Monday, November 25, 2013

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 to pass 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

Friday, November 22, 2013

The Hidden Gene

You could say, over my more than 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%er'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 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 dog's 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 finds 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


Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Red... .

          "Red in the morning 
           is a sailor's warning ;
           while, red at night
           is a sailor's delight."

This little ditty was repeated over and over to me by my Gran'Pa Downie, a seafaring grandfather from the 1890's into the early 1900's who plied the waves from Glasgow, Scotland to Cape Town, South Africa before immigrating his family to Tarrytown, New York,USA. prior to 1920.

This cute little poem was once used by weathermen all over the world to predict a change in weather for the rest of that particular day or night, but little more. 

It was a spectacular, beautiful red morning this morning even better than yesterday's. Just around 6:30AM, shortly before the sun emerged on the eastern horizon, angular sun rays refracted off a sky of herringbone clouds. I'm told the intensity of color comes from the amount and composition of the dust particles suspended in the clouds which sunlight rays bounce off which is called refraction. 

More vivid was a sky color not often seen. Wide patches of red clouds striped with thin glimpses of blue were predominant. Then, just a minute before sunrise, a large patch of blue sky turned teal, blue-green in a glorious display of a natural phenomenon not often seen, at least by me. The sun popped up and the sky immediately went white-grey. Where color had been  vivid in the clouds and sky, pigments now, though still there, were subdued by a dominant ball of fire, the sun.

When aboard ship Gran'Pa saw the horizon 360 degrees around and, I'm sure, he saw spectacular sunrises and sunsets, in fact, a teal sky may be commonplace at sea. I awaken to the eastern sky out my two rear windows and usually catch the moment of sunrise as it happens. It hasn't been too colorful until recently, just the plume from Limerick to catch my continual interest.

Watch nature, watch the sky. You, too, may find recording your observations a pleasure as I do.

Ronald C. Downie

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Grand Old Station

Back in the cloudy recesses of my mind are those early days which get further out of reach as time goes by. Glimpses of events enter my mind at night and try to break through that fog. Lately, it's been an event that lasted all summer long back in the early 1980's called "Operation Bootstrap".

Operation Bootstrap was the name given to the effort of a small army of Pottstown volunteers who decided that no wrecking ball would demolish the grand old Reading Railroad Station just because it was a little run down on its heels. 

Not unlike Pottstown itself, the train station just mirrored everything else around her. Betlehem Steel, Firestone, Doehlers, Robinson Clay, and many other industries in and around Pottstown felt the declining vitality of the area due to plant closures. Employment, once seemingly endless, was becoming tough to come by. 

The long drift downward was happening all around us and the train station, long left to decline, was a glaring symbol of decay. Here, in the very heart of Pottstown, nearly everyone saw the slow decline but, because the decline was slow coming, it drew little effort to subdue it, that's if, anything could be done at all. It was this thought that encouraged more volunteers to muster into the army of volunteers to save the train station from being demolished.

Passenger service was in gradual decline for years and ceased in the late 1960's when the station was shut down. Vagrants began their occupation of the premises shortly thereafter as they evaded policing
efforts. Obvious signs became apparent : trash, urine, ficus, rags, and bed rolls were accumulating visible to the naked eye. Effects from  Hurricane Agnes in June of 1972 were still quite apparent in the early eighties furthering the grand building's decline, in fact, when the volunteers took action they had to pump eight foot of flood water from its basement. 

The names of individual volunteers are beyond me though many came from  members of the BIE, Building Industries Exchange, and the Ambucs, American Business Men's Club. Both these two organizations endorsed the cleanup effort from day one. Also there were a goodly number of  businesses that contributed things like dumpsters, pressure washers, cleaning products, and professional expertise. Food donations appeared along with gallons of hot coffee, cool lemonade and iced tea. 

A real highlight came toward the end of summer when things were winding down. The borough officials saw and felt the desires of the public not to demolish the grand old station. Ultimately the borough sold the building to a syndicate led by a carpetbagger type fellow who didn't last too long in town, but that's another story.

 The highlight was a community flea market on the concourse complete with an auction of bicycles the police had found abandoned throughout town over the years. Then, Chief of Police, Rodgers suggested an auction of them to raise money to pay incidental bills that arose through the cleanup process. 

I guess, the success of any undertaking is in the desired result intended. The Grand Old Station stands today, maybe not as the army of volunteers intended which was for a strictly public building, but it still stands. When the public gets behind an idea, when they feel an injustice may happen, when the public stands together good things can happen. 

I request, if anyone has sharper reflections of the summer of Operation Bootstrap please let the rest of us know what you remember. Maybe someone still has news clippings of this event and would be willing to share them with the public. 

Ronald C. Downie 

Saturday, November 16, 2013

   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's 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 

Friday, November 15, 2013

Stupid Is ...

I can't get Forrest Gump's assertions out of my mind in times as these, times of utter stupidness by our federal elected officials. "Stupid is, as stupid does" certainly defines the two bodies, House and Senate: the House, closing down government for a couple weeks; the Senate, inert from holds on appointees. 

Maybe, the full stupidness of their doings wouldn't be so obvious if each body was held in high esteem by voters, "We The People". Instead the public places incumbent legislators in the lowest hog mire ever, at a mere 9% approval.  

Just how stupid do legislators think the public is ? 
I believe most people feel deep down they're quite dumb but they also feel they can't do anything about it. When this happens, the politician has the public right where they want them. The lethargy of, "can't do anything about it", creates an attitude of do nothing, or "don't rock the boat". 

Dumb and dumber seems to be an apt description of our electorate today when what we desperately need are voters who are smarter and smarter. Professional politicians train to deceive their constituents so truths and falsehoods become intermingled in the voters mind. This way the politician can put themselves out there as the true arbiter of good and evil. They want us to believe they're invaluable and life can't function without them.

No longer can we continue to be "stupid is, as stupid does" type people. In order for us to populate a more equal union we have to vote smarter. We have to throw the bums out and we have to engender a whole new breed of politicians who will be more responsive to their constituents.

From what other body of 535 public servants (435 House, 100 Senate) are there so many millionaires. Many who are, are multi-millionaires; those who aren't, are still rich beyond most persons in the middle class.
Our founders never realized we would have so many professional politicians entrenched in our congress as we do today. 

Getting elected just may be the quickest trip to wealth. If they don't gain riches while in office; when out, they pander for an enriching position as a lobbyist. The story's out : a lobbying job is a real high paying plum.

I'm sure Forrest Gump would keep mumbling "stupid is, as stupid does" over and over again when he heard what congress had been up to. He'd know that our congress acts like they were a box of chocolates, when one was opened up, he wouldn't know what he was getting. 

Ronald C. Downie

Thursday, November 14, 2013


Oligarchy - political system governed by a few people.

In yesteryears the United States of America was the premier Republican Democracy challenged by the Communist Soviet Union for the dominance of the whole world. Today the Soviet Union has broken up and goes under Russia once more but continues to stir up confusion in the world. 

Here, in the USA, we've never really figured out if we're a Republic or a Democracy or some highbred of either. Instead, the moneyed in our time play to the publics' apathy as they begin pulling wool over sleepy eyes. Their goal is to accumulate as much wealth as possible and to gain, not only financial superiority but, their primary goal, is to gain ultimate political power to weld complete control over the country.

With complete control these Oligarchs continue to pile up wealth just like the Walton family. This family has amassed over a 100 Billion dollars through ownership of Walmart which is reported to pay employees the minimum wage that causes many employees to have apply for food stamps just to feed their families. Also reported is the fact that 40% of all new wealth created in the last few years has gone to the oligarchs who comprise the top 1% of US taxpayers.

Do you, as a member of the lower 47% that candidate Romney described, quite understand the position you're placed in. You and me, and almost everyone you'll see, are but serfs in present day clothing. Not unlike, in the long past feudal systems when a King and his court took everything for themselves, today's oligarchs want all the wealth and political power for themselves. 

The plight of the peasants of the past was expressed in literature by a hero defender, called, Robin Hood. Both you and I, and all the rest of you, are the latest inhabitants of our own Sherwood Forrest. Now, we need our own, present day Robin Hood. I thought the Occupy movement would develop some candidates but they seem to be unable to stay in existence let alone birth progressive leaders.

Before our voting system is highjacked completely by the oligarchs, vote out the offenders to the democratic 
process. Look past a candidate's wants so you can vote for citizen's needs. Keep looking, keep pressing for a modern day Robin Hood to surface, since each voter has to become their own savior, Robin Hood may be in each of us.

Ronald C. Downie 

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

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 that fires 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 the three legged 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

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 modern day institutions. I am encouraging that stature, aptitude, and attitude to be our pillars, or if you will, our legs of the proverbial stool. Upright and solid it's the tripod that can hold up a whole universe.

Ronald C. Downie

Monday, November 11, 2013

Urban Forrester

The front porch seems out of bounds these fall days,
Temperatures down, even when sunshine
Breaks bright - early mornings, late afternoons ;
Oldsters seek shelter of the mid-day haze.

From my easy chair, I'm like Robin Hood
Surveying my own deep Sherwood Forrest ;
Inside, I'm looking west out four windows
Wondering, when will dead leaves all be down?

When the hawk is up, leaves come floating down;
Even a lite breeze unlocks them from trees.
From in looking out, it's the first blizzard, 
Needing no snow shovels, but bamboo rakes.

Leaves, the engines of life, fulfilled their role
Of being chlorophyll's chief enabler,
By changing carbon dioxide into
Breathable oxygen, sustaining life.

My forrest, within sight, is mostly oaks,
With oaks comes squirrels who scurry about
Collecting acorns and plant everywhere.
Are there more squirrels then ever? Seems so.

Oaks don't exhibit sharp coloration
That maples do in my far off site-line :
Norway maples vivid in their yellow,
Sugars deeply blaze a yellow-orange.

This urban forester can only look,
I'm saddled to a chair or a walker.
Once, far off hills engrossed my pensive eyes,
Now a single tree, green or fall color,

Must satisfy my appreciation 
Of art, nature's art, firmament's pigments.
A long life draws from an inner vision
Where important scenes are mentally stored.

Ronald C. Downie

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Why ?

Best you figure it out then answer the question, why. 
Why ? Why do our local school districts have so many problems today dealing with contested contracts,  declining property assessments, lowering test scores, and addressing the publics' low esteem of current education policies ?

Before we answer those questions, we should look at a very successful component of the education industry, the community college, specifically, The Montgomery County Community College ( MCCC ). MCCC is the poster child for how education around here should be offered to its users. 

Many of you question : how can we be asked to compare apples with oranges ? One is college the other public school; one is compulsory the other voluntary ? 

My comparison here is with the structure of their composition and their way of administrating the system. MCCC is county wide; districts are small, and generally multi-township. MCCC has a county wide board of directors who are of diverse professional achievements; district boards are made up of locals generally caught up in some turf struggles of limited nature. MCCC, I'm sure, works from a grand mission statement outlining systematic growth and accountability, somewhat like a fortune five hundred corporation at their height of professionalism. Local districts are what we read about : they try each year to cobble together a budget or a teacher's contract while some members pander to their little pet projects taking professionalism out of their equation.

Local districts are administered by an elected superintendent and assistants who are chosen by a present board or carry over filling out a contracted term. MCCC takes a longer view, a seemingly more professional vision, putting the administration in the hands of a president and assistants who answer to a board of directors, who in turn, answer to County Commissioners. There is a clear line of command in the MCCC process.

The point is : locals seem amateurish, MCCC professional. Locals are caught up in petty turf wars, MCCC stands above the whims of zealots. Locals seem rudderless; MCCC seems to have charted a course and follows it.

Pennsylvania has been divided up into somewhat equal districts, namely, The Intermediate Units. It so happens that Montgomery County stands by itself as one of these twenty some state districts which is already functioning in its given capacity. 

The problem lies in these units being underutilized as education has changed and moved on. Therefore,  I recommend a commission be organized to look at The Intermediate Unit as a vehicle to change the nature of public school administration. 

Take local away from school districts by making the boundary's of The Intermediate Units the district's boundary, take taxing away from local districts, and force education to adapt itself to a sense of professionalism. The World has changed, why not how we function in educating our young, the highest  responsibility of a mature society.
  Ronald C. Downie

Thursday, November 7, 2013


First star showing I'm alive
Was posted in year, 1935.

Tartan threads grow in the fields
Watching stars that heaven yields.

Stripes are custom, long and lean,
Marking my vision's family scheme.

But my banner's so incomplete,
I write to people, I'll never meet ;

Do I really write words for all of them :
The strong women, the thoughtful men ?

But, for myself, a rhyme is sought,
A meter's found to further my plot,

It's only by chance or is it a struggle
That word by word grows my puzzle ?

Somewhere there's another Plowman's Bard
Walking the furrow's straight, deep, and hard.

He tramps God's Earth in want of nourishment ;
His mind's at work for destiny's encouragement.

One is so boldly driven for its benefactors ;
Others, dream in clouds, as if they're actors.

Lasting the longest, beyond a generation,
Some build a society, some feed a nation.

Who said, "Man can't live by bread alone"?
We think of dreamers wherever they roam.

Poets subsist on a sparse spartan menu ;
While writing  words for all World to view.

So soon, "I'll lay me down for a long night's sleep",
Not knowing, if any words my readers will keep.

But that can't drive my lust to keep on writing ;
I write for me, then for thee, then unborn waiting.

Forgive me for being so overtly aggressive; 
In my cluttered dreaming mind, the mess is.

Starting a poem is not, all that, very hard,
It's been done fairly well by many a bard.

But ending a poem, that's a poet's blank wall,
Readers seek closure, bards hear a clear call.

Ronald C. Downie

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

A Reason For Being

A poem like a story, or a song, or yarn, a tale, a communication, or just a conversation has a reason for being. Thoughts come to mind that need to be, are itching to be, amplified. 

The following poem, A Cry From Mid-Space, was written at a time in my life when those things I dreamt about doing were not going to happen. In a long life, unrealized dreams are commonplace, they move on in spite of your desires to be fulfilled. They enable you  now to dream anew. When we lose the capacity to dream the flames of hope flicker out and the path to fulfillment blurs until a new spark lights the way for new dreams to occur. 

What's the old adage ? "It's not the number of times you're knocked down but, what counts, is the number of times you get back up.
* * *
         Cry From Mid-Space 

God damned you Dreams, whore no more to me, release me
To covet grayness bleating from a sullen sky.
Don't show me violets pure nor roses gay that cry
My inter soul awake. No !  I must not think free.

Chain my mind, please stem that emotion swell
Within this hide so I do not hope in vain.
In image of his maker, common man can train
As oxen are yoked to circle around the well.

I can not define mid - space where dreamers dwell,
Far sight a scene then slowly squint it into
Mental pictures, like a frosted pane looked through, 
Is it real ? Is it heaven ? Is it ? Well, is it, hell ?

Theater must be hell for a lost dreamer's soul :
Not in dance around soothing flames and crackling sounds
That flow the senses' veins; but of grey ash mounds 
Staged of choking soot waiting to fill a dreamer's hole.

Accept the young, they have not traversed the gorge 
Left by dreamers old whose torrent thoughts erode.
Fill the young with placid manna lest they explode
With alien notions thinking they're their own Saint George. 

Dreams - damn you !  Lay not your head on my breast this day.
Free me, so I may see what our Nation antes up :
Those dull, brow bent cast of actors who hold the cup,
Which keeps America hostage and wastes a dreamer's play.

Ronald C . Downie    

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Hitch Our Wagon

Please consider "hitching our ( Pottstown's ) wagon to a star". Ask yourselves, what's one of the few stars rising within our borough ? There are not many. 

I'd suggest Pottstown, hitch its wagon to the ascending star of MCCC.. The Montgomery County Community College, west campus, is strongly positioned in our town and its future seems quite secure. It is here for the long term ! 

In the pursuit of knowledge, there comes a strength of conviction beyond the sum total of the the efforts expended, which is called wisdom. Gaining wisdom is one of the main purposes of a successful life.

Checkout any college town and you'll find, in every one, an intangible vitality. Vitality is a commodity severely lacking in Pottstown. MCCC is in the business of learning : expanding one's self, casting off the dreaded prejudices of ignorance, and, not only finding new horizons, but ascending them to look for those unscaled horizons beyond. 

I suggest Mosaic Lands Trust or any other entity in the  borough form a committee to press MCCC to meet with them to explore a more interactive relationship between the entities. Yes, I know there has been a good synergy between the borough and the college but most of that has involved the transfer of property. There is something more than tangibles at stake here. The life blood of Pottstown has essentially been drawn from herself and she needs, in my mind, a transfusion. 

It takes people of divergent interests to come together and discuss what each could possibly do for the other.  "Hitching Pottstown's Wagon To A Star" would be another positive step forward and forward is the only direction we should take.

Ronald C. Downie

Saturday, November 2, 2013

It All Depends

It all depends :
Upon your dreams
Behind closed eyes,
Drifting in and out,
Nodding off and on
Until total emersion.

Subliminal are images
Beyond the conscious 
Activities of the day.
Retreat, or attack,
Go far away or return,
Be of a party, or not.

Immersed in reality,
Tempered by hot fire,
Clothed for deep cold, 
Hair finely brushed, 
Bathed in redemption,
Lost in a wilderness. 

Finding one's own self
Throwing off shackles,
Demanding of mental
Strength deeply internal,
You gather up yourself 
For life's universal battle.

You ask, "Who am I ?"
And, "Why am I here ?"
Paging your remembrances :
Being in and out of faith,
Does science make its case,
Who pulls Heaven's strings ?

You think the unthinkable :
Do we pass only once through
This conscious state of life ?
No beginning, so is there no end?
Am I bound up in this body forever, 
What is my next form to be?

How these questions are answered 
Before an Endpoint of active life
May make a tremendous difference
To those you lovingly leave behind.
But, my friend, the dismissed, to you
Clouds await your element's arrival.

Ronald. C. Downie

Friday, November 1, 2013

Changing Players

Earlier in the year the Washington Nationals gave their city some hope that something good would come out of them playing there. It didn't materialize, just as many hopes fail, but Washington is a city ripe for failure. It is the seat of our federal government when it's open for business ; it's a joke in the Capitals of the World when some legislators shut Washington down. 

The Nationals rely on their ability to play baseball but, how they play, is registered in the statistics compiled for them as individuals and collectively as a team. Our legislators play a different kind of game. They rely on their ability to ignore the oath they took before they inhabit the office they won in the election. 

Legislators still seem able to count, at least, they add their names to straight party votes. Votes are recorded so the general public should know who voted for what. But most votes that affect constituents' interest are hidden from them in the rhetoric of local politicians propaganda. Through the privilege of franking they swamp mailboxes near election time while using telephone Town Halls the rest of the year to press their issues, whether true or hyped. 

Yet, there is a set of statistics that really matters to politicians and voters, but should also, especially, matter to you. It is the the set of numbers that tells the public just how the country views the work of each branch of government. The latest poll, post shutdown of the federal government, shows a sharp decline in the publics opinion of congress's work. The numbers indicate that the country feels congress's ability to perform the job each member was voted in office to do has not been met. Their favorable rating is trending down below 20% and in some cases approaching 10%. 

Certainly no baseball team, not even the Nationals, could play with players who had such little success as our congressmen have. Why in the World should "we the public" have to ? We, the rightful owners of our government, have as much right to hire new players to run our government as does the owner of the Nationals has the right to hire new players to take the field for him. 

Next year, 2014, after the Nationals pickup a few players they'll figure on being more competitive. Next year, after the elections when we throw the "bums" out of office, the country should have a chance to have a more responsive government from our new group of legislators. 

Our responsibility is to use the ballot box in the way it was intended : in a democratic society the power rests with the public through the use of one man one vote rule. Within your reach, through the use of the right to vote, is a chance to change the players who run our government. Use it properly or you waste it !

Ronald C. Downie