ARE WE REACHING THE TIPPING POINT ON HEALTH CARE COSTS?

I just finished reading a very informative article in last weeks Time magazine about the health care costs that we, insurance companies and the government pay. One can certainly be outraged at being charged $1.50 for a single Tylonal  tablet that cost the hospital 1.5 cents. But maybe this is pointing to an even bigger outrage; that fact that middle class earnings have declined since the 1970s while the price of health care has only increased. At what point do we find that people just can't afford to get sick? And have we already reached that point?

I think that we're there and have been for a while. The single biggest driver of personal bankruptcy are medical bills. pretty much everybody can name a friend or relative (or themselves) who were charged huge sums for simple procedures and short hospital stays. The usual response from the political class is that greater competition and more transparency will make people better consumers of health care and thus drive costs down. It just never seems to happen. People aren't all that excited about asking the price of a needed health procedure. They're either insured in some way, so that they never actually deal with the price, or they are in no condition to haggle. "Gee, I'm going to have to check that other hospitals price to repair my broken leg." "I'll get back to you." We're not buying washing machines here.

That concept, that health care is not like other goods and services, is at the heart of the problem. When you need medical attention, you need it. In many cases, if you don't get that attention, you will die. Or suffer disabling after effects. Or disabling after effects until you die. None of these is a good outcome for the consumer. But, as the Time article lays out, this produces some very good outcomes for the medical industry. They make loads and loads of money.

Now, it's pretty clear that suggesting that maybe doctors and hospitals and drug companies charge less is seen by some to be... un-American. It brings into question the entire capitalist system that we have created and defend. But, I think that if we can look at it from a slightly different angle, or two, we might just see some light at the end of the tunnel that isn't a train.

As I asked at the start, has the health care industry reached the tipping point beyond which people just can't afford to pay any more? If your health insurance goes up 20% and your paycheck hasn't gone up in three or four years, you may have to do without the insurance. The same is true of increasing co-pays and deductibles. And for the uninsured medical bills can be just devastating. If things don't change, each year will see fewer and fewer consumers of health services. From a business standpoint that would be a very bad thing for the health care industry.

But we don't ever seem to get to that point because health care is a necessity of life. So maybe we need one of those different angles to solve this.

As a society we have determined that for certain things necessary for life we don't want to leave outcomes to the free market economy. The water that comes into your home, even if it's from a private, for profit, company, is heavily regulated. Joe's Water Service can't really compete on price or service because Joe has to meet the same quality level as the city water department. The same is true for sewage collection. We assume that these services will be provided by our city or town, or by a public service district. It wasn't always like that.

In the days before the urbanization brought about by the Industrial Revolution fresh, potable water was hard to come by. Rain barrels and hand pumped wells in the towns and, sometimes, water collected from creeks or streams out in the country. If you were lucky, or your ancestors were smart in selecting their homestead, you had a nice fresh spring bubbling out of the hillside behind the house. Whatever the source, your water needs were pretty much your own problem to solve. And, again, the same is true for sewage and other waste. In the country it was dig a hole and put a shed over it and in the cities, well you really don't want to know about the cities. After the age of throwing "slop" out of the window into the street came the age of cess pools in the back yard and a wagon with a tank, and a hand operated pump, used to empty the nasty pit that your grandpa told you to never play near. (Not a problem. The smell took care of protection just fine) These services were provided by private companies which started with two guys and a wagon and grew to rather large firms with dozens of trucks. Notice, though, you were still on your own. You had to contact the company so have them come and pump out the pit.

After the Industrial Revolution caused cities to explode in size and density, and the old model of taking care of your own needs fell under the weight of too many people need too much food and producing way too much waste. In order to protect the public, as a whole, from water borne and waste borne diseases the cities and towns took over these services. They became public utilities.

The same thing happened with natural gas and electricity. Even though we may be supplied by a private, for profit, company, they and their price structure are regulated by public utility commissions. We really don't want price competition on natural gas services. The safety of the population trumps capitalism in these cases. Electricity and natural gas are just too dangerous for price wars and such. Interestingly, heating oil, and propane have not followed this trend. The reason has to do more with infrastructure (pipelines and wire) than with any other economic or public safety issues. You just can't pump heating oil to individual homes by way of a network of pipes. Particularly in the winter. With respect to electricity the problem is economy of scale. It doesn't make economic sense to generate power all over the map when that power is going to be generated with the burning of coal. Or the damming of a river. Or nuclear power. Those are big business and government projects.

So, we see that certain necessities of life are better distributed to citizens by either their government or companies regulated by their government. And then there's health care.

In the case of health care we have turned the whole on its head. We have huge companies, making huge profits, providing the needs of the citizens with lots and lots of outlets for their "products," with some government regulation, but mostly with the attitude that any other system is socialized medicine and a very bad thing. I just don't get it.

We have a necessity of life, health care, that we purposely leave in the hands of private enterprise, and we wonder why the cost keeps going up. Please note that, even though Medicare and Medicaid are government programs, they're designed as a way to pay private health care providers. Not to provide health care. And that is the heart of the matter. We didn't dream up "sewage-aid" or "water-care" to help pay for those necessities of life. No, governments stepped up and took the burden on themselves. Your public utility provides the water or the sewage removal.

I'm afraid that only such a public utility model can cure the health care mess that we find ourselves in. I think we have to look at what the rest of the industrialized world has done and pick out the best practices and adopt Universal Public Health Care for all. Not some patched together Frankenstein monster like we have today, but a real national health care provider. The doctors would work for the government and nonprofit hospitals would actually not make huge profits. The government would fund drug research directly and the consumer would reap the benefit of cancer drugs that don't cost $15,000 a dose. We could, in fact, become civilized. Oh, who am I kidding. Civilized doesn't buy politicians. The health care industry sure does! 

LET'S TALK ABOUT GUNS

This may come as a shock to some of you, but I am what you would call a Bill of Rights absolutist. That is to say, on issues involving our Constitution's first ten amendments, what you see is what you get. The Second Amendment protects a persons right to "keep and bear arms." That's pretty much it. And my reasoning is also pretty simple. If someone, a bad guy, attempts to harm me or my family with a firearm, I shouldn't have to wait for the police or resort to throwing pots and pans at the guy in order to protect us. I don't think that it's a very hard concept to understand, but I can see where the other side is coming from.

Americans have always been quick to ban or outlaw things, or behaviors, that are thought to cause problems in society. Alcohol, drugs, porn, adultery (see The Scarlet Letter) are just a few examples. We, of course, miss the bigger picture most of the time so we get fun things like the organized crime that was the direct result of Prohibition in the 1920s. The same is true of guns. If we just ban the damn things the problem will go away. Sorry, it won't.

In the current debate over gun control a rather large majority of people believe that so called Universal Background Checks will keep guns out of the hands of nut jobs and criminals. It's a nice idea. It just can't work.

A little personal history might help explain why. Back in the day when my first wife and I moved to a 121 acre farm in rural West Virginia I was a gun owner. The first was a .22 cal rifle, with a scope, that I purchased, new, from Sears. I think. It was a very long time ago. I do know that a background check was not part of the process. My second gun was a 12 gauge, single shot, shotgun that I paid $21 for at an auction. This gun was old. Old to the point that the first time I fired it the gun was tied to a tree and I pulled the trigger with a fairly long piece of string. Just in case. My third gun was a .30 cal lever action deer rifle that I bought from a friend. That's it.

The .22 was bought for protection. Not our protection. Protection for the chickens that my Ex insisted that we raise. It seems that chickens, and chicken feed, attract what we liked to call Varmints. It also worked very well to kill a steer in preparation for butchering. Sorry, but them's the facts. The only hunting I ever did with it was hunting the huge crow that was destroying our garden one year. Now crows are very smart birds and this one was at the top of the list. Every time I came around the corner of the house, with the gun in hand, said crow took off like a rocket. If I hid the rifle behind my back he'd just sit and look at me until I went to swing the gun into shooting position. Off like a rocket again. Finally I spotted him about 200 yards away in the back field while I was still in the house. Declaring softly, "I'm smarter than a crow," I took the rifle into the bathroom. The window looked out on the field. I got down on the floor and very slowly opened the window just enough to allow the rifle barrel to poke out and to give me a clear sight line threw the scope.

I pulled the trigger just as he started to jump into the air for takeoff. He never made it. .22 bullets are very fast. I learned a very important lesson that day. Never fire a gun in a small bathroom! Besides going instantly deaf, I was only hit a glancing blow from the hot brass cartridge that ejected from the gun and then bounced off the wall not two feet to my right. The sucker could have caused serious damage to an eye.

The shotgun's main use was snake elimination. We had an old stone drain on the edge of the front yard and copperheads loved to sun themselves in the rocks. A 12 gauge shell full of buckshot works wonders, and avoids the problem of ricochet. It was better for all concerned. I never hunted with the deer rifle, and, in fact, I think I only fired it a handful of times. It was like getting kicked in the shoulder by an angry horse.

In the end I sold the .30 cal to my brother in law, sent the then broken shotgun to the dump and left the .22 cal with my Ex when I split the scene. I have no idea where it may be now. So how does any of that relate to gun control?

The whole idea of Universal Background Checks is the part about universal. Currently all federally licensed gun dealers must get a background check on any person buying a gun. This same rule doesn't apply to private, person to person sales at gun shows. This is the so called "gun show loophole." Closing the loophole, assuming that the system is in place to allow for quick and easy background checks at gun shows, is not much of an issue to me. No, the problem is with actual person to person sales. And in particular sales of existing guns.

As I said. I bought a high powered rifle from one person and sold it to another. No paperwork of any kind was involved. In order to bring that gun, and millions like it (there are over 300 million guns in this country already), into a Universal Background Check scheme would require registration of that gun. Some proper and approved paperwork would have to be attached, legally, to such and such .30 cal rifle with serial number so and so. This would be true of every existing gun in the country. Oh, and that paperwork would, of course, have to include information on the current owner, and any subsequent owner, much in the same way we register vehicles. Sure, lets create a DMV for guns.

I see at least two real problems with such a registration scheme. In order for it to work to prevent guns from falling into "The Wrong Hands," (whoever that is) there needs to be a threat of punishment for failing to get a proper background check before a private sale. That threat of punishment would attach to the last  known registered owner of the gun no matter how long ago he owned it and no matter how many person to person sales had occurred since the first such sale. A gun sold and resold twenty times over twenty years that ends up being used in a crime could result in the arrest of the poor schmuck who needed an extra $200 to fix the brakes on his truck twenty years before the crime was committed.

That's the only way Universal Background Checks would work. It's not like the police can see a gun's license hanging off the stock or hand grip like the license plate on your car. No, this would only work with universal registration of all guns...and gun owners. That last part is the second problem with this idea. It has long been said in the NRA world that "Registration leads to confiscation." That may sound a little paranoid, but I think that it's a sentiment held by many more people than the usual suspects labeled, "Gun Nuts." And it's that sentiment which would cause most existing guns to never be registered at all. If the guns aren't registered the whole thing fails. It really is that simple.

Why do I believe that most folks would not step up to have their gun(s) put into the registry? Well, first I think many gun owners would ask, "What's in it for me?" Piece of mind doesn't drive a lot of action by the American public. If people can't see a benefit to them, directly, they are not going to comply. And remember, for this to work the paper trail has to include every subsequent sale or gift of the gun or the damn thing could come back to bite you years later.

Second, we have a long history of ignoring or avoiding laws that we don't like or agree with. Prohibition is a perfect example, as is drug use (tens of millions of people smoke pot on a regular basis) and even the underground economy of cash payments for legal services (I'll give you $20 to take that old stove to the dump) not to mention illegal ones, come to mind. What makes anyone think that tens of millions of gun owners are going to step up and "Do the right thing?"

So, there is my pretty pessimistic take on gun control. I think that this is one of those areas where we as a nation can condemn something, gun violence, while in the end realizing that the ultimate price of freedom, is freedom. In this case that means the freedom to get shot at by bad people. We don't have to like it, but I think we have to live with it.

MEL TORME'S GHOST

It's the holiday season again and. like most of us, my thoughts drift back to holidays past. This year I'm reminded of a Christmas season from about a decade ago.

The Queen of the Frontier and I were living at the beach on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The pros and cons of that move are fodder for another day, but there we were, owning and running a full service restaurant in Kitty Hawk.

A bit of history is in order. I took up playing the guitar at about the same time I started collage. I could tell you that I had a burning desire to express myself through music. I could say that I was influenced by a great music teacher or a great player whose record I had listened to. I could, but I won't. I took up the guitar to attract girls. At the time (1967) that was considered almost a sure thing, at least by we who tried it. All I attracted was the woman who became my first wife, the dreaded "Wicked Witch." Oh well.

The WW and I played and sang folk music. She played the Autoharp and I played guitar. For a while we played some collage coffee house gigs and even once did a show for a VFW party. I can't remember how many times we played for our supper at picnics and family reunions over the years, but it was a few. Heck, we even rode a hay wagon in a parade, playing and singing the same song for 45 minutes. Some kind of fun!

After the WW and I divorced I decided that I'd had enough folk music in my life. The Queen of the Frontier bought me an electric guitar and from that point on I never looked back. I wanted to play lead guitar in a band. To make that beautiful instrument sing and cry. And after a few years of lessons and practice I actually was able to play a passable lick or two. Of course, life intervened. I never did play in a band, but, thanks to the generosity of several real musicians, I got the chance to sit in with some local groups at gigs and parties. I loved it.

Back at the beach, the Queen and I offered live music at the restaurant on Friday nights. Peter, a Jersey boy transplanted to the sand like we were, was our Friday feature. I'm pretty sure that he knows every song from the 60s, 70s and 80s that can be played and sung by one guy. He can remember all of the lyrics and can work out the chords in a flash. He would put on a great show and we advertised the hell out of those Fridays  to bring in more business. Peter and I became golf buddies and, of course, started playing music together. He'd sing and play acoustic guitar and I'd play lead and sing back up vocals. Before too very long we took it to the Friday nights at the restaurant. I would work during his first set waiting tables and doing any of the hundreds of things you need to do to run a beach eatery and then sit in for the second set. We had a ball.

After the first Christmas season we realized that we, that is Peter, didn't know a lot of Christmas songs. Oh, he knew the words, but the music was a bit more of a problem for both of us. As the next holiday season approached we agreed that we needed to learn some new songs. It was time to do some homework.

 This was the perfect opportunity for me to learn one of my favorite Christmas songs of all time; the aptly named "The Christmas Song," written by jazz singer and composer Mel Torme. If you don't know the title I'm sure you know the opening lyrics; "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire." I love that song. And I could sing it fairly well. But neither of us could play it on the guitar. It's jazz, you know.

But I was not to be denied this golden opportunity. I had, in fact, played some jazz sitting in with a superb jazz trio back in West Virginia and while I hadn't messed around with that style for some time, I still owned a very nice jazz guitar. It was time to take that baby out of its case and plug it in.

It turned out that a fellow who worked for us had been a music major before his escape to the beach and he was able to write a chord chart for me that I had a small, but real, chance of learning. Now, this was in October, so you'd think that I had plenty of time in which to learn and refine one silly song. But you would be wrong. I'd played some jazz lead guitar and I could sing pretty much anything in my key. But doing both, that is sing and playing jazz at the same time. That was a different story.

So I practiced. And practiced some more. Weeks went by as I slowly put the chord progression together in a smooth, and hopefully, musical form. Then I started singing while playing. Okay, some set backs there, but it was starting to come together. This was starting to get exciting.

The big night was going to be the last Friday before Christmas. Peter and I had agreed that I'd sit in from the start and end the first set with "The Christmas Song." I practiced a few more times during the week and we were raring to go.

The crowd of mostly regulars knew that something was up, since there was an extra guitar in the corner of the room were we would set up. When they didn't see a third player most, I think, figured out that I was going to do something different that night. As I switched instruments Peter did a little snappy patter and then introduced me and the song. It was on!

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire," came out smoothly. The guitar sounded fantastic and the crowd was actually taking notice. "Jack Frost nipping at your nose." I had to look either up at the folks or at the neck of the guitar because I knew that if I looked over at Peter he'd make a face and I'd burst out laughing. "Yuletide carols being sung by a choir and folks dressed up like Eskimos," "Everybody knows, some turkey and some mistletoe, helps to make the season bright." Okay, I was coming up to the bridge section. The chords are a little bit easier and I could relax heading into the big finish. "Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow, will find it hard to sleep tonight."

"They know that Santa's....." And just then, the guitar strap came loose from the end of the guitar! The end that I didn't have a grip on. The end that fell to my knees in an instant of shocked silence. It was bad.

I swung the instrument back up and fumbled with the strap for a bit until I could get things right. Yes, I started the bridge again from "They know that Santa's on his way," but the magic was gone. I made it through to the neat little "Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells," instrumental ending. The audience offered polite applause. So I did the only thing I could do at that point. I thanked the crowd and then offered the explanation, "I guess Mel Tormes' ghost didn't want me to sing his song." They laughed. I've never tried to play that song again.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!

Oh, and one more thing. Now that "The Christmas Song," is running on a loop through your head...you're welcome!

ONE FINAL ARGUMENT

That chart that you see above is, I think, one of the main reasons that I'm voting for President Obama and why I think you should. It's really very simple.

For almost two years Mitt Romney has stated, over and over again, that the President inherited a bad economic situation and "He made it worse." Those four words that Mr. Romney evokes to explain away the after effects of the worst economic downturn in 80 years. "He made it worse."

Look at the chart again. Now, I don't know about you, or Mitt Romney for that matter, but I remember learning about charts and bar graphs in grade school. And one of the main things we learned is that charts are  very good for showing trends in data. Look at the chart. From February 2008 through January 2009 the trend on unemployment was getting worse. The bars are getting longer below the "0" line. That means getting worse. George W. Bush was in the White House. From February 2009 through February 2010 the trend (no, not every data point) was getting better. The bars are getting shorter below the "0" line. Let me repeat that. After Barack Obama took office on January 20, 2009, unemployment got better, not worse.

That's more than enough for me. If a candidate for the highest office in the land can take a simple bar graph and spin its meaning to be exactly opposite of what the actual graph says, that candidate does not deserve a chance to lead this great nation. Period.

GO OUT AND VOTE!

CAUSE AND EFFECT

We live in a cause and effect universe. Things don't just happen by themselves. For every effect, there is a cause and without that cause no effect will occur. This is a basic law of physics. Why is this blinding flash of the obvious important, you ask? Because  it seems to me that the Republican Party, and Mitt Romney want to repeal this physical law of the universe. Let me explain.

We have been told, time and again, that the only way out of our current post recession economic doldrums is to cut taxes on the well off and rich, the so called job creators, and eliminate strangling regulations from business. Do that, the GOP says, and the economy will perk right up. Why Mr. Romney has even said that such a course will create 12 million jobs in the next four years! It sounds good, doesn't it? But the same problem keeps nagging at me. How does it work? What is the cause that leads to the 12 million job effect?

For the life of me I can't find one. If the idea is that companies will have more money because they will be paying a lower tax rate and, thus, will use that money for hiring, I remain unconvinced. Look around. Businesses in the USA are posting record profits. And they're not spending much of it either. The last number I heard was $3 trillion. That is, businesses in this country are sitting on $3 trillion in cash money. So seriously now, how much more cash do they need from tax cuts before they start hiring? Will another trillion do it? How about $2 trillion more? See the problem. There doesn't seem to be any particular amount that will cause the effect of more hiring.

We do know that the other guys also have a plan for increasing hiring and creating jobs. They may call it investing in infrastructure, but we all know that means government spending. But guess what? There really is a cause and effect relationship between spending and job creation. One can yell from the top of the highest mountain that "government can't create jobs," but there's no question that government can create demand and that leads directly to...jobs! If government needs 20,000 new hammers you can best believe that some business person will try to sell those hammers to the government. They might be over priced. They might be horribly delayed. But somebody will make said hammers and will sell them to the government. And since hammers don't just grow on trees, somebody will need to be hired to do the making. Government creates a demand that is then filled by the creation of new jobs. Thus, one step removed, government created new jobs.

But the tax and regulation cutting method doesn't have that same connection. What makes Mr. Businessman add workers? Because if what the government does under a Romney Presidency can't cause the desired result, can't make the effect happen after the cause, then Mr. Romney and friends really don't have a plan at all. What they have is Magical Thinking. They believe that a causal link exists, in this case between lowering taxes and job creation, when in fact there is no such connection. But they sure do believe it to be so.

But has anyone actually thought about how this might work in the real world? Because it seems to me that what has to happen is as follows:

First, government cuts taxes on the job creators.
Then, the job creators, having more money than they had before the tax cuts, open wide the factory gates to the hoards of job seekers who will then have jobs, will pay taxes and the country will be back on the road to prosperity. You can almost see the CEOs standing at their penthouse office windows looking down on the masses as they line up to be hired. He, or she, may spread their arms wide in a gesture of welcome, even if the soon to be new workers can't see such a gesture from the ground. That looks to me like the entire Republican job creation plan, at least from the vantage point of the "Job Creators." Because remember, there's no actual cause for the desired effect.

But what does this look like from the people at the gate? It looks like they line up and beg the job creators to grant them a job, doesn't it? Should one approach on bended knee, perhaps? Should one be careful to not look the "Job Creator," in the eye, in case that might offend? Since nothing the government did in cutting taxes actually made a company start hiring, I think some variation on begging for a job may be the only solution.

And if that's the case, would someone please explain how begging rich folks for work offers more freedom than being dependent on government to send out a Social Security check or pay the doctor that you just had to see. Anyone? I didn't think so.

THE MYTH OF THE ZERO SUM ECONOMY

In a prior posting here I talked about the apparent lack of understanding between our political parties. It seems that each side is using different definitions of words and concepts. This becomes clear when one listens to the most basic ideas of how the American economy works. An example might help.

When discussing that most hated of all things government; taxes, politicians on the right will invariably trot out two arguments that they are sure will convince the simpleton asking the question of the, if you'll excuse the pun, rightness of their position.

First, they will tell us that, back home in their district, business people come up to them and tell them that if the incredible tax burden that they are under and the job killing regulations they face were just lifted, why then all would be well and jobs would flow forth as if from a fountain. Or something like that. Bottom line, business people want lower taxes and less regulation. Fair enough. But does it bother anyone else that this is like asking an eight year old if he wants more ice cream. You sort of know what the answer is going to be before you ask the question.

Second, and more to the point of this post, those on the political right will sometimes lecture an interviewer with a little lesson from Econ. 101. It goes like this. " We shouldn't raise taxes on the 'Job Creators'." "When we do that we just extract money from those 'Job Creators' and then redistribute it to poor people." "Since no new money is created in the transaction, the economy gains nothing." "In fact," they will say, "Those extracted dollars are no longer available to create jobs so taxing and redistribution are BAD for the economy." This is usually said with a bit of a smug smirk, as if the speaker is sorry that the interviewer is too stupid to understand such a simple concept.

Now, the problem that I have with this explanation is that it only seems to make sense in an Econ. 101 text book. Or maybe in a game of Monopoly. "Oh my, if you charge me for landing on your Boardwalk I'll be unable to buy a hotel for Illinois Ave. Think of all the hotel workers who won't have jobs." Ya, that makes sense. It's a zero sum game. There's only so much money to go around. If I give it to you, by way of the government taxing me, then I don't have the money to invest.

Back here in the real world things are a bit different. We have to deal with a global economy where rich people and corporations invest in businesses and securities from around the world. Where they park millions of dollars in off shore bank accounts. Where they spend billions on capital investments in other countries. Now just how does any of that square with the zero sum tax and redistribute game that they say explains our economy? Simple answer - it doesn't.

Those off shore or out sourced dollars offer no benefit to the general economy here in the USA. They only benefit the corporation, its investors and the country where the money now lives. So while extracting taxes from the rich for redistribution may look like it takes funds out of our economy, the rich aren't really playing a zero sum game at all. In fact it can be argued that their out of country investing is (one of) the actual reasons for our national unemployment problem. It's those dollars that have been removed from the economy, not the dollars extracted by taxes.

THE BOMB BOX

What was a 43 year old lawyer doing on a barge in the middle of the Ohio River with a half ton of explosives?

The Fourth of July! Independence Day! Fireworks!! Was there a boy alive in these United States whose heart didn't beat faster at the thought.

Flags and parades and marching bands are fine. Picnics and hotdogs and outdoor games are just great. But FIREWORKS.   The very essence of this country's annual birthday extravaganza. Pictures of firecrackers exploding form the backdrop of newspaper ads for weeks in advance of the big day.  Television gives us shells star-bursting in the background as the car/furniture/swim­ming pool salesman offers that special sale price in celebration of the Fourth.

I admit it. I'm a complete fool for things that explode.  I was one of those kids who pestered his father for weeks in ad­vance of the Fourth. "Did you get any fireworks yet?" I'd ask at least five times a day. "Did you get any cherry bombs?" Of course my dad, being a responsible father of the fifties,  had  limited his  purchases  to  snakes (little black buttons  that  when  lit smoked and grew long  ash snakes) sparklers and a couple packs of lady-finger  firecrackers. The evening of the Fourth was always exiting, but sadly, it never felt like enough.

It was the big municipal displays that set the tone for the proper level of pyrotechnics. I felt that anything less  than  a rocket  ascending to the night sky in a trail of sparks  followed by the chest thumping WHUMP as the shell exploded into a  colored starburst  of millions of trailing meteors was, while not a  com­plete let down, at least not all that exciting. Firecrackers made a good loud noise, but they didn't fly. Bottle rockets both flew and exploded, but without the starburst. You can see the frustra­tion.

When I was ten I teamed up with my fifteen year old buddy, Cal, who lived down the block, and entered the mysteries world of science and engineering (junior division). Together we would cut the guts out of old TV sets, re-wire record players into hi-fi
noise blasters and, after that fateful day Cal went to the library, learned to make gun powder.

Gun powder. The Chinese concoction ironically intended by its unknown inventor as a potion to prolong life.  Magic black powder that, with the proper chemicals, could be created in a garage by two kids who had run out of TVs to dismantle.

We mixed, we lit and ... it fizzled, smoked and sparked (a little) then went out. Clearly something was missing and  that something was a container (to contain the powder and contain  the burn until it could reach explosive proportions). We wrapped our black powder in aluminum foil to make a tube shape, not unlike a firecracker. Since we had no fuse we simply left one end slightly open  and made a trail of powder to this end. Our test area was Cal's back yard where we set our device and fuse trail on a slab of scrap 2 x 10.

     Our plan was to light, run and watch the fun as our cracker blew up with a resounding boom. With the Fourth of July approach­ing I think Cal was planning a "booming" business selling home-made firecrackers to the other kids. I just wanted to see the thing explode.

We, that is, Cal, touched match to fuse and the powder began to sputter, then burn up the trail to the shiny foil cracker.  He ran  to our bunker behind the garbage cans (where I was already set  with my dad's old football helmet on my head) and  got  into position  just as the fire reached the open end of  the  cracker. With a sound like a cat spitting, the thing took off from its 2 x 10 launch pad, hit the grass 5 feet away and skidded and skipped across the lawn only to come to rest against the dog house next door. No boom. Not even a pop. But did we care? Not one bit. For in  that instant, as we looked first at the thin trail  of  smoke coming from the now spent cracker and then at each other, we both realized the extent of our invention. We had made a ROCKET!

Did we continue our quest for bigger and better rockets? Did Cal go on to Cal Tech to run the Jet Propulsion Laboratory?  Did these two boys blow themselves to bits (or at least damage impor­tant body parts) in a lesson filled tragedy told and retold on the newspaper's op/ed pages each July 3rd? No. In point of fact, after making a couple more foil rockets and launching them with unimpressive success (one made it onto Cal's roof) Cal discovered an adventure and mystery even greater than homemade fireworks. Cal discovered girls.

Eventually I too discovered girls and the particular brand of fireworks associated with that part of life. But I never  lost the thrill that comes from setting match to fuse and then jumping back  as  a cherry bomb tears the air with a  flash  and  report, leaving  the smell of gunpowder in the nose and a 12  inch  round hole  in the lawn. And now the fates had conspired to grant that ten year old pyromaniac his dream. I was going to help shoot the fireworks display for the city's Fourth of July celebration.  

Nine of us had boarded the old gravel barge down the Ohio River from Wheeling, West Virginia. Eight men ranging in age from thirty to sixty and one of the guys twenty something girlfriend. The guys carried the cardboard boxes of "Bombs", some covered in Chinese characters, from the pick-up truck to the barge, while Michelle and Jay (the sixty year old father-in-law of Ron, the shooter) carried the lanterns, cooler and shovels. The barge was a hundred feet long and twenty-five feet wide and was secured next to a crane barge to which we would be anchored at the shoot site. The day had been one of those perfect Fourths you remember from your childhood; clear sky, no humidity and just  a slight breeze. The perfect kind of day to blow something up.

The floor of the barge had been loaded with several tons of sand and earlier in the day, Ron and some of the others had set the tubes and mortars for the show. The front of the barge con­tained the "Finale" tubes. A double horseshoe pattern of 250 16 inch long pieces of thick walled plastic pipe set in frames of wood and held in place by sand bags and piled loose sand. In  the middle  of  the  barge where the tubes for  the "Flights",  four groups of six tubes each which would hold six bombs fused together. During the show these would act as fillers to add excitement leading up to the grand finale. Then at the back end of the barge were the main mortars. The real fireworks launchers.  The scary stuff.

The big fireworks rockets we love to watch on the Fourth of July aren't rockets at all. They're bombs that are set off inside of pipes pointed (hopefully) into the sky. The finale bombs,  all 250 of them, are 2-1/2 and 3 inches across and are either cylinders  8 inches  long or round like balls, each  with  its  paper covered  fuse  sticking out the top. All of the fuses are tied together so that once lit, the finale will progress, bomb after bomb, without anyone having to light another fuse.

The main mortars are steel pipe set in sand inside of a long wooden box which is then also set in sand bags and loose sand. For this show Ron had set four each of 3  and 4 inch  pipes  and three  each  of 5 and 6 inch pipes, all pointing  skyward  in  an ominous row. This was not to be the hi-tech modern electronically controlled fireworks display seen at theme parks, shell bursts timed to the instant and coordinated with blaring music. This was old fashioned fireworks. The men at the bomb box hand bombs to the runners who drop them into the mortars.  The shooter then lights the fuse that is left hanging out of the tube with a railroad flare. The bomb's first charge (at the bottom) explodes in the tube which sends the bomb several hundred feet into the air.  Then the secondary charge(s) explode giving the effect, Starburst, Palm Tree, Double Ring or just the very load boom of a Report.  My job was going to be to work the bomb box with David. We where the new kids.

As the barge crew set the anchors and fixed our position  in the  middle of the river I had a chance to relax and  contemplate what  I had gotten myself into. There on the near shore were the backs of houses on Wheeling Island, yards full of revelers including our respective wives and children. On the far shore was the downtown skyline and the river front amphitheater.  Thousands of people lined the shore. The river itself was full of pleasure boats.  The slight breeze brought the sound of the symphony orchestra and the realization that the crowd also included the Governor, since his wife (our First Lady) is Maestra of the or­chestra. This was a BIG show.

     Then it hit me. For weeks the newspaper, the TV news, even rock and roll radio stations had warned of the dangers of fire­works.  "The use of these illegal objects could result in your arrest, but more importantly, thousands of injuries  occur  each year, so  be smart and be safe. Go to your municipal fireworks display and LET THE PROFESSIONALS SET OFF THE FIREWORKS."

Well, it seemed that the warnings had gotten it right.  Here I was, a lawyer, in the middle of the Ohio River with two den­tists, an optometrist, a teacher and a tree farmer. The nicest bunch of professionals you ever wanted to meet and we were going to set off all of these wonderful fireworks. The fact is, full time "professional" pyrotechnicians are few and far between.  It's a  job  where you don't do much 364 days a year  (except  at the theme  parks)  so, of course, these guys do other  things  for  a living.  Ron, one of the dentists, has been doing this for over twenty years.  The fireworks company belongs to his father and uncle. From my point of view it was still a scary thought.

As daylight faded we made our final preparations. Loading the finale tubes and joining the fuses. Loading the first sets of flights for the opening. Setting up the bomb box and assigning the jobs for the show. As the new guys, Dave and I would work the bomb box. This was actually the cardboard boxes of bombs stacked on the floor of the barge, in order from 3 inch to 6 inch, and covered with a heavy tarp. Our job was to kneel behind the boxes, facing the mortars, and hand out the bombs to the runners.  The runners would either ask for a specific size to fill an empty tube, or we would give them a bomb of our choice and tell them the size.

Our instructions were simple. (1) Hand out the bombs as fast as they were needed. The idea of a good show is to never have a break in the action. Thus, the runners would be loading tubes that had just fired, as tubes next to them were firing. (2)  Keep the bomb box covered by the tarp at all times.  We were told simply, if a spark lands on the tarp shake or brush it off, but if a spark lands in a box of bombs, WE WOULD BE THE FIRST TO DIE!

With that comforting thought in mind we made our final preparations.  Long sleeve shirts replaced or covered summertime t-shirts.  Some of the guys covered their heads with tied banda­nas, while I choose to turn my ball cap backwards to keep the sparks off the back of my neck. As I pushed foam earplugs into my ears the sound of the orchestra faded. We awaited the signal to shoot. Eye protection goggles in place, David and I knelt behind the bomb box with our hands under the tarp. I held a 5 inch round ball of explosive in each hand, ready to be passed to a  runner after the first volley. Sweat trickled down my back as I flashed for just an instant back to Cal's back yard.  The feeling of excitement, of anticipation, of fear, was the same.  The two minute signal was given and the shooters lit their flares.

The opening flight from the middle of the barge went THUMP, six times and was away. I looked up as the trails went straight up a very long way, then stopped. For just an instant there was silence, then the shells exploded right over our heads.  Six colored stars appeared, one after the other, each accompanied  by a  loud BOOM. That was the signal for Ron to start lighting the bombs in the main mortars, twenty feet in front of us.

By the light of his flare I could see Ron first pull a  fuse from  a  3 inch tube out straight, then touch the  end  with  the flare. In less than a second the mortar fired, WHUMP, as a shower of sparks fountained into the sky. In the time it took to realize that shell was away Ron had lit two others, a 4 inch and a 5. Two more WHUMPS, each bigger than the one before and two more foun­tains of fire leapt to the sky in front of me. Then the first shell went off high above with a boom and Jeff, one of the run­ners yelled, "Give me a 3 and a 4." At least I think that's  what he said because just then the first of the 6 inch bombs went  off and  I felt rather then heard a giant WHUMP and a geyser of fire erupted right in front of me. The show was under way.

On and on it went. WHUMP, WHUMP, BOOM, BOOM, WHUMP.  Some­times the BOOMS were followed by smaller booms or even the siz­zle-boom of a special effects round. The smell of gunpowder was overwhelming as we passed bomb after bomb after bomb. "Give me a 6 and a 5." yelled Greg. "I need two 4s and a 6." for 20  minutes my  world  was reduced to the feel of the round bombs  under  the covering  tarp,  the WHUMP/BOOM of the mortars  firing  and  the shells  exploding and the huge plumes of sparks leaping into  the air. Then Murphy's Law took over.

I had just shouted to David that he had the last box of bombs in front of him and had shifted over to be able to help him pass bombs when a 6 inch shell misfired. It left the tube but only went high enough to fall back behind the sand bagged row of mortars. The first charge went off showering sparks up and to the sides. Ron yelled "Look out!" as he and the others headed for our side of the barge as the next charge, and the next, and the  next after  that  went off in the space between the  mortars  and  the steel wall  of the barge. Somewhere in there I  pulled  the  now fairly  loose  tarp up over my head and ducked down as low  as  I could get. Since I was now on top of David, this wasn't very low, but I guess it was low enough. In less than 5 seconds it was over and Ron, the professional that he is, yelled for us to "Keep Shooting!"  That's when we heard a WHUMP from the far end of the barge.

The misfired shell had set off the finale!  And, to make matters even worse, it had started in the middle rather than from an end so the tubes were firing two and three at a time.  The finale would be a little short at that rate.  With nothing to lose, we started to pass bombs and shoot as fast as possible.  If this was now the end of the show we would make it an ending to remember. David and I handed out bombs with both hands, no longer concerned with telling the runners what they had. Let them figure out the size in the five steps from the box to the mortars.  Ron and Wayne flashed their flares back and forth like swordsmen in a pirate movie, slashing at the fuses before them. And then, it was over.

As the last finale bomb burst over the barge, the boat horns started and the applause built. We heard whistles and screams and shouting and realized that we had just launched the biggest fireworks finale Wheeling had ever seen.

What was it like? It was that perfect ski run. It was a hole in one. It was that perfect Christmas. It was beautiful! I wish Cal had been there to see it.