Review of Jonathan Cook's Beer Terrain

Below is a book Review from the December 2012 issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine Page 6, of a book about the revival of brewing in New England.

Jonathan has an interesting blog that features his ongoing exploration of brewing culture.

Sturbridge native and his love of local beer

Beer Terrain: Field to Glass from the Berkshires to the Maine Coast

By Jonathan Cook with Suzanne LePage

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2013

Paperback, 156 pages

ISBN 978-1492346715

List: $16.20 Amazon: $16.20

Book review by Richard Morchoe

Jonathan Cook’s Beer Terrain is a labor of love about people who love their labor.  With his wife, Suzanne LePage they have come up with a book about the efforts of those in New England who are creating an industry that is an art form.  The couple is serious about beer.

Just how serious?  Jonathan writes of a pause at a tavern in the White Mountains,  “This was a great stop on our honeymoon which took us all around New England visiting brewpubs and drinking microbrews.”  To spend so much time at the beginning of the marriage on the quest displays a devotion to the subject and the region.

There had been fair beer industry in New England at one time.  Prohibition obliterated that.  So of necessity, our new brews have had to restart the process from nothing.  Is this necessary?  After all, there is beer in this country, freely sold.  In the introduction, Jonathan makes the point about two versions of capitalism, “One is the global supply network that sells grain on the commodity market and homogenizes the malt distributing it worldwide via vast interlinking petroleum based transit systems.  The other involves a handshake and a short drive in a small truck.”  Must it be a worldwide consistency or is there room for a local uniqueness?

 It is not possible to say if Jonathan intended it, but Beer Terrain is report card as to how far we have come in getting the beer from our fields into our glasses.  A lot has been done, and there is room for more.

Jonathan starts close to home in Worcester.  Ben Roesch at Wormtown Brewery is trying to be as local as he can.  Year round, five percent of the ingredients are “a little Mass in every glass.”  The day of Jonathan’s visit, he gets to taste a beer made with hops and malt grown within 40 miles.  Granted it’s a special offering of Masswhole  Hop Session, but that is an achievement.

100% once a year, is that all we can do?  Well, since 2010, it’s been getting easier.  That year, Christian and Andrea Stanley opened New England’s first malthouse since prohibition in the Pioneer Valley town of Hadley.  Their malted barley is the freshest around and their customers can now close another part of the circle.  Over 20 breweries use the product of Valley Malt,

There’s another ingredient associated with beer.  How are we doing regionally with hops?  In 2010 the University of Vermont did a feasibility study suggesting there is enough demand for at least a hundred acres of production.  People are trying it even nearby at Hardwick’s Clover Hill Farm.  Steve Prouty has planted a third of an acre and has supplied the aforementioned Wormtown Brewery.  Hop cultivation is no easy number.  Our damp climate puts us at a disadvantage, yet that is not stopping the adventurous.

Locally, Brimfield’s Tree House Brewing Company uses hops grown not ten minutes away.  Granted, production is such that the Local Nugget (named after a hop variety) is only occasionally on offer.

So malt and hops are coming on line more and more.  What else do we need?  How about yeast?  Is it important to have that locally too?  Bryan Greenhagen, brewer and microbiologist, seems to think so.  In of all places, urban, gritty Chelsea, he is working on it.  From off the skin of a plum, he has developed a strain of the fungus that not only ferments, but also imparts some flavor.

Beer Terrain does not overlook the largest component of almost any beverage, H2O.  The book has that covered.  Suzanne is an engineer and teaches at WPI.  Her research has focused on storm water management.  Okay, we don’t want storm water in our brewskis, but she does know water.  Chapter 8 is her paean to aqua.

Suzanne notes we do not have a common water source.  So, other than the Quabbin, the water used is going to be local.  Does that affect taste?  It can.  Depending on composition.  The atoms that make up water can bond with other atoms.  The hardness and softness has an impact as well.

Whatever else we can grow here, water will always be local.  The more other ingredients of a nearby origin become part of our beers, the more we will have our own “terroir.”  Jonathan used that term, more often associated with wine, to describe the sense of place.  The malt and hops grown here are and will be different from those of other regions.  We have had wonderful local brewers for a couple of decades now.  It is time to build the terroir.

The book is no sense a dry technical manual.  Jonathan and Susanne have enjoyed their odyssey and convey it from the Wonderful Peoples’ Pint in Greenfield to the Peak Organic Brewing Company in Portland Maine.  Jonathan, the Sturbridge native enjoys the product served at Hyland Orchard as well as the aforementioned Tree House when not on the road.  One can learn a lot from Beer Terrain while working up a thirst.

Review, Rose32 Bread bakery/café

Below is my review of the Gilbetville Bakery, Rose 32 Bread that appeared in the December, 2012 Sturbridge Times Magazine.

Hardwick is an idyllic spot in Western Central Massachusetts.  The town center is the usual, picturesque common.   The road leading to the Quabbin has a fine view.  There are beautiful farms with happy cows and, as reported in the September 2010 issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine, the town is the capital of grass fed ranching in the Commonwealth.  Despite sometimes-harsh winters, there is a thriving winery on a fine piece of land.

So, a perfect town exists just northwest of Sturbridge Country.  Well, not completely.  If you travel onto Route 32 from Route 9, there is a stretch of moribund factories and aging workers’ housing.  The manufacturing jobs of the mainly Polish immigrant population are gone.  The working class section of Hardwick, known as Gilbertville, has seen better days.

That does not mean there is no enduring historical merit in the district.  The Covered Bridge that spans the Ware River is an exemplar of the style.  Recently renovated, it is something to see and could occupy the tourist for at least several nanoseconds.  Clearly Themepark Gilbertville is not going to happen.

For me, the road through Gilbertville has been a way to get somewhere else.  This is not horrible; most roads are, as is the one that passes by my home.  One expects little on the way to the destination.

Only vaguely did I notice the place with the outdoor tables and umbrellas.  It looked like a shop, maybe garage that had been converted to some kind of food business.  Nothing about it enticed me to stop.  Luckily, It was word of mouth that changed my mind.

Our first foray to Rose32 was for takeout.  There was a line of people waiting to order.  The display case did not make choosing an easy chore.  The variety of cakes and pastries was lavish and a feast for the eyes.  Steeling ourselves to the task, my daughter, Bríd, and I made our selections.

First up, the almond croissant, which had an almond paste, baked in.  The filling was good, but as in all them, it is the lovely moist croissant that is the best part.

The tarts, cherry and raspberry were rich.  If you are averse to flavor, they are not for you.  Same with the peach scone. 

We also purchased a loaf of olive bread.  The breads are whole but they offer to slice them.  I’m more partial to olives than the rest of the family and surely ate most of it.

Our next visit was for lunch.  After ordering, one sits down with the numbered sign so the server knows where to bring the order.  One of the staff came over and apologized to me (with a sincerity that could not have been feigned) because they only had the rustic baguette for my capresse.  Would that be acceptable?  I acquiesced and happily lived to tell the tale.  A capresse is a baguette sandwich of tomatoes, mozzarella, and pesto with balsamic and olive oil.

Bríd had the salmon crostini, an open-faced sandwich with smoked salmon and capers, cream cheese, and onions on toasted sourdough walnut bread.  All too often, a salmon crostini can be overly salty, but this one was just right.

I also ordered the soup of the day which was squash with crispy bacon and balsamic.  It came with bread and butter.  Bríd left with a Breton, which she described as a sort of shortbread cookie.

We came back with Robin, my wife, for breakfast.  Robin had the cheddar and green onion biscuit sandwich with egg, and ham, and described it as fantastic.

Bríd had the chicken potpie on special.  Though the vegetables in the pie were okay, the chicken was perfect.

My scrambled hash, a pleasant mélange of diced ham, potatoes and green onions with a cover of cheddar, left me satisfied.

All of this is in a building that is a converted service station.  It has its advantages as the large windows of the inherited structure gives Rose32 an abundance of natural light.  The industrial aspect of the structure serves it well as most of the production takes place in a huge oven imported from Barcelona.  It is difficult to imagine such a behemoth precision instrument on anything but a heavy-duty floor.

Such an oven is necessary to get the crust right and cook the breads evenly.  This sentiment is attributed to Glen Mitchell by his wife Cindy.  They are the Rose 32 co-owners.  The Mitchell’s had a thriving bakery business in San Francisco with 250 employees and four retail outlets and a distribution network.  As interesting as the story is, the food is most important aspect of their adventure.

That is true.  I have never had a flakier or more buttery croissant.

So there is a reason to visit Gilbertville, and after you eat the sticky bun and lick your fingers, you can cross the covered bridge.

On The Subject of ATM Crime. Can we avoid more Amy Lord tragedies

Below is an article I wrote about what we can do to prevent ATM crime.  It appeared in the October Sturbridge Times Magazine starting on Page 5.

On The Subject of ATM Crime

By Richard Morchoe

On the early morning of July 26^th Amy Lord was beaten in her South Boston apartment and ordered into her jeep by Edwin Alemany.  He had her drive to four ATMs to remove money.  After Alemany was done with her, she was murdered and her body left in a wooded section of Hyde Park.

It was big news when it happened, then it wasn’t.  No one should be surprised, the news cycles being what they are.  Of course, for the family, it will be a wound that never heals.  It might resonate with the readers of the Sturbridge Times Magazine.  Amy Lord was from Wilbraham, just up the street.

One would have hoped there would have been a groundswell for measures that would at least make it difficult for such crimes to occur.  Though it did not happen, there are some people who have thought about the problem and are working for reforms.

BU law professor David Breen has been a longtime activist concerned with the problem.  In the light of the recent murder he is quoted by the Boston Globe, “You would think if one of the five ATMs had at least a 911 phone or a panic button, it would have given her a fighting chance.”

“I think the banking industry has blood on its hands.”  The professor told the Globe.

Professor Breen has every reason to wonder about the lack of safety apparatus in place.  In 1991 he was shot and robbed in an ATM kiosk.  When he recovered, he worked for the passage of a New York City ATM law.

For ten years State Senator Brian Joyce has been pushing for enhanced ATM safety.  Last January the Milton democrat refiled legislation to require ATMs to have adequate lighting, security cameras and an emergency phone that would be a direct line to 911.

So who would oppose such measures?  The banking industry of course would not wish to see an incremental cost.  That said, what is the rationale for being against the legislation?

Bruce E. Spitzer, director of communications at the Massachusetts Bankers Association told the Boston Globe “It’s not going to be effective and doesn’t make sense.”  The legislation does not require measures at machines located in convenience stores and gas stations.   Mr. Spitzer said that is “Part and Parcel of why we have opposed this legislation for a while now.”  That does sound a bit weak.

Yet, the banks have a point.  It’s no reason not to pass Senator Joyce’s bill, but it needs to be considered.  Let’s work through a thought experiment.  Say you were an ATM robber.  You had carjacked your prey and are driving to an ATM.  When you get there, you will probably accompany the victim into the kiosk.  Your instructions would go something like this, “Take out as much money as you can and if you touch the phone or the button, I’ll kill you right here.”

Clearly, the learning curve of the criminal class is not so slow that they won’t figure this out.

What would be truly useful would be something that alerted police without alerting the robber, that is a system where a cardholder could request an alternative pin number.  The use of the number would alert the police that a crime was in progress at the machine.  The system should also alert authorities to the vehicle make and plate number as perpetrators usually use the victim's car.

The alternate number would not cause alarm and the money would be dispensed so as not to tip off the criminal that the police had been notified and were in pursuit.  The CCTV in the ATM kiosk would be recording the criminal as the crime is in progress.

There is no such system in practice at this time.   Still, as everything that runs the ATM networks is controlled by a computer program, it should be feasible.

According to one man it is.  Joseph Zingher has software that if implemented would allow a victim to enter their pin number backwards.  This would go right to 911.  Joseph holds U.S Patent Number 5,731,575.  In the first years of this century, a credit union in Georgia and a bank in South Carolina were set to implement it.  The two institutions dropped the idea when their service provider threatened to drop them.

A 2004 Forbes article mentions that Microsoft has filed a patent as well.   Mr. Zingher has some disagreements with the article, but if a major player is interested, that is significant evidence that it is doable.

Mr. Zingher’s product is his life’s work.  Along with his brother, he is fighting to have his system adopted.  He does wish to be compensated for his system.  Certainly, banks do not want to pay too much.  Joseph has been waiting a long time and he is pessimistic that he will succeed before the patent runs out. 

Of course, the banks could be resisting because Joseph Zingher’s system, or any system is far more difficult to effect than claimed. According to systems engineer and Worcester Polytechnic grad Daniel Earley, “From a technical standpoint the SafetyPIN concept is entirely feasible. ATMs are typically connected via telephone or Ethernet to bank networks. The same infrastructure could be used to connect them to law enforcement networks. Some fairly simple logic would have to be added to the ATM's software so that it would contact law enforcement as well as the bank network if the user's PIN was entered in reverse order."  That does not sound insurmountable.

The question is, what price is it worth to save a life, .0001cent per transaction, $100 per?  Will it be an onerous cost for what may or may not be a statistically insignificant crime?  One’s reaction might be different if a family member becomes a statistic.

It has been quoted too many times, but Willie Sutton is famous for answering why he robbed banks, “That’s where the money is.”  That is what is in ATMs.  It is an easy crime to commit, but statistics are elusive and need a murder rather than a mere assault to be noticed.  In 2006 Professor Breen said, "What does it take, does somebody have to die?"  As the latest crime slips down the memory hole, it appears it will take more than that.

Senator Joyce’s office was contacted and press contact, Jack Cardinal passed on the information.  No response was forthcoming as of deadline.

Professor Breen responded by email, but did not address the question of pin safety.

Review of Walking In Her shoes

Below is a book review from the May 2013 issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine, Page 11, about a daugter's quest for family information.

The mystery of mom.

Walking In Her Shoes

By Marylou Depeiza

AuthorHouse, 2011

Paperback, 156 pages

ISBN 978-142994617

List: $15.00 Amazon: $15.00

Book review by Richard Morchoe

As the saying goes, the past is an undiscovered country.  For Marylou Depeiza, that is so, but she did as much as anyone could to find it.  Her search for the family story, left untold at her mother’s death was a competent a piece of amateur detective craft.  Alas, even hard work can only take you so far.

Who we are and what we are is an obsession for many people. Ancestry.com is big business.  Harvard Professor Henry Louis Gates has a popular show, Finding Your Roots, where prominent people search for their background using documentary evidence and DNA information.  The company 23andme will, for a sample of saliva, tell you where your ancestors come from, if not their names and addresses.

Marylou wasn’t trying to find out she was a direct descendant of the Grand Duke of Ruritania.  Her goals were far more modest, though no less important for that.  Her book, Walking In Her Shoes, is a biographical account of life with her mother, Leola Williams.  The book is an intimate and loving portrayal of a woman who tenaciously kept a family fed, clothed and together no matter how little she had.  It is also chronicles the later life and decline of a strong woman and how it affected those she loved and loved her.

Walking In Her Shoes is a story of Boston from just before World War II through the post war era.  She has it pitch perfect.  The elegance that was Filenes is reflected as well as her mother’s meeting with Mayor Curley.  Marylou imagines her mom’s meeting with His honor.  It is as good as the dialogue of the mayor meeting his people in Edwin O’Connor’s roman a clef about Curley, The Last Hurrah.  One quibble, she has Curley speaking with an Irish accent he did not possess.  The mayor was second generation and spoke with a florid, stentorian voice, but not a bit of a brogue.

Filenes was a vision of middle class style and grace, but it was also part of the cultural patterns of the times.  Marylou notices her mother’s job as stock girl is not the equal of white women who work behind the perfume counter.  Leola brushes it off, but the contrast is stark.

For all that, Leola was a woman of mystery.  Her children never knew her husband and the circumstances of her marriage. About all that they knew was that he was killed in the World War II and she was a war widow.

Finality and closure are not complete even in families where the history is kept as far back as possible.  Roger, her brother found the military files on Leola’s husband, James Williams, through an online search.  Private Williams had been killed in the service of his country by a violent explosion in India. He had been part of an outfit building a road to China to circumvent the Japanese occupation.

But what of the relationship of Leola and James?  Marylou undertook a search of court records. She would find that her mom did not have a marriage made in heaven.  She got the details of James’ suit for divorce and Leola’s contesting of it. Their relationship was complicated to say the least.  She also saw the Veterans’ Administration records of the battle for mom’s rights as a widow.

If the marriage didn’t originate in paradise, the in-laws seemed to come from somewhere far south of it.  They fought Leola over benefits and she was even assaulted.  Still, Marylou wanted to know about the other side of the family.   She continued the detective work to no avail.

Marylou had uncovered a story that would be considered shocking from the point of view of middle class values.  Yet for all of Leola’s tangled life, the Williams household, as Marylou tells it, was no zone of dysfunction.  It chugged along through adversity with a strong personality at the helm.  

Searching for your history can be a minefield as Oedipus found out, but who among us could shield our eyes no matter how devastating the revelation?  Walking In Her Shoes is not a long book.  You will turn the pages quickly and regret that it ends so fast.

Marylou Depeiza is Boston born and bred.  A graduate of Boston State (now merged with UMass Boston), she has been an actress for over 20 years.  Wife and grandmother, this is her first book.  She is currently working on a murder mystery.

Marylou has an author page on Amazon at

http://www.amazon.com/Marylou-Depeiza/e/B0055L19XG.

Review of Straightling: A Memoir

Below is a book review from the April 2013 issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine, Page 8 about a rehab form hell.
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Book Review

Book tells story of a straightened-out victim

Straightling: A Memoir

By Cyndy Drew Etler

Lucky 17 Publishing, 2012

Paperback, 229 pages

ISBN 978-1469902807

List: $9.99 Amazon: $9.99

By Richard Morchoe

Dissident Vladimir Bukovsky related a story about the Soviet regime, “One nasty morning Comrade Stalin discovered that his favorite pipe was missing. Naturally, he called in his henchman, Lavrenti Beria, and instructed him to find the pipe. A few hours later, Stalin found it in his desk and called off the search. "But, Comrade Stalin," stammered Beria, "five suspects have already confessed to stealing it."

We can only imagine the brutality of a totalitarian regime that could make people confess to things they never did and be glad it could never happen here, except that it could and did.  Not only that, those who admitted to things they never did, came to believe their own guilt.

There were no guard towers surrounding the installations in this country.  Barbed wire did not encircle the venues.  Rubber hoses and truncheons were not used to force confessions and yet, they occurred.  A Gestapo or KGB did not search for deviations from orthodoxy to ensnare the deviant.  It was much more effective because of whom the betrayer was, mom and dad.

Cyndy Drew Etler spent 18 months in Straight Inc.  She was willing to confess to near anything except the Soviet Dictator’s pipe and she might have done that if it could have conceivably held marijuana.  Not that she had vast experience with cannabis. 

Cyndy was a teenager from Connecticut with a few problems, but she was not a hardcore drug user or alcoholic.  Not untypical of her contemporaries, she had been drunk once and stoned twice.  She was guilty of having a troubled home life.   Her stepfather molested her and her mother was not notable for being aware or interested.

She dealt with the unpleasant domestic situation by staying away, crashing with friends until the authorities became involved.  Her time at Janus House for Youth in Crisis, a place for a short-term stay, felt like Nirvana compared to home. 

Given a choice, she chose foster care over being sent home.  Home has to be pretty bad for a child to want to be placed with strangers.  Most 14 year olds think parents the enforcers of unreasonable rules and regulations.  In spite of that, few would want to leave the familiar hearth for the unknown.

 It was not to be.  Apathy Mom all of a sudden got involved and signed her into an organization endorsed by Princess Di, already a living saint, but not yet a dead goddess.  Nancy Reagan had also given her imprimatur.  What could be more wholesome?

Sold to her as a boarding school, the truth dawned soon after arrival when the system of restraint, holding belt loops, was used on her.  There were no artsy, cool hippy type teachers as she had anticipated.  Instead, an intake interview was an inquisition to start the policy of breaking her down.

Cyndy didn’t have a clue as to what was happening to her.  For a while she thought that they would see she is not a druggie and let her go home.  That hardly worked so she figured to give them what they wanted. 

In one of the group sessions she “shares” her account of the beating and molestation at the hands of Jacque, her stepfather.  She felt support and understanding and that will lead to her liberation.

Boy was she deluded.  In the next group session, she was told to stand and was asked, “Why’d your father beat you, Cyndy” It does not go well.  The inquisitor screams in her face, “Parents don’t put a hand on their kid for no reason!  What did you do to make him beat you?”

In the same vein, he accuse her of initiating the molestation by being a flirt.  The Borg now has her soul.

Years ago, I read the book, Prisoner of Mao by Bao Ruo-Wang.  He was able to escape the Chinese Gulag because he held French citizenship, being half Corsican.  His account of how a prisoner is broken down is eerily like Cyndy’s.  Still, at its worst, he never believed in his own guilt as fully as Ms. Etler would.  Even when Cyndy is released, she accepts she is a druggie. 

Straightlings did not stay at Straight at night.  They were sent out to homes in the community for a good dose of family.  Just your average clan that locks and alarms every door and window through a confirmation process and observes even your bodily functions.  So what’s the point of dispersing everybody?  Why not just have a residential community?

This is where it gets really cute.  By sending the kids out, Straight was officially non-residential and thus needed only a day treatment license.  Inspections and oversight were lighter for that.  The creators of the program had thought of everything.

Cyndy and others who went through the programs generated enormous amounts of cash for Straight.  Her mother used the money her father, Smith College music professor and composer, Alvin Etler, had left her for her education.  

Did it ever do any good?  Judging by the number of suicides of former Straight attendees, the program’s efficacy may be in doubt.

Eventually, Cyndy was able to shake herself out of the Stockholm syndrome and realize that she had admitted to things that had not happened.  The result is her book.  Stylistically, it is almost stream of consciousness.  This may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but you feel you are with her.  If you are old enough to have been around the block a few times, you almost want to yell, “Hey, Cyndy, you’re being set up.” 

Cyndy’s relationship with her mom is minimal.   Jacque was litigated, but not prosecuted.  Straight is out of business, but successor operations are out there.  The question becomes is our national paranoia about drugs worth it?   One hopes there is a path that can be followed with more wisdom or less foolishness.  What is being done now is not working.

Why do I have a pen name

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Below is my column from the July, 2012 Sturbridge Times Magazine, Page 20 explaining why I felt it necessary to be less common.

NOM DE PLUME

BY RICHARD MORCHOE (THE ARTIST FORMERLY KNOWN AS RICHARD MURPHY)

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet."

Such are the words of Juliet as she tells her Romeo he is not his name.  Is that true?  Is what we are called merely an incidental aspect of our lives?  I’m not sure, but I have a problem with my name.  There are way too many Murphys.

To give you an idea of what I’m up against, nobody in Massachusetts will ever say, “You know the problem with this state is you can never find anybody with the last name Murphy.”  It may not be the most common surname around, but there are a lot of us.

That is not the worst of it.  Murphy is the go to name for humorous treatment of Irish people.  Whether it’s Funky Murphy’s bar or the song, “Who threw the overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder,” we are the victims of our name.  We don’t even get royalties for Murphy’s Law.

Someone hears your name, they figure you are an expert or at least a source of Irish information.  In my case that might not be completely untrue.  I do have a lot of friends and relatives who are Irish.    There is a lot of Irish history I know, but I am a history nerd and probably know more about someone else’s ethnic record because that is my interest.

Then there is the subject of alcohol.  I am no teetotaler, but there is the assumption sight unseen that I must drink more than average due to my Hibernian ancestry.  True, in college I did my part to keep the American brewery industry healthy, but failed to become an alcoholic.  Though I can happily ingest the odd pint of Guinness, my preference is more vin rouge avec le diner.  

It has become such that when people ask me something that assumes i am Irish, I tell them my ancestry is full blooded Italian.  Upon their skepticism, I reply that when my great grandfather Giuseppe di Merfi came to immigration, those horrible Irish made him drop the di and change Merfi.  I then claim the cost in therapy for the family has been brutal.  Considering the number of people who actually believe that foolishness, I should think about becoming a conman.

I had thought a unique first name would solve the problem for my children.  I didn’t name my son Sue as in the Johnny Cash song.  There would have been no point to that as there are too many Sue Murphys.  He was given a name that I thought no one in America would possess.  Wrong.  I was sure until my sister handed me a business card of a co-worker with my son’s name.  I fleetingly thought it would have been good idea to use exotic names of other ethnicities, but Genghis Murphy doesn’t really work.

Then there was the recent Russian sleeper spy ring that was caught.  One of the spies was named Richard Murphy.  I am no expert on the subject of slavic nomenclature, but my guess is that Murphy was not the man’s original tag.

Getting other peoples’ mail can also be interesting.  Unfortunately there were never any checks.  Someone else with my name was the patient of the same doctor.  I would get notices that I was long delinquent on the bill.  Being considered a deadbeat by the man I was entrusting with my health is not where I wanted to be.

For a writer, the name is much too common.  Yet actually, I am proud to be a Murphy.  My family and ancestors suffered occupation and oppression and never gave in.  I don’t want to change my name, only its form. In fact Murphy itself is an Anglicization, and there is a form, Morchoe, which is more Irish though it does not sound so.  People will mistake me for something else, or nothing else.  I’m okay with that.  Best of all, there are no other Richard Morchoes in the country, or maybe the world.  Go ahead, google it.  There are nada, zip, zero.  When Richard Murphy is searched there are over seven million.

Maybe Juliet was completely wrong and we are our names.  Maybe I’ll be a changed man with a nom de plume.  My family might aver that it would not be a bad thing.  

Anyway, I never had a pen name before.

The Gift of Insecurity

The column below appeared in the December, 2010 issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine.

November saw much discussion in the media about the vast resources allocated to insure the president’s safe trip to India.  There was some disagreement about the number of naval vessels that would accompany him.  Even the lesser number than originally quoted would have been enough to destroy all but the world’s largest navies.  To insure a peaceful sleep, it sounded as if every hotel room in Mumbai was to be reserved, just in case.

The security mania did not start with the incumbent and Mumbai does have an image problem around safety after the 2008 siege.  Still, the recent foreign tour highlights what to some, namely me, might seem a problem.

An article, Lunch With George, written by the publisher and editor of this publication has been on my mind since it appeared in the August of 2008 issue.  Paul Carr wrote about an afternoon spent in the near company of George Bush the elder.   I did not think his portrayal of the ex president to be unsympathetic, but neither was it fawning.  It was a day in the life of a man who had had his day in the sun.  The 41st president was just enjoying post celebrity mode.

What I took away from Paul’s article was not about the man being out and noticed by the public.  What caught my eye were the security arrangements.  The man had been out of office over a decade and a half.  The only person known to have it in for him lethally went to the gallows.  Yet, he will be accompanied by men described in the article as “behemoths” as long as he lives.  Every president will have this protection for life.

Contrast this with the current state of travel for an American citizen.  He or she may have to go through a machine that will leave nothing about their anatomy to speculation.  If they opt out of the electronic pat down, the physical one is more demeaning.

So are we being paranoid?  Let’s do the math. It has been reported that we have passed the million mark on our national No Fly List. Breaking down the numbers, on 911 it was a team of 19 men who executed the plan. Assume that there were six liaison, handlers and other staff. That makes up a crew of 25. That means a possible 40,000 terror teams whose potential members we know about, but just won’t let fly. I may never come out from under my bed.

It seems we are going to the National Security State with us all on lockdown. A few years ago a car veered off our street. An officer responded and did a normal investigation. It was a little strange that he was wearing a SWAT uniform. At our town meeting, the department requested and was voted the police version of the M-16. There is almost never an arrest here. It is that boring aspect of the town that we love. Yet, our town dads and moms can be easily stampeded into paranoia.

Never mind that statistics show that we are pretty safe. We are still told that without a constant effort we will be at the mercy of the terrorists. With what we are paying for our Department of Homeland Security, we should not have a care in the world.

There is reason for a climate of fear. We are in danger.  It’s just not the danger being sold. When we screw our courage to the sticking point and finally get in the car to get a slurpie down at a convenience store, we have a good chance of becoming a casualty. Not from Abdul the Jihadi, but from another driver crashing into us. Go and poll undertakers in your region about how many kids they’ve buried due to a drowning in the family pool.  Ask them how many local terrorists have caused any funerals.

So we are heading toward more and more control. We need “Real Id” to make us feel better. In a scene from the movie The Hunt for Red October, Sam Neill's character is talking with Sean Connery's.  Neill talks about how he is going to travel from state to state in his recreational vehicle when he becomes an American. At one point he says, "No papers?" and Connery affirms, "No Papers." It is the difference between a free and unfree country. What will we say when we have to hear, “Your papers, please.”

I expect to be accused  of Lèse majesté for the suggestion I intend to make, but so be it.  It is time to take away the Secret Service protection of presidents and candidates and other officials and people of importance. Now, before giving vent to paroxysms of rage, think about it. A vast sum of money is spent to protect him and a fortune is spent to watch you in your own name. There is no incentive to change the system.

I have no desire to see anyone in government be the victim of any violence. Let me not mince words. I wish it to happen to my lumpen countrymen far less. We should all have the same level of protection or the same risk.

The desire to protect the president is understandable. There have been a number of assassination attempts since JFK. Like all my contemporaries, I remember my circumstances that day. The funeral was spectacle, but it was heart wrenching no less for that.

Since then we’ve had the King shooting, the attempt on Reagan’s life. The multiple bizarre attempts on Ford didn’t help. Remember Arthur Lee Bremer?  We started getting paranoid even about fringe candidates.

That all is true, but the thing about the presidency is there is never a dearth of ambitious men (and some women) who seek it. It is a pinnacle of success. It is also a position of leadership and therefore should not be without risk. Serious risk. Though not a betting man, I would be happy to wager that even without the coterie of guards we now provide, there would still be a surfeit of aspirants.

So how would this reform help anything? If the president cannot have a protecting force for himself, he may be cognizant of a shared risk. Our protection should be his protection and his should be ours. It is theory we should be willing to test.

Who knows, we could get back to a real human presidency. Harry Truman used to walk down to the drugstore by himself in the morning to get the paper. That may never happen, but if the president doesn’t want to go out without a helicopter hovering overhead, he can subscribe.

Oh well, things won’t change.  I should just seek a sinecure that leads to the need for protection. I want three security personnel and a driver on the federal dime. Would be willing to trade one of the agents for a masseuse.

Veritas in Sturbridge:a truly fine dining experience

UPDATE: Sadly Veritas has closed.

Below is my review of the Sturbridge restaurant, Veritas that appeared in the October, 2012 Sturbridge Times Magazine.

Dining Out

Veritas in Sturbridge: a truly fine dining experience

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Since the dawn of humanity, people have been searching for truth.  Finally, we can stop, at least in Sturbridge.  The lovely building at 420 Main Street now is home to Veritas, Latin for truth. 

You will not find philosophers debating what is the good.  Instead, diners seeking victuals and staff preparing and presenting them are there.   When we entered we were cordially greeted and taken into the colonial dining room.

Our waiter, Rick came by to ask if we had a drink order.  We told him that we would choose a wine with the dinner, but would like the fried calamari appetizer.  Rick took the order but quickly returned with a breadbasket.  A buttery sweet potato spread came with the bread.  It seems sweet potato is in everything these days, which is not something to complain about.

The calamari came in due course, served with feta, capers and field greens with an aioli sauce.   It was crunchy and gone quickly.

We ordered dinner when the appetizer arrived, and it came soon after we had finished the calamari. 

My choice was the sauerbraten, a German pot roast.  The menu described it as being made Rupprecht’s way.  Rupprecht’s way is a well-flavored serving of beef.  It was accompanied by a sweet and sour sauce and spaetzle.  I like spaetzle, a soft noodle and the sauce was nice.  Better was the wonderful red cabbage that completed the plate.

Bríd, my daughter, ordered the ahi tuna steak. It was large and cooked medium rare. The noodles, seaweed salad, and ceviche on the side were all full flavor and fun additions

The hit of the afternoon however was the Salmon Oscar my wife ordered.  The salmon itself was pan seared and had a delicate flavor and tenderness.  The asparagus in béarnaise sauce with basil garnish was lovely and of course, who does not love garlic mashed potatoes.

My wife’s desert was the Crème Suchard, which is a light chocolate mousse, whimsically called Moose on the menu.  She described it as delightful.  It is composed of chocolate, whipped cream and cookies and served in a martini glass.

My key lime pie came with pineapple, mango coulis, a cool dish on a warm early evening.

Bríd ordered the bread pudding. She described it as tender, flavorful, and large. Also the brandy sauce was “killer.”

As you approach the restaurant at the front door, there is a sign with the legend, In Vino Veritas.  This is a hint as to the truth Kelly and Kurt Soukup were looking for.  The phrase translates as “In wine, truth.”  It means after enough wine, one cannot lie.  Kelly and Kurt were looking for truth in good wine for a wine bar they contemplated opening in Hartford.  That did not happen, but they loved the name and would use it twice.

What is immediately evident about the couple is they love the restaurant business.  Kurt started at 14 years of age doing dishes at the old Lakehouse in Wilbraham.  His true education began at the Student Prince, a Springfield Institution.  Under the tutelage of Chef Rupprecht he learned everything from butchering to the formal tableside service.

Kelly started waitressing 14 years ago.  Obviously, she got along with Kurt and now gets to run the front of the operation.  This is not the first Veritas.  On the American Caribbean island of Vieques, they operated an open-air restaurant for three years.  They still own the home they built there.

The Soukups came back to Massachusetts because of family.  It can’t be the weather.  Fortunately they found 420 Main Street and signed a lease.  They have only praise for the landlords at the 420 complex who have been there for them.

Everything is made on the property, including catsup and pickles.  They do their best to source locally.  Their goal is to be consumer friendly and economy friendly given the current financial environment. 

The happy hour menu is a budget bill of fare.  Especially so is the build your own burger option.  The toppings list is exhaustive.  Mondays is burger and beer night, a pint of the beer of the month and a 9oz burger is $11.

We also sampled the Stone Pie.  No, it is not a pie made of stone, but a pizza made in a stone oven.  We have good pizza in Sturbridge, but the stone pie is New Haven style, which is popular in the lower Nutmeg State.  New Haven style pizza in Sturbridge is news.  We sampled the Giardino, a vegetable topped thin crust pie.   There is a Wednesday deal of $30 for a pizza and bottle of wine from the Forever $21 wine list.

On Sunday nights, Prime Rib is on special.

The interior of the dining rooms is in an appealing colonial décor.  The bar upstairs is a cozy room.  Kurt’s mom made all the drapes and his dad framed the prints.  Veritas is a welcome addition to the Sturbridge restaurant lineup.

You can read more about Veritas at http://veritasma.com/.

Tax The Poor

Below is my column from the February 1, 2013 issue of the Sturbridge Times Magazine.  I take some vindication from the linked Christian Science Monitor article titled, New Tax Law will increase the burden on the poor. 

Anyway, the article is below.  Enjoy if you can.

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The fiscal cliff has come and gone and no doubt will come again.  As always, a deal was done, and the figurative can was kicked down the road.

A constant drumbeat during the run-up to the agreement was that if the exchequer could just put its hands in the pockets of the rich, why nirvana would ensue.  To cliché it, the tax the rich meme went viral.

I’m from a working class family and as resentful of my betters as the next guy.  The pitchfork is by the door and ready at a moments notice to storm the Bastille with me, at least rhetorically.

Certain segments of the wealthy should be fair game.  The ongoing crisis that began in 2008 had its origin in large banking institutions that are “Too Big To Fail” otherwise known as TBTF.  What that means is, as is said, that if they are allowed to sink, they crash civilization. 

In the recent presidential election, neither candidate addressed the too big to fail issue.  The incumbent never said that he had been working on the problem and the solution was in hand, because he hadn’t.  The challenger never suggested it would be a priority of his administration because he would have gargled razor blades rather than touch it had the votes had been counted in his favor.

We had a measure in place that kept the banks from getting TBTF.  It was called Glass-Steagall.  The Glass-Steagall Act of 1933, passed in a previous era of economic turmoil, prohibited Commercial Banks from engaging in the investment business.  What the act meant was succinctly put by economist and author of the book, Currency Wars.  James Rickards.  Rickards wrote on August 27, 2012 for US News and World Report, that under Glass-Steagall, “Banks would be allowed to take deposits and make loans.  Brokers would be allowed to underwrite and sell securities.  But no firm could do both due to conflicts of interest and risks to insured deposits.  From 1933 to 1999, there were very few large bank failures and no financial panics comparable to the panic of 2008.  The law worked exactly as intended.”

If life was not horrible under Glass-Steagall, why was it thrown overboard?  This can be explained by the nature of our party structure.  An anonymous Republican congressional staffer is credited with saying, “In America we have a two-party system.  There is the stupid party, and the evil party.  I am proud to be a member of the stupid party” The man then said, “Periodically, the two parties get together and do something that is both stupid and evil.  This is called bipartisanship.” 

Deep-sixing Glass-Steagall was bipartisanship at its most stupidly evil.  The people had not risen up and called for repeal.  Almost none of them had ever heard of it.  That’s what happens in a nation with a surfeit of laws.  No, it was the world of finance that used their influence to get what they wanted.  When they had sucked as much as they could out of the system, and it all started to go south, they went crying to the government for succor.  The bankers were all for profits staying privatized, but supported a healthy socialism when it came to losses.

So, a class of people did some looting on a vast scale and got away with it.  The cry has gone up, “Make them pay their fair share.”  To paraphrase the old western horse operas, “Taxing is too good for them.”  Unfortunately, they had gamed the system so that apparently the law, if not the force, is with them.  Of course, The SEC and the Department of Justice have been desultory at best in pursuing the wrongdoers.   There have been a few wrist slaps to pretend action, but nothing substantial.  We can’t even sentence them to having to listen non-stop to ABBA piped into jail cells for a few hours.  Okay, that is going overboard.

Taxing a class sounds like a fantastic idea.  Not all the rich were bankers and many provide honest employment for their fellow citizens.  Still, there is an argument that adjusting the tax rates upwards is a good thing.  The problem is, it is no panacea.  Most economists have admitted it can’t work magic. 

Taxing the rich inevitably reaches down into the pockets of the middle-class.  Don’t think so?  I have three letters for you, AMT.  They stand for Alternative Minimum Tax.  I don’t remember if it was Chet Huntley or John Chancellor or another newsreader in the 60s intoning in a serious talking head voice about an injustice.  The evil rich were getting away with murder.

By investing in municipal bonds, wealthy members of society were able to avoid federal taxes on the interest.  In doing this, they received a lower interest rate allowing governmental units to finance schools or bridges or other projects.  That did not matter.  Something had to be done.

What was done was the Alternative Minimum Tax.  In the early 1990s, the law was changed so the AMT could also tax people with lower incomes.  Our compassionate solons, troubled by the injustice, yearly “patch” it so most, but not all, of the middle class escapes.  Nothing permanent is ever done, though.

Adjusting the tax on the rich may raise a few dollars and make us feel good, but won’t solve the problem.  Taxing the middle-class other than the status quo is considered bad form.  What’s left?  Why of course, doing what has been done most consistently throughout history, taxing the poor. 

Unconscionable you say.  Balderdash.  We already tax the poor horribly, and couch it in terms of doing it for their own good.  The cigarette tax falls disproportionately on the shoulders of folks in the lower income bracket.  I have never heard a non-smoking fellow citizen decry this as an injustice though it raises the price of a small pleasure several times.  Taxes on alcohol are not light, but see how far you get proposing an excise that triples the cost of single malt out of compassion for the health of the wealthy.

Throughout history societies sooner or later get around to taxing the poor.  This can be fraught with danger.  Take the French aristocracy who had their heads handed to them.  No, a federal tax on the downtrodden will have to be done shrewdly.

Fortunately, there is a way to do it that, if not loved, will be embraced with enthusiasm.  In this the states have shown the way.  Many of us have stood in line waiting to pay for gas or coffee at a convenience store.  Often there is someone ahead of us taking what seems years to make several choices.  To the more highly evolved, they are wasting time, but to that man or woman, it is a momentous choice.  With each new day, it is the most important decision of their life.  If their choice of scratch ticket or lottery numbers is correct, the drudge job they hate is history, at least till the money runs out.

As a math professor once said, “The lottery is a tax on people who can’t do math.”  It is the shrewdest form of impost ever devised.  Why should not the federals use it to solve our ongoing fiscal crises?  A nightly national Powerball drawing will beat even Dancing With The Stars’ ratings.

Ah well, this may take a while to come to pass.  There are a few tricks left like a trillion dollar platinum coin so why worry.  After all the Congress saw it’s duty, came together and raised taxes on the elite, and while you were feeling good on you too, Mr. and Mrs. Two Earner Family.

Yup. The two percent increase in payroll tax will affect you more than anything that might have been done to Warren Buffett

My countrymen and women, you were like marks for a three-card monte dealer.  While the barker kept yelling beat the rich, he took your money.

Bipartisanship, ya gotta love it.