Is as pungent as down wind sewage spills.

Ronald C. Downie

Saturday, October 20, 2012

From Adam's Rib

From Adam's Rib

When, oh when, will the shackled, muzzled majority finally awaken to throw off the mental chains imprisoning them to a subservient roll in life's structured pyramid ? When will you muted females assert yourselves to realize that your numbers are much greater than those of self the anointed males in power ?

Eve, from Adam's rib, began the mental dominance conjured up by male minds who wrote the compelling history of mankind (why not female kind?). Humans for eons have elevated themselves far above common beasts except in the realm of male superiority. Humans gathered first into tribes, then villages, now cities, states, nations predominately male led, though structured to adapt to a nurturing society led by the mothering instinct of females necessary for the guarantee of survival of the species.

Enter, the Church, male dominance personified to the extreme. Speak of the church and society can view shackled dominance not only of females but of the ignorant masses which crippled civilization for centuries called the Dark Ages.

Through the 20th Century females began stirring, finally they realized just how much under heal they had been subjugated. Their underrated strength in organization and realization of their raw numbers wakened some females into vocal action. They began to ride the tide while they trimmed their sails gaining voice in print and politics.

Now, the mighty hand of religious zealotry begins its death nell grip again choking off long held gains females thought secure, while imposing even more draconian impositions on the sanctity of both the female body and its soul.

If there was ever a time in recent history for women's activism, the time is definitely now !

When the pendulum swings back to the past, it will be suspended there for many long, hard years while the female body undergoes wholesale anatomical reorganization. Again, if this happens, the house bound female will be charged with child bearing, child rearing - whether sound of body and mind or not - and the satisfier of her lord and master, her husband. "The days of wine and roses" will be only a dream of what could have been.

The majority has an obligation not to allow this subjugation to happen. You by sheer numbers, may
if you desire, stop this insanity against womanhood. The ballot box is your sword which, in order to be of any use, must come out of its sheath and be used. Your vote is your life line that extends the worth of women forward into eternity. Your vote is a valuable asset, use it well.

Ronald C. Downie

Son of a woman, married to a woman, father of four women, grandfather to four women, one yet a preteen, and great grandfather to two young girls who will become women.

Friday, October 19, 2012

Tasting Wine

Tasting Wine

Oft on a starry, starry night, I pause,
Thinking about the poem I'm apt to write.
Not so fast, a few words, simple it seems.
But, it just isn't so simple, it's troubling.
When you write you leave somethings of yourself
Behind, each or both, your heart and your soul.
Crunching words and phrases which echo thoughts
May seem easy, it isn't, it's difficult.

The reading of the combined words, a challenge,
A challenge worth the effort, time well spent.
Introspection draws from the inner self
In ways that today is less important
Than yesterday which seems to linger on
Like wine in a barrel does, sweetening.
Todays always intensifies sharpness,
In ways the sour of stale cheep wine, tastes.

Take now, I am struggling to write on
In a way I'd like to express myself.
The garble of words, of those who write use,
Lay around like dead fish on an old dock.
Every size and species passes over
The smooth surface slippery from its use.
Harvested or not the oceans pulsate
In their own time not different from ours.

Ronald C. Downie


Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The Crime Of Property Taxation

The Crime of Property Taxation

A leader, from its inception as an original member of The Thirteen Colonies, Pennsylvania, with its abundance of swift moving streams, coal, iron ore, timber, and industrious immigrants, led the early Colonies in industry and manufacturing. The value of her real estate rose proportionate to her industrious muscle and raw material opportunities.

In the mid Twentieth Century, post WW2, Pottstown reached its pinnacle in industrial production and commercial activity. Along with numerous heavy and light industries we were the regional hub for professional businesses, banking, and service related companies. Both laborers and their managers lived within the Boro limits as our population topped thirty thousand citizens. Property values reflected the upward vitality of the Town's strength.

Then came the crash when three quarters of Pottstown's industry began their exodus along with their payrolls, not only of the workers but also the wages of the managers, and, adding insult to injury, houses came on sale at a lower than ever value in a race to the bottom price we find now. Professionals also moved out of town as everyone became more mobile in the age of the automobile. During this fifty year decline the population dropped by ten thousand and even as the cost of living rose each year property values declined or remained flat.

The only constant during this time was the cost of education which went up each year and property taxes to fund the increases went up also. No matter how much you squeeze an orange you get only so much juice from it. As a stabilizing force in most small towns, seniors, many of them on fixed incomes, must reduce their daily living costs in order to pay the rising costs of property taxes if they decide to stay in their homes. When forced from their homes the character of that neighborhood changes many times to the negative eroding the tax base further.

It seems a consensus in public thinking that an educated citizenry is an imperative to having a strong healthy country. An after thought in an agricultural society, education became more and more important as we moved into and out of the industrial revolution and we are now in the information age where education is a must.

Today, just as important : as highways, as bridges, as water ways and ports, as trains and air lines, is education which needs to be funded accordingly. To function in the 21st Century and beyond we can't rely on outmoded methods to raise money for schools. Anchored to the land, anchored to a community both life styles of agriculture and industry adapted to property taxes supplying funds to educate her young. Now in the information age where everyone is mobile and everyone needs more education the means to pay for it is vastly inadequate.

Education is the bridge to the future and as all bridges serve all travelers an educated American serves all countrymen. Bridges are high cost structures, education costs a lot too and as bridges need to be paid for out of a general fund so must we pay for education in the same way.

Taxing property, once acceptable when agriculture and industry ruled the economy, no longer serves a proper role in the 21st Century. Building the universal bridge through education needs us to develop a non property universal method to pay for it.

Ronald C. Downie