G.H. Lawrence & Associates Blog

Yes, it was emotional watching the American journalists disembark their jetliner this morning after 140 days or so of captivity in North Korea. The cable TV networks went nuts about the two women embracing their families, a mere few feet from the plane that had delivered them. One hugged her young daughter. Both hugged their parents. Good television for sure — and, like most people, I was moved. But enough of that. I got nearly as big a kick out of watching good ol’ Bill Clinton swaggering down the gangway and onto that toasty tarmac.

Give ol’ Bill some credit: First, he did the classy thing and allowed the journalists to exit first and take plenty of time with their families. He waited a good 10 minutes or so before he left the plane. When he did, he quietly chatted with the families and exchanged a few hugs. When it came time for the thank-yous and speeches, he said nothing. After journalist Laura Ling gave some heartfelt and well-rehearsed remarks, it was Al Gore, her employer at Current News TV, who took the microphone. Ol’ Bill stood in the background, grinning silently like the aging cat he has become. That’s not like the Clinton of old. Could it be he’s aging gracefully? I hear some people actually learn from their mistakes.

Of course, ol’ Bill had plenty to grin about. First, he had succeeded in an act of diplomacy that resulted in the release of innocent Americans. He was freshly back home from a tense few days in one of the most mysterious and dangerous countries in the world. But as much as anything, he must have been feeling a great sense of accomplishment — enough to enhance his sometimes-lumpy legacy.

The freed journalists said they had no clue they were being released until they were led to a meeting room. When the doors opened, they were shocked to see Bill Clinton standing there before them. It was then they knew they were safe. Forget about this morning’s photo ops at the airport: I’d rather see some footage from that moment. (I’m certain it exists: The North Koreans are said to have video cameras planted everywhere.)

I’m a Democrat and I almost always fell in line with ol’ Bill’s politics. I found him, and still do, to be a likeable guy. When I met him, he was charming and fully engaged, looking me right in the eye and gripping my hand hard and tight. But of course, there’s the whole Monica business. I wasn’t especially bothered by the fact that our smooth-talking president had an affair. To me, that was personal business. But I was angered by the fact that he lied about it. That whole thing involving the definition of the word “is” was, and still “is,”  bull.

So this morning, ol’ Bill stood by and soaked up the moment. His hair is no longer gray, but instead fluffy, flashy white. His face is more weathered than ever. But for my two cents, he looks pretty good. I also have a feeling that as more time passes, Clinton will become a greater former president. Look what’s happened to Jimmy Carter. Say what you will about ol’ Bill, but I was impressed with what he did this time. I suspect the Americans he brought home were too.

Headlines surrounding the Mary Easley mess at N.C. State University have quieted down recently, but a couple of events last week are still worthy of attention. The school’s former provost, Larry Nielsen, spent a whopping 5.5 hours testifying before a grand jury looking into the situation. Meanwhile, the new chairman of the NCSU trustees, Lawrence Davenport, called for an investigation into how things at my alma mater went so wrong so fast. Nielsen’s lengthy testimony shows how serious the situation remains. Davenport’s call to action suggests that, hopefully, Wolfpack leaders understand that.

Anyone who thought this stuff was going away soon was naïve or uninformed. My sources ensure me it’s not.

We don’t know exactly what the grand jury is looking for, but whatever it is probably will not be pretty. Former Chancellor James Oblinger has also testified — and goodness knows he must have had plenty to say. Will former first lady Mary Easley also be called? How about her husband, former Gov. Mike Easley? Regardless of who gets the next chance to serenade the jury, the Wolfpack will be back in the headlines — almost certainly in a negative light.

That’s why Davenport’s call for an investigation is so important. At this stage of things, the university must illustrate to the public that it’s taking the situation very, very seriously. That can’t be stressed enough. Beyond the need to ensure that screwups like this don’t happen again, the school must come out on the other side  with it’s reputation as unscathed as possible. As I’ve said before, N.C. State simply cannot afford anymore hits on its reputation, especially with Duke and UNC just down the road. Those schools tend of have sparkling reputations. In terms of sheer public relations, they both make for tough competition.

What will happen next? Something tells me we may hear more about the former governor before long. I don’t think I’m alone in wanting to hear more about his role in all this — as well as questions about the handling of his last campaign. The governor likely will have some questions to answer for the state Elections Board. That’s good for N.C. State supporters. Anything that shines a brighter light on the entire situation is good news. The only way State is going to put this catastrophe behind it is for the entire truth to emerge, warts and all. Sooner that happens, the better.

The last time I paid this much attention to Senate hearings for a Supreme Court nomination it was September 1991 and the nominee was Clarence Thomas. There have been several nominations worth our attention since then — heck, all of them are important — but I’ve not had the time or inclination to follow any hearings so carefully since Thomas found himself under that glaring heat lamp back in ‘91.

If I remember correctly, that was one of the first nominations to be covered on live radio and, I believe, television. I listened to the process relentlessly on NPR. It was early fall and I was about to move from Raleigh to Durham. My father was in town from D.C. and he and I drove around the Bull City for days looking for an appropriate spot for a young, single newspaper editor to set up housekeeping. I wasn’t happy about the move. The News & Observer was forcing me to make the change along with my new assignment to oversee its first genuine foray into Chapel Hill and Durham as news markets. The job represented a promotion for me and I was glad to take it. The move was not something I had bargained for and, so I was doing it under protest. A longtime Raleigh resident, I didn’t know my way around Durham. It seemed distant and a bit mysterious. For a lot of us back then, Durham was that funky, almost exotic place between Raleigh and Chapel Hill. Beyond a few Bulls games, my friends and I just didn’t spend much time there.

Anyhow, in September 1991 my father and I drove all over Durham with the sunroof open in my ancient BMW 320i and the Thomas hearings blaring on the radio. Every hour or so, we’d stop at the old Wellspring Grocery for espresso. We were always wired. So were the hearings. Anita Hill and all that. It was fascinating.

Now, 18 years later, we have another historic nomination on our hands. Television coverage of such hearings is commonplace. As usual for me, I’m getting my politics from MSNBC. Like 1991, it’s fascinating.

I approve of Judge Sotomayor. I like her blend of legal expertise and real world experience. The notion that justices should not allow life experiences to creep into their decisions is ludicrous. Older white men will always look at the world a certain way. So will Latino women. It’s only natural.

Watching these hearings, I can’t help but feeling older. A lot of water has swept under the bridge since that fall of 1991 — for me personally and for the nation. I’ve lived in Durham ever since. I have a family and we like it here. I believe Durham combines the best the Triangle has to offer — not as trafficky and sprawling as Raleigh, yet larger and more urbane than Chapel Hill. As I sit here with my laptop, trying to get some work done, I’m glad I’m not driving around looking for a new place to live. I’m glad the United States has come far enough that someone like Sotomayor seems a shoo-in for a place on the court. I’m glad someone like Al Franken has made it to the U.S. Senate. (Who, in 1991, especially among Saturday Night Live fans, could have imagined Franken as a Senator?) I’m glad to have such complete TV coverage of these hearings, in high definition no less. The past 18 years have been a ride for all of us. Something tells me the next 18 may be more remarkable than anything we’ve seen so far. Stay tuned.

As our canoe rounded a bend in the south fork of the New River this morning, our Ashe County solitude was interrupted  by a large dump truck plundering along a makeshift road just ahead, creating a chalky cloud of dust and a grinding racket. Another quarter-mile down river and we could see the truck’s destination: a development of small mansions popping up on newly cleared riverside lots. Already, the parcels were adorned with cheesy-looking lamp posts intended to resemble something from the London of Charles Dickens. We picked up the pace and escaped the noise and ruined view. Soon, all was peaceful again.

The canoe trip ended up being a lot of fun for me, my wife and our son. But I was left with questions about how quickly scenes like the one with the dump truck are being repeated, prompting one local to remark: “Ashe is for sale. Yep, the whole county.” He was only half joking.

Ashe County is one of my favorite places in North Carolina. The weather’s just right, the views are spectacular, the people are friendly and the river is just about always nearby. My wife and I have been casually looking at land there for years. But the longer we wait, the more bothersome all the changes become.

Of course, a similar trend is occurring all over the western part of the state — and our coastline is just about maxed out. But there’s something about the way it’s happening in Ashe County that worries me especially. Admittedly, I don’t know a lot about the local development restrictions. I certainly don’t follow the actions of the Ashe County Board of Commissioners. But why is it I get the feeling a fire sale is under way each time I cross the county line? I understand that people have a right to do what they please with their property, to make money from it if they can. Heck, if I had a bundle of buildable land in the mountains, I might choose to peddle some myself. On the other hand, this mountain land of ours is awfully special, a limited edition. Like the saying goes: God’s not making any more of this stock.

So I guess I’m a just cake-and-eat-it-too guy. I want my wooded homestead with a view. But I don’t want that view to include a bunch of subdivisions. Isn’t that the American Dream?

The image of Michael Jackson that sticks with me is one of a youthful, joyful, soulful kid dancing and singing his heart out on a 1970 television broadcast. I can’t remember what the show was — or what he and his brothers were singing, though it was probably “ABC,” or something similar — but that doesn’t really matter. What matters for me is the impression these five kids from Gary, Indiana, had on me and just about everyone I knew.

As a kid, I loved the Jackson 5, with this amazing young dude fronting one of the funkiest bands I’d seen. He and I were almost exactly the same age, he being three months my elder. That being the case, he struck a chord in me I don’t think resonated quite as intensely with others. Michael wore those colorful outfits on stage. He could sing, dance and blow you away you with his charm. Of course, I could do none of those things — except perhaps charm my parents. As an 11-year-old growing up in Eastern North Carolina, I was more of a Beatles and Rolling Stones guy. But I knew what I liked. And I liked the Jackson 5 a lot, too.

In the aftermath of his death, watching the clips on TV with Michael wearing those “royalty” outfits from the early 1990s, I can’t help but think of him in similar terms as Elvis Presley. Two kings. I liked Elvis a lot, and I’m old enough to have enjoyed his music. But it was a different connection. He was older, from a slightly different generation. A king, yes. But with another court.

On this early morning of Saturday, June 27, the media obsession with Michael continues. Frankly, despite the nostalgia his death has stirred in me, it’s time to move on. This may sound harsh, but enough Michael. Problems in Iran are escalating. A critical bill in Congress addressing global warming is in play. The North Carolina Legislature is still trying to solve a serious budget crisis. Michael, rest peacefully. But it’s time to go. Maybe next time there’s an Elvis sighting, you’ll be at his side.

So now we know what South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford has been up to: weeping for five days in Argentina. After watching his painfully tedious news conference just now, I feel like doing my own weeping. After nearly 10 minutes of buildup, Sanford finally choked out the words that are now so familiar in politics — “I have been unfaithful to my wife.” Goodness, how shocking.

Don’t get me wrong: I believe in the institution of marriage. Myself, I’ve been happily married to the same wonderful woman for 15 years, and I intend to keep it that way. But frankly, I don’t care all that much that Sanford had an affair. I know a lot of people will not agree, but for me, that’s his business. I find it more outrageous that he lied about his whereabouts, even to his own staff. Instead of hiking on the Appalachian Trail, as he claimed, Sanford really had flown off to South America to be with “the other woman.” So to recap: He leaves his own state unattended. He lies to everyone about where he’s gone. He darts off to sunny Buenos Aires, where he hooks up with his lover. He tells authorities he didn’t answer their calls because his cell phone battery was dead. For several days, no one in South Carolina knew where their governor was. If anything, it seems to me the worst thing this guy did was abandon his post — then lie about it.

I’m not especially surprised about the recent admissions of extra-marital affairs among public officials, including our own John Edwards and former New York Gov. Elliott Spitzer. Such things happen all the time in our society. No one should ever think elected officials are fundamentally different from the next guy or gal on the street. Same with professional athletes. We shouldn’t be so surprised when they get in trouble, either.

In the end, we’re all pretty much cut from the same cloth. Elected officials are good at politics and, we hope, doing the peoples’ business. But they’re human. Private lives are just that — private. Still, once they take that oath, officials in positions like the governor of South Carolina really ought to alert their secretaries when they’ve left the office for the day. That goes double for jaunts to Buenos Aires. You erred badly on that front, Mark Sanford. Weep on.

Watching the U.S. Open golf tournament this past weekend, and into Monday, reminded me of our own North Carolina General Assembly: stop, start, wait a few hours, wait another day, fight it out until we get a winner. When will the winner emerge from the Legislature?

Personally, I was pulling for Phil Mickelson in the Open. Then I saw David Duval in contention so I began to pull for him. No one has fallen farther, faster than Duval. Once the best golfer in the world, he really fell off the proverbial map. Ranked No. 882 in world going into the Open, he finished second and actually had a good chance to win. What a story that would have been.

So as we drone on through the summer, insiders say the Legislature may be meeting well into August. I think that’s pretty much a guarantee. They’ll probably stop, start, wait a few hours, wait another day or so, fidget and scream at each other many times before this budget mess is worked out. Who will emerge the winner? Probably no one. But if there’s anyone who parallels David Duval, someone to root hard for down the stretch, it would have to be the education budget. We can’t afford to chop away when it comes to our schools. Cut transportation and everywhere else. Raise the alcohol and tobacco tax as much as you need. But leave education alone.

If it takes an extra session to get it right, like the U.S. Open did, then so be it. Let them meet through September if necessary. Just don’t fiddle with education.

Have you seen those TV commercials touting that their products are somehow superior because they’re old-fashioned? Attempting to take advantage of our tough economic times and overspending, some geniuses on Madison Avenue decided to sell the idea that certain companies have had enough of all this free-wheeling madness and are putting their foot down to stop it. For instance, Shredded Wheat is touting that its product has been roughly the same as it was a century or more ago, when it was invented. “We put the no in innovation,” the slogan screams. Jeez. It’s shredded wheat. Somehow I think our society screwed up the economy on a level that didn’t really involve old-timey breakfast cereals.

I’ll give the ad hotshots this much: It’s clever. But in the end, this kind of mess doesn’t work. Part of our problem these days is that too many of us treat others as if they were morons. That’s what this feels like to me.

Things are indeed a mess today, on all kinds of fronts. What will get us out of the situation is forward thinking and sophisticated, intelligent strategies. We also need everyone onboard to help get this mess fixed. I once counted myself something of an intellectual snob, but I’ve been brought down to more humble standing after encountering plenty of others who knew more than I did, even if they drove a pickup truck and wore work boots. As they say, it’s tough finding out you’re not the smartest person in the room.

That’s an important lesson. Maybe more these days than ever. Somebody tell the ad freaks who drummed up these campaigns for firewood-dry wheat cereal.

So today’s the day we all go digital. Television, they promise us, will never be the same. Is that really true?

Things at our house seemed eerily familiar when I rolled out of bed this morning, stumbled downstairs to pour a cup of coffee, then turned on the small TV in our kitchen. (It’s one of those cool little flat screens that hide under a cabinet, then pop down when you need ‘em. When we had our kitchen remodeled a year or so ago, this was my single reward for being patient while the refrigerator and range were in the hallway for six months. She picked the tile, the floor, the appliances and paint. I got the pop-down TV. Hands down, it’s one of the best purchases I’ve ever made.) Anyhow, a normal signal is what I found when I checked all the sets in our house, including, beyond the kitchen rig, the big, fancy HD television in our family room and even the 12-year-old cable-ready Sanyo I keep on a wall in the garage. (You never know when an important ballgame might be on while you’re doing chores in the garage. It’s astonishing how often it actually happens. Really.) Yep, on all our sets, it was business as usual. So, as far as I could tell, at least first thing this morning, there wasn’t much in this national digital event for my household. We were already getting a nice, clean digital picture. Still are. I guess the much-anticipated crossover was a silent bomb for us.

But hold on a minute. What’s that in the mail? My goodness, it’s our Time-Warner Cable bill. What fine timing!

Turns out the real bombshell was inside today’s bill. Our household was smacked for a total of $166.37 for a month of TWC service. That includes $71.95 for Digital Cable service; $11.50 for HBO; $10.95 for DVR service; $6.95 for HD Plus Tier (whatever that is); $5.90 for two extra movie packages that include Sundance and Encore; and $41.95 for Highspeed Internet Service. Then there were two downloaded movies. I paid $4.99 for an HD version of ‘The Wrestler’ a few weeks back, when my family was away for the weekend. (Mickey Rourke was as good as advertised.) And later my son and I dropped another $3.99 for something called ‘A Plumm Summer,’ which wasn’t bad either. Add $8.19 for taxes and you’ve managed to blow a cool $166.37.

I know, I know: Times have changed. This bill reflects so many more services than I, as a child, could have ever dreamed possible. But on some kind of intrinsic level, it’s still a bill for television service. Yeah, it’s fancy television — high definition television. But television nonetheless. Have we all gone mad?

I keep hearing about the day when all the services I just listed, along with phone service and anything else we might want via digital wiring, will be available via one vendor, one package, at one reasonable cost. Not only has that not happened, it seems to be getting worse. For instance, on top of this ridiculous Time-Warner bill that shows up every month, my wife and I each get a mobile phone bill. Hers is pretty straightforward. But my Verizon Mobile bill is just about as ugly as the TWC debacle. One glance and you’re struck by $11.50 here, $24.95 there, $62.75 over that way. Total: roughly $220 a month. For my mobile phone. Granted, this is a legitimate business expense for me. And it does include a separate Blackberry contract and go-anywhere wireless service for my laptop. Regardless, it makes me choke on my lunch just to look at it.

I’ll go way out on a limb here: I bet my family is wasting money somewhere in those bills. Somewhere, buried in the fine print and outdated packages, there’s a vastly cheaper way to get what we need. But we’ll never find it. And no one who works for Time-Warner or Verizon will ever bother to tell us. Hey, here’s a thought: I wonder if there are people who can sort through such messes for a living? If not, there should be. I suspect there’s a rapidly growing market for those who can cut through all that extraneous wiring. Anything that might simplify those ridiculous bills and save us a little money would be a near-miracle.

In these crazy and difficult times, I think it’d be an admirable way to make a living. Whoever does this sort of thing can start with me. Any takers? 

Right off the bat, I must say that I’m a graduate of N.C. State University. I’m proud of it, too. I had a lot of fun in my undergraduate days in West Raleigh — and I even managed to get a fair education. But what’s been happening on campus the past several weeks upsets me mightily. The events surrounding Mary Easley’s employment and the resulting resignation of State’s chancellor, Jim Oblinger, have potential to do as much harm to the reputation of my alma mater as any events in recent memory. It hearkens back to the bad old days of Jim Valvano. I was a big Jimmy V fan, frankly, but the ugliness that surrounded his departure from the school did much damage, harm that in some ways lingers today.

Just like the Jimmy V saga, a chancellor has lost his job. Once again, The News & Observer has exposed some unseemly goings-on. Once again, it’s hard to know exactly how much the chancellor knew; how much he prompted; how much he was pressured; how culpable he was. Once again, it’s hard to know how heinous the activities were — how malicious their intent. Was it a matter of disregard for appropriate behavior at the very highest levels? Or was it a series of unfortunate events that started out innocently enough, then snowballed out of control? In the end, I guess it doesn’t matter. The person in charge is the one who must take the fall. It was that way with Bruce Poulton in the 1990s— and it’s that way with Oblinger today.

It’s no secret that State plays third fiddle in the Triangle’s higher education community. Always has, always will. Even with the tremendous boost from technology education, State’s reputation still lags those of its neighbors, Duke and UNC. State always has some ground to make up when compared to its neighbors in Durham and Chapel Hill. The Pack always starts the race at a slight disadvantage, seemingly always running in the outside lane.

I’m still not certain who is primarily to blame for this latest mess at NCSU — Oblinger; his former provost; former trustee chairman McQueen Campbell; or former Gov. Mike Easley. I do know that Easley had no business pushing for his wife’s  employment at NCSU or anywhere else with a state payroll. It matters little that he apparently used a top aide to do his bidding. Easley and his wife should have stayed far away from N.C. State when it came to job opportunities. For that matter, why was she teaching at N.C. Central University before moving to State? Talk about poor judgment.

I can understand the fact that Oblinger might have felt heavy pressure to get something done on Mary Easley’s behalf. But he could have stood firm. And in the aftermath, when the questions began hitting the fan, he could have come clean. At that point, there was no room for fidgeting. Honesty, to a tee, was required. Unfortunately, it sounds like Oblinger gave us less than that.

In some ways, I feel badly for Oblinger. I’m sure he felt like he had little choice in the Easley matter. But in the end, he blew it. He let weakness show through. It’s obvious that Jim Oblinger loves N.C. State. But it’s also obvious he might have been over his head as chancellor. Case in point: Mary Easley.

State is always playing catchup. That’s life in the big leagues. The Wolfpack and its supporters should know that by now. State has no room for error. None at all. When it comes to handling public affairs, the people at State should be clear about what is expected of them. Like all public institutions, honesty is the best policy. Always. Period. That goes double for the Wolfpack.