By Marina Knight
I just came down to Speeder and Earl's coffee shop to post an update after checking out the Burton protest rally.
It wasn't much of a protest, though it was peaceful. There were members of the media and about 100 protesters with signs with slogans like "Now I ride Rossignol" and "Is that what you want me to do?" - referring to the Primo boards which feature self cutting. About a third of the crowd was under the age of 10.
The group organized themselves, then marched along the road (Industrial Parkway) in front of Burton's flagship store and offices in Burlington. A few police officers stood watch.
The crowd stopped just in front, but didn't enter the parking lot and some Burton employees headed to lunch filed out of the building to their cars. They looked at the crowd nonchalantly, then went on their way. A small crowd stood outside on a balcony of the Burton building and some of Burton's "media" team shot video and stills of the protest, which they will likely use to fuel the fire.
The protesters called for Jake himself to come out and explain himself, but he did not come out because, I later learned, Jake is in New Zealand.
After a short while the crowd of people made their way back to their cars.
I headed inside the Burton store to see what the word among employees was. A group sat eating lunch in the lobby. The store was crowded with shoppers and one employee said it was busier than normal, probably due to the rally. Another lamented that people are putting so much energy into protesting naked girls on boards, when there are far worse things happening in the world. Like the Iraq war, he said.
The whole experience has cast into light the power of the media and the power of the individual to rally a crowd. In Burton's most recent statement to the press, Burton's CEO Laurent Potdevin, said he was forced to make the statement "as a result of the opinions of an isolated group of individuals."
Having covered the story for about three weeks, I would have to agree with him. The group leading the charge against Burton is relatively small and very persistent. Does that group represent a large cross-section of people? That is hard to know.
Given the amount of media attention given to the protesters (the story has been covered by CNN and several large newspapers) one would think the Burton controversy is a huge deal - and it certainly is to those who oppose the boards.
It also highlights the media's tendency to cover what lands in their lap. Really, at the effort of one person, through emails directed at various media outlets, a storm of controversy was created. The coverage has been slanted heavily toward those who are against the snowboards. We haven't heard much from Burton, from people who are unfeathered by their graphics or from anyone who has bought one of the Love or Primo Boards. Stay tuned on that front though.
Burton says they support freedom of artistic expression. Couch it like that and it's hard to find fault with them. I mean, who is for censorship?
It's a fascinatingly complex issue which is very difficult to take a stand on. I'm not for debasing women, but I'm for freedom of expression. I'm not sure that snowboards can be called art, but artists made the graphics. If the self-cutting images were on a canvas would that make it better? Where does that leave people? Political ideas, social values, freedom of expression, and a wide cross section of individual opinions are intersecting here.
There's no black or white here, just a big sea of grey.
10/23/08
10/16/08
Right to know contrasted
BY TOM KEARNEY
So, here’s the deal: The city attorney, a man, oversees a consultant, a woman, who’s been hired to help rewrite the zoning laws.
The lawyer approves her consultancy contract, signs her pay vouchers, and supervises her work. She makes a lot more money as a consultant than she would as a city employee. The project doesn’t go well; it’s past deadline and over budget. The lawyer and the consultant develop a close personal relationship.
At the same time, the city’s interim administrator — she works with the committee that oversees the city attorney contract — also develops a close personal relationship with the lawyer.
The details of these relationships, and their built-in conflicts of interest, are all told in hundreds of e-mails the three people sent back and forth, using their city government e-mail accounts. The e-mails are stored on the city government’s servers.
All this happened in Burlington, Vt.
The Burlington Free Press wanted to know what was in those e-mails, and what they said about how the city government was functioning.
The city stonewalled. Some e-mails involved labor negotiations, it said; others fell under the lawyer-client privilege. Still others, the city said, were “purely personal,” and outside the scope of the newspaper’s request.
The newspaper sued. In a ruling dated Oct. 3, Judge Brian Grearson ruled in Washington Superior Court that the newspaper was right, but will get none of the e-mails.
The ruling hinges on a balance of competing interests, and Judge Grearson leans more heavily toward privacy than other courts have done.
The decision says all the things journalists want to hear about the people’s right to know. The judge rejects the city’s argument that purely personal e-mails are not public records; he acknowledges there is high public interest in conflicts of interest that would affect the functioning of government; he says the people have a right to know.
But, after reviewing all the e-mails himself, Judge Grearson ruled they will stay secret. “None of the sealed e-mails includes any information (other than the mere fact of the relationship) that a reasonable person would think is evidence of wrongdoing, or that connects the personal information to potential wrongdoing. … In these circumstances, there simply is no demonstrable basis for more probing public scrutiny of these individuals’ personal communications.”
The court described the ruling as a split decision: The Press’ public records request is granted in part and denied in part.” That is, the newspaper wins on principle, but loses on the details.
Different in N.H.
I contrast this ruling with a New Hampshire case in which I was involved while executive editor of The Keene Sentinel.
In 1990, a Republican congressman was running for re-election in a district that hadn’t elected a Democrat since 1912. He was running on a family values platform. Meanwhile, he was in the middle of his third divorce.
I wanted to know if the divorce files said anything about his family values, and sent a reporter to the courthouse to find out. However, both case files had been largely sealed from public view. In one, we got a few facts, such as the date, the judge, the names of the parties. In the other, all we got was a docket number scrawled on a yellow Post-It note.
We sued, contending these files were court cases, and court cases must be open for public inspection unless there’s strong legal justification for sealing them.
We lost in the lower court, where the judge called me “a panty-sniffing ghoul” and accused the newspaper of being a sensationalist scandal-monger. But two years later, we won big in the N.H. Supreme Court, and “Petition of Keene Sentinel” remains the gold standard in New Hampshire for keeping court files open to the public. Before sealing a file, a judge must explain in detail why the seal is being applied, and apply it only to those parts of the case that qualify. Further, in the public portion of the file, the judge must explain the decision to seal in enough detail to allow a challenge.
The ruling is based on many of the principles Judge Grearson outlined in the Burlington case: The court is a public instititution, people have a right to see how the courts work, and the best way to do that is to see how the courts work in difficult circumstances.
But in New Hampshire, the court opened the files; in Vermont, the e-mails stay secret.
Gathering vs. publishing
The Free Press may appeal.
If it does, I hope it stresses the difference between gathering and publishing information. Most people have no idea how many dry holes a reporter can drill before striking a news story.
Every journalist has his or her snitches, birdies who sing in their ears about “great stories.” I used to have a snitch who was wrong nine times out of ten, but that tenth time was gold. As a result, I had to check out every tip he gave me, in case it was the good one. Nine times out of ten, I wrote nothing.
Same with the congressman’s divorces. We said that, if the divorce files said nothing that countered the congressman’s family values platform, we would publish nothing. After we won in the Supreme Court, we looked at the files. Nothing in them was newsworthy. We published nothing.
That’s what the Vermont decision overlooks: The difference between gathering and publishing information. First we find out what’s true, and then decide if it’s news. In the Vermont case, the court took on that job for itself — and that’s wrong.
Tom Kearney is managing editor of the Stowe (Vt.) Reporter and a board member of the New England First Amendment Coalition.
So, here’s the deal: The city attorney, a man, oversees a consultant, a woman, who’s been hired to help rewrite the zoning laws.
The lawyer approves her consultancy contract, signs her pay vouchers, and supervises her work. She makes a lot more money as a consultant than she would as a city employee. The project doesn’t go well; it’s past deadline and over budget. The lawyer and the consultant develop a close personal relationship.
At the same time, the city’s interim administrator — she works with the committee that oversees the city attorney contract — also develops a close personal relationship with the lawyer.
The details of these relationships, and their built-in conflicts of interest, are all told in hundreds of e-mails the three people sent back and forth, using their city government e-mail accounts. The e-mails are stored on the city government’s servers.
All this happened in Burlington, Vt.
The Burlington Free Press wanted to know what was in those e-mails, and what they said about how the city government was functioning.
The city stonewalled. Some e-mails involved labor negotiations, it said; others fell under the lawyer-client privilege. Still others, the city said, were “purely personal,” and outside the scope of the newspaper’s request.
The newspaper sued. In a ruling dated Oct. 3, Judge Brian Grearson ruled in Washington Superior Court that the newspaper was right, but will get none of the e-mails.
The ruling hinges on a balance of competing interests, and Judge Grearson leans more heavily toward privacy than other courts have done.
The decision says all the things journalists want to hear about the people’s right to know. The judge rejects the city’s argument that purely personal e-mails are not public records; he acknowledges there is high public interest in conflicts of interest that would affect the functioning of government; he says the people have a right to know.
But, after reviewing all the e-mails himself, Judge Grearson ruled they will stay secret. “None of the sealed e-mails includes any information (other than the mere fact of the relationship) that a reasonable person would think is evidence of wrongdoing, or that connects the personal information to potential wrongdoing. … In these circumstances, there simply is no demonstrable basis for more probing public scrutiny of these individuals’ personal communications.”
The court described the ruling as a split decision: The Press’ public records request is granted in part and denied in part.” That is, the newspaper wins on principle, but loses on the details.
Different in N.H.
I contrast this ruling with a New Hampshire case in which I was involved while executive editor of The Keene Sentinel.
In 1990, a Republican congressman was running for re-election in a district that hadn’t elected a Democrat since 1912. He was running on a family values platform. Meanwhile, he was in the middle of his third divorce.
I wanted to know if the divorce files said anything about his family values, and sent a reporter to the courthouse to find out. However, both case files had been largely sealed from public view. In one, we got a few facts, such as the date, the judge, the names of the parties. In the other, all we got was a docket number scrawled on a yellow Post-It note.
We sued, contending these files were court cases, and court cases must be open for public inspection unless there’s strong legal justification for sealing them.
We lost in the lower court, where the judge called me “a panty-sniffing ghoul” and accused the newspaper of being a sensationalist scandal-monger. But two years later, we won big in the N.H. Supreme Court, and “Petition of Keene Sentinel” remains the gold standard in New Hampshire for keeping court files open to the public. Before sealing a file, a judge must explain in detail why the seal is being applied, and apply it only to those parts of the case that qualify. Further, in the public portion of the file, the judge must explain the decision to seal in enough detail to allow a challenge.
The ruling is based on many of the principles Judge Grearson outlined in the Burlington case: The court is a public instititution, people have a right to see how the courts work, and the best way to do that is to see how the courts work in difficult circumstances.
But in New Hampshire, the court opened the files; in Vermont, the e-mails stay secret.
Gathering vs. publishing
The Free Press may appeal.
If it does, I hope it stresses the difference between gathering and publishing information. Most people have no idea how many dry holes a reporter can drill before striking a news story.
Every journalist has his or her snitches, birdies who sing in their ears about “great stories.” I used to have a snitch who was wrong nine times out of ten, but that tenth time was gold. As a result, I had to check out every tip he gave me, in case it was the good one. Nine times out of ten, I wrote nothing.
Same with the congressman’s divorces. We said that, if the divorce files said nothing that countered the congressman’s family values platform, we would publish nothing. After we won in the Supreme Court, we looked at the files. Nothing in them was newsworthy. We published nothing.
That’s what the Vermont decision overlooks: The difference between gathering and publishing information. First we find out what’s true, and then decide if it’s news. In the Vermont case, the court took on that job for itself — and that’s wrong.
Tom Kearney is managing editor of the Stowe (Vt.) Reporter and a board member of the New England First Amendment Coalition.
9/8/08
A mother questions Palin's choice
By Maria Archangelo
At the start of this column, I feel the need to put all of my cards on the table. I am a working mother (and have been working mostly full time since my children were born). I am the daughter of a mother who worked from the time I was 3 years old. I was raised Roman Catholic in an Irish-German neighborhood in Philadelphia. I have many family members who became pregnant as teens. Most kept their babies; most got married.
In all of the situations, there was despair, difficulties and, most of the time, divorce. Some wonderful children were born, and we felt lucky to have them in our family.
So, for these reasons, or maybe in spite of them, I have become a little obsessed about Sarah Palin and the revelation this week that she decided to run for vice president of the United States on the heels of the news that her 17-year-old daughter is pregnant.
The whole Sarah Palin thing is a little bit of a struggle for me. It isn’t that I would ever vote for her (I couldn’t be more opposed to most of her political views), but I find myself strangely preoccupied with her decision to run for the nation’s second-highest office at this point in her life.
Forget that she has a small baby at home. I juggled a full-time job while nursing my son for 18 months. I doubt I would have taken a really big promotion to a really demanding position at that time in my life, but who knows? No one has ever asked me to be vice president.
The bigger issue for me is that she has chosen to put herself in the international spotlight in the midst of a family tragedy.
For the pregnancy of a 17-year-old high school student is nothing less than a family tragedy in my eyes.
I have a 15-year-old daughter. I have no illusions that my home is immune to this scenario (although I am doing everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t happen).
But if it did happen, I would like to think that my daughter and our family would become my No. 1 priority. There would be anger and disappointment, but there would also have to be a coming together. Private decisions with lifelong implications would be made. Creating an environment of support and love would be paramount.
I find it incomprehensible that I would willingly put my daughter in a situation where I would be inviting strangers to read her boyfriend’s MySpace profile and scrutinizing every picture of her to see evidence of a pregnancy bump.
Let’s be clear here. If Bristol Palin came to her mother the day after she was nominated at the Republican National Convention and revealed that she was pregnant, I would not be writing this column.
The fact is, her mother knew about the pregnancy before she said yes to John McCain. Sarah Palin made the choice to put her daughter’s personal tragedy before the world and to hold her up to ridicule and shame.
To me, that reveals something very dark about Ms. Palin. And it makes me want to give her 17-year-old daughter a big, reassuring hug.
Maria Archangelo is editor and publisher of the Waterbury Record.
At the start of this column, I feel the need to put all of my cards on the table. I am a working mother (and have been working mostly full time since my children were born). I am the daughter of a mother who worked from the time I was 3 years old. I was raised Roman Catholic in an Irish-German neighborhood in Philadelphia. I have many family members who became pregnant as teens. Most kept their babies; most got married.
In all of the situations, there was despair, difficulties and, most of the time, divorce. Some wonderful children were born, and we felt lucky to have them in our family.
So, for these reasons, or maybe in spite of them, I have become a little obsessed about Sarah Palin and the revelation this week that she decided to run for vice president of the United States on the heels of the news that her 17-year-old daughter is pregnant.
The whole Sarah Palin thing is a little bit of a struggle for me. It isn’t that I would ever vote for her (I couldn’t be more opposed to most of her political views), but I find myself strangely preoccupied with her decision to run for the nation’s second-highest office at this point in her life.
Forget that she has a small baby at home. I juggled a full-time job while nursing my son for 18 months. I doubt I would have taken a really big promotion to a really demanding position at that time in my life, but who knows? No one has ever asked me to be vice president.
The bigger issue for me is that she has chosen to put herself in the international spotlight in the midst of a family tragedy.
For the pregnancy of a 17-year-old high school student is nothing less than a family tragedy in my eyes.
I have a 15-year-old daughter. I have no illusions that my home is immune to this scenario (although I am doing everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t happen).
But if it did happen, I would like to think that my daughter and our family would become my No. 1 priority. There would be anger and disappointment, but there would also have to be a coming together. Private decisions with lifelong implications would be made. Creating an environment of support and love would be paramount.
I find it incomprehensible that I would willingly put my daughter in a situation where I would be inviting strangers to read her boyfriend’s MySpace profile and scrutinizing every picture of her to see evidence of a pregnancy bump.
Let’s be clear here. If Bristol Palin came to her mother the day after she was nominated at the Republican National Convention and revealed that she was pregnant, I would not be writing this column.
The fact is, her mother knew about the pregnancy before she said yes to John McCain. Sarah Palin made the choice to put her daughter’s personal tragedy before the world and to hold her up to ridicule and shame.
To me, that reveals something very dark about Ms. Palin. And it makes me want to give her 17-year-old daughter a big, reassuring hug.
Maria Archangelo is editor and publisher of the Waterbury Record.
8/20/08
Olympic resources
Sorry, folks, but I can’t help but write about the Olympics.
Mostly, I want to point to various Web resources that will enhance your Olympic experience, since NBC is once again serving up the spliced, manufactured mess it always does.
Try switching the channel to CBC (channel 6, if you have Stowe Cable) to see different sports covered in a thorough fashion.
Also, if you’re upset about what is being covered, the NBC Web site is streaming hours of coverage online and on demand. The other day, I watched men’s weightlifting in its glorious entirety. If you have a Mac, all you need to do is download and install a simple plug-in.
The best place to view results is the official site, as it’s updated most promptly.
The New York Times has done an excellent job covering the Olympics, too. Stories like this one about two elderly Chinese women being sentenced to a year of "re-education" through labor after protesting that they received inadequate compensation for demolition of their homes prior to the Games characterize the good coverage. Check out their blog, Rings, too.
- Marina Knight
Mostly, I want to point to various Web resources that will enhance your Olympic experience, since NBC is once again serving up the spliced, manufactured mess it always does.
Try switching the channel to CBC (channel 6, if you have Stowe Cable) to see different sports covered in a thorough fashion.
Also, if you’re upset about what is being covered, the NBC Web site is streaming hours of coverage online and on demand. The other day, I watched men’s weightlifting in its glorious entirety. If you have a Mac, all you need to do is download and install a simple plug-in.
The best place to view results is the official site, as it’s updated most promptly.
The New York Times has done an excellent job covering the Olympics, too. Stories like this one about two elderly Chinese women being sentenced to a year of "re-education" through labor after protesting that they received inadequate compensation for demolition of their homes prior to the Games characterize the good coverage. Check out their blog, Rings, too.
- Marina Knight
7/26/08
I am a nomad, of sorts
By Marina Knight
There is a fragile-looking girl sitting in front of me putting on make-up. She’s wearing a hot pink shirt and she has bleach-blonde hair and for the life of me I can’t figure out why this is necessary behavior in a café.
A loud family of four with visiting in-laws just vacated the table next to me. Their sandwich remnants still linger on the table and people around them glance down as if they’re going to jump off the table and into their latte.
Bob Marley, then some offbeat indie-pop song blares though the speakers and it’s raining hard outside.
This is the scene at Darwin’s café in Cambridge, Mass.
For the past four days, it’s been my office. Sometimes, I snag a seat on the large, yet horribly unsupportive, couch and sometimes I slide into a chair at one of the communal tables. Today, my timing was just right and I am sitting at a small table all my own. This little piece of real estate is a serious score and I have staked out my belongings, iPod, cell phone, small black notebook, pen and iced tea to let people know that I will be here for the afternoon.
The place has its downfalls, grungy bathroom, semi-weak coffee, just a tad-too-loud music, but it has free wi-fi, air conditioning and I think most other people in here are working, too.
This week I have been web commuting. At first I thought I was telecommuting, but it turns out I am not. That term is not only outmoded, I learned, it is too vague. Plus, telecommuting was what people did when the phone was the main means of communication. Now we use the web. It was important to make this distinction at the beginning of the week, and to mete out the varied nuances of working from away early.
The work I have done this week can also be classified as “nomad working.” It’s not quite as easy as it sounds, especially in a new town. I’ve gone through a fair number of possible work places and only a few allow me to get work done.
On day one, I walked down to the Cambridge public library only to discover that it’s closed for total renovation. I was sent to a high school gym, where I sat for a few hours. It was hot out and there was no AC and the kids reading circle was a bit out of control, so that locale was canned.
I tried working at Pete’s Coffee, the coffee being the obvious bonus, it had AC and wi-fi but there was way too much turnover, giving the place a restless feel. I found it hard to concentrate. On reflection it may have been the triple shot of espresso that caused my jittery feeling.
Darwin’s is just right, even when it’s a bit crowded. There is a different vibe to feed off than the normal office vibe. Some people are writing in journals, others are totally tuned out and focused on what looks like heavy research and an older man just behind me is editing photos. One of the coffee baristas just played Dee Jay, dedicating a song to us. Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean was our gift.
If the experience has taught me anything (the ability to block out crying children, working in a semi-chaotic environment and methods of caffeine regulation aside) it is that work is something you do, not something you travel to.
There is a fragile-looking girl sitting in front of me putting on make-up. She’s wearing a hot pink shirt and she has bleach-blonde hair and for the life of me I can’t figure out why this is necessary behavior in a café.
A loud family of four with visiting in-laws just vacated the table next to me. Their sandwich remnants still linger on the table and people around them glance down as if they’re going to jump off the table and into their latte.
Bob Marley, then some offbeat indie-pop song blares though the speakers and it’s raining hard outside.
This is the scene at Darwin’s café in Cambridge, Mass.
For the past four days, it’s been my office. Sometimes, I snag a seat on the large, yet horribly unsupportive, couch and sometimes I slide into a chair at one of the communal tables. Today, my timing was just right and I am sitting at a small table all my own. This little piece of real estate is a serious score and I have staked out my belongings, iPod, cell phone, small black notebook, pen and iced tea to let people know that I will be here for the afternoon.
The place has its downfalls, grungy bathroom, semi-weak coffee, just a tad-too-loud music, but it has free wi-fi, air conditioning and I think most other people in here are working, too.
This week I have been web commuting. At first I thought I was telecommuting, but it turns out I am not. That term is not only outmoded, I learned, it is too vague. Plus, telecommuting was what people did when the phone was the main means of communication. Now we use the web. It was important to make this distinction at the beginning of the week, and to mete out the varied nuances of working from away early.
The work I have done this week can also be classified as “nomad working.” It’s not quite as easy as it sounds, especially in a new town. I’ve gone through a fair number of possible work places and only a few allow me to get work done.
On day one, I walked down to the Cambridge public library only to discover that it’s closed for total renovation. I was sent to a high school gym, where I sat for a few hours. It was hot out and there was no AC and the kids reading circle was a bit out of control, so that locale was canned.
I tried working at Pete’s Coffee, the coffee being the obvious bonus, it had AC and wi-fi but there was way too much turnover, giving the place a restless feel. I found it hard to concentrate. On reflection it may have been the triple shot of espresso that caused my jittery feeling.
Darwin’s is just right, even when it’s a bit crowded. There is a different vibe to feed off than the normal office vibe. Some people are writing in journals, others are totally tuned out and focused on what looks like heavy research and an older man just behind me is editing photos. One of the coffee baristas just played Dee Jay, dedicating a song to us. Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean was our gift.
If the experience has taught me anything (the ability to block out crying children, working in a semi-chaotic environment and methods of caffeine regulation aside) it is that work is something you do, not something you travel to.
7/17/08
Vacation season
BY TOM KEARNEY
This is the best of times; this is the worst of times.
It’s vacation season.
People come, people go; people are a little preoccupied at work because they’re thinking about sipping a pina colada on the beach.
Everybody does everyone else’s job while they’re gone, only not as well; a former reporter winds up baby-sitting the computer servers; novices shoot news photos and we all hope for the best.
At a small operation like ours, where every job is vital, vacations have to be finessed. Optimally, people would work all the time. But in reality, without vacations, the people on our staff would burn out like dollar-store candles.
With them, those folks come back energized, full of energy and ideas — which they pitch to the poor souls who’ve been filling in and are worn out and dreaming of their own vacation time.
As for my own time off, I separate things into vacations and family trips.
Vacations are when you kick back, relax, sip tall, cool drinks, maybe smoke a cigar, and dip your toes into cool water while you read a trashy novel.
Family trips are when you’re loaded up like a pack horse, carrying a backpack jammed with sunscreen, water, raincoats, hats, insect repellent, bug-bite antidote, and whatever else fits in there.
You lug this burden behind cavorting children at, say, an amusement park where all the rides give you vertigo, or retail stores where the beaded shirts and distressed minskirts have no place in your closet, or on a beach road where your load expands to include a blanket, towels and beach chairs.
Don’t get me wrong; I love family trips. Family trips bring anticipation during the drive, knowing you’ll wind up someplace exciting. Family trips mean great conversations, songs and laughter. Family trips bring the satisfaction that you’re showing the youngsters things they’d never experience otherwise.
Family trips are the best.
Just don’t call them vacations.
This is the best of times; this is the worst of times.
It’s vacation season.
People come, people go; people are a little preoccupied at work because they’re thinking about sipping a pina colada on the beach.
Everybody does everyone else’s job while they’re gone, only not as well; a former reporter winds up baby-sitting the computer servers; novices shoot news photos and we all hope for the best.
At a small operation like ours, where every job is vital, vacations have to be finessed. Optimally, people would work all the time. But in reality, without vacations, the people on our staff would burn out like dollar-store candles.
With them, those folks come back energized, full of energy and ideas — which they pitch to the poor souls who’ve been filling in and are worn out and dreaming of their own vacation time.
As for my own time off, I separate things into vacations and family trips.
Vacations are when you kick back, relax, sip tall, cool drinks, maybe smoke a cigar, and dip your toes into cool water while you read a trashy novel.
Family trips are when you’re loaded up like a pack horse, carrying a backpack jammed with sunscreen, water, raincoats, hats, insect repellent, bug-bite antidote, and whatever else fits in there.
You lug this burden behind cavorting children at, say, an amusement park where all the rides give you vertigo, or retail stores where the beaded shirts and distressed minskirts have no place in your closet, or on a beach road where your load expands to include a blanket, towels and beach chairs.
Don’t get me wrong; I love family trips. Family trips bring anticipation during the drive, knowing you’ll wind up someplace exciting. Family trips mean great conversations, songs and laughter. Family trips bring the satisfaction that you’re showing the youngsters things they’d never experience otherwise.
Family trips are the best.
Just don’t call them vacations.
7/4/08
On Independence
By Jesse Roman
Be assured, the following is not an ode to the merits of patriotism. There are already too many of those in America. What is rarely considered, what seems to me an obvious omission, is the question of what patriotism actually means.
Is it synonymous with the kind of rah-rah nationalism that Daniel Webster captured in his 1850 speech when he declared to a frenzied crowd, ”I was born an American; I will live an American; I shall die an American!”
Is patriotism blind faith in your country, its people, its leaders and its principles, warts and all the “conviction that this country is superior to all others because you were born in it,” as playwright George Bernard Shaw once said.
My country, right or wrong is the pseudo-tribalistic mindset that's often used as the litmus test for ‘true’ Americans.
Personally, I have always had a hard time following that type of blind faith. My thoughts on the subject lie somewhere between those of authors Mark Twain, who said that “Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it,” and author Sinclair Lewis, who believed, “When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying the cross.”
Patriotism cannot just be a love for your country. With that must come a willingness to question it at every turn to ensure that the people who govern it stay true to the guiding principles by which it was founded. Among those principles, as we all know, are “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
I recently watched footage of a news broadcast that showed what can happen when so-called “patriotism” is taken to the extreme.
Taking offense to a Mexican flag, which had erroneously been hung a notch above the American flag on a pole in Reno, Nev., a man yanked down both flags in front of the owner, took the U.S. flag in his arms and tossed the Mexican flag on the ground. Then he said to the TV cameras:
“I took this flag down in honor of my country, with a knife of the United States Army! I am a veteran and I will not see this done to my country. If they want to fight us, then they need to be men. But I want someone to fight me for this flag, because they're not going to get it back!”
Some may look at this as a brazen act of valor. Others will cringe.
People can debate which reaction is right or wrong, but at least we have the freedom to engage in the debate. That¹s what makes ours the freest country in the world.
But to keep it that way we all need remain tolerant of other views, we must learn to compromise and we must stay vigilant of the fact that as Americans we are free to believe what we wish. If patriotism is used as a bludgeon to attack the moral fiber of free citizens and intimidate them into censoring their thoughts, then are we really free?
Be assured, the following is not an ode to the merits of patriotism. There are already too many of those in America. What is rarely considered, what seems to me an obvious omission, is the question of what patriotism actually means.
Is it synonymous with the kind of rah-rah nationalism that Daniel Webster captured in his 1850 speech when he declared to a frenzied crowd, ”I was born an American; I will live an American; I shall die an American!”
Is patriotism blind faith in your country, its people, its leaders and its principles, warts and all the “conviction that this country is superior to all others because you were born in it,” as playwright George Bernard Shaw once said.
My country, right or wrong is the pseudo-tribalistic mindset that's often used as the litmus test for ‘true’ Americans.
Personally, I have always had a hard time following that type of blind faith. My thoughts on the subject lie somewhere between those of authors Mark Twain, who said that “Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it,” and author Sinclair Lewis, who believed, “When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying the cross.”
Patriotism cannot just be a love for your country. With that must come a willingness to question it at every turn to ensure that the people who govern it stay true to the guiding principles by which it was founded. Among those principles, as we all know, are “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
I recently watched footage of a news broadcast that showed what can happen when so-called “patriotism” is taken to the extreme.
Taking offense to a Mexican flag, which had erroneously been hung a notch above the American flag on a pole in Reno, Nev., a man yanked down both flags in front of the owner, took the U.S. flag in his arms and tossed the Mexican flag on the ground. Then he said to the TV cameras:
“I took this flag down in honor of my country, with a knife of the United States Army! I am a veteran and I will not see this done to my country. If they want to fight us, then they need to be men. But I want someone to fight me for this flag, because they're not going to get it back!”
Some may look at this as a brazen act of valor. Others will cringe.
People can debate which reaction is right or wrong, but at least we have the freedom to engage in the debate. That¹s what makes ours the freest country in the world.
But to keep it that way we all need remain tolerant of other views, we must learn to compromise and we must stay vigilant of the fact that as Americans we are free to believe what we wish. If patriotism is used as a bludgeon to attack the moral fiber of free citizens and intimidate them into censoring their thoughts, then are we really free?
6/27/08
Translating zoning-speak
By Scott Monroe
PUD and PRD. Ridgeline and hillside and fluvial erosion hazard overlay districts. Conditional change of use and clearcutting. Ingress and egress, curbcut and greenbelt, viewsheds and screening and watercourses and setbacks and dwelling units. And don’t forget density requirements and applicable lot coverage.
Um, what?
If you don’t know what most of those terms mean, I don’t blame you. It’s a sampling of many words I’ve become familiar with these last four and a half years as a reporter covering and writing about development.
It’s what I call zoning-speak: a specialized language used by the development and zoning community.
When I started at the Stowe Reporter, understanding these terms was a big challenge. In fact, it was a barrier. Who were these people talking in code and pointing long sticks at complicated, multilayered maps? Why can’t they say, “driveway,” “grass,” “road,” and “house”?
I’ve learned a lot in four and a half years. That’s not to say I’m a zoning expert today; I’m most certainly not. But I now know enough to be able decode most of the zoning-speak and, more importantly, explain it.
One of the most important jobs for a reporter is to be able to translate, to be an interpreter of these foreign languages. It’s not just zoning. Town government has its own language of invented, bureaucratic words and acronyms — “net budget,” “RFP,” and “fee schedule” come to mind.
So, too, does the news biz have its own language; inside our building here at 49 School St. you’ll hear us toss around many gems — “PDFing,” “Quark page,” “heds, subheds, dropheds, deckheds, overlines, leading, slugs, newshole, nut graf, lede, dingbats” and on and on.
When it comes to development, I’m aiming to translate zoning-speak into plain English for all our readers. I’m using common words instead of “specialized” ones.
A “greenbelt,” I have learned, is not an advanced level of martial arts; it’s a strip of grass. A “viewshed” is not an old lean-to in the back yard that contains hanging art; it’s what you can see from a particular direction.
And then there are the many, many acronyms. PUD stands for planned unit development; it’s land that’s developed in a single project, usually for commercial purposes, such as new a cluster of new buildings for stores and restaurants. There’s also a Ski PUD that applies to specifically to Stowe Mountain Resort. The PUD is not to be confused with PRD, a planned residential development (also known as a residential planned unit development), which focuses on the development of houses, condos or apartments in a single project.
When I wrote this week about the town’s zoning regulation overhaul I tried to take the code language and explain it simply. This particular story was easier than most; it focused mostly on parking and traffic issues and was based on a public hearing.
Most of the proposed zoning changes were approved this week. By clicking on that link, you can read Stowe’s zoning-speak in all of its glory in the 180-page zoning regulations. Have fun. Don’t operate heavy machinery while reading.
Plenty of zoning stories I’ve written have required a fair amount of translation. Issues of site density, internal and external setbacks, and buffer zones are pretty tough to explain short and simply.
Take “Piecasso plans slip on grass” from May 17, 2007. The issue, as I saw it, was that the Development Review Board was “concerned about loss of grassy space for parking” at the Piecasso restaurant, which planned an expansion of its seating and parking lot. That’s not exactly what the review board members said, but that’s basically what they meant when they bemoaned the elimination of “green space” and a “greenbelt” that served as a “buffer” for adjacent properties.
Complicating matters was the parking lot, the mathematical formulas involved, and how many parking spaces the restaurant needs. Zoning rules spell that out — one space for every three seats in the restaurant, plus one space for each person employed at the restaurant during the busiest times. The rules also allow the board to require more — or less — off-street parking than is normally required if there’s a “special condition” or “unique usage” to the property.
And here’s a doozy: “With approval of the (Development Review Board) the actual construction of parking spaces in lots requiring 50 or more parking spaces may be reduced by 20 percent. … All calculations shall be rounded up to the next whole number.”
Oh, yeah, and if there are “multiple uses” at the establishment, “the parking requirements may be reduced at the discretion” of the review board.
I can’t remember exactly, but I think the discussion of these various formulas and terms went on for at least one or two hours at the Development Review Board hearing.
And after all that talk about the parking lot, I decided on this explanation: Piecasso needed 64 spaces and eventually updated its plans to have 65. And the restaurant added more grass and trees to its plans.
How’s that for translation?
PUD and PRD. Ridgeline and hillside and fluvial erosion hazard overlay districts. Conditional change of use and clearcutting. Ingress and egress, curbcut and greenbelt, viewsheds and screening and watercourses and setbacks and dwelling units. And don’t forget density requirements and applicable lot coverage.
Um, what?
If you don’t know what most of those terms mean, I don’t blame you. It’s a sampling of many words I’ve become familiar with these last four and a half years as a reporter covering and writing about development.
It’s what I call zoning-speak: a specialized language used by the development and zoning community.
When I started at the Stowe Reporter, understanding these terms was a big challenge. In fact, it was a barrier. Who were these people talking in code and pointing long sticks at complicated, multilayered maps? Why can’t they say, “driveway,” “grass,” “road,” and “house”?
I’ve learned a lot in four and a half years. That’s not to say I’m a zoning expert today; I’m most certainly not. But I now know enough to be able decode most of the zoning-speak and, more importantly, explain it.
One of the most important jobs for a reporter is to be able to translate, to be an interpreter of these foreign languages. It’s not just zoning. Town government has its own language of invented, bureaucratic words and acronyms — “net budget,” “RFP,” and “fee schedule” come to mind.
So, too, does the news biz have its own language; inside our building here at 49 School St. you’ll hear us toss around many gems — “PDFing,” “Quark page,” “heds, subheds, dropheds, deckheds, overlines, leading, slugs, newshole, nut graf, lede, dingbats” and on and on.
When it comes to development, I’m aiming to translate zoning-speak into plain English for all our readers. I’m using common words instead of “specialized” ones.
A “greenbelt,” I have learned, is not an advanced level of martial arts; it’s a strip of grass. A “viewshed” is not an old lean-to in the back yard that contains hanging art; it’s what you can see from a particular direction.
And then there are the many, many acronyms. PUD stands for planned unit development; it’s land that’s developed in a single project, usually for commercial purposes, such as new a cluster of new buildings for stores and restaurants. There’s also a Ski PUD that applies to specifically to Stowe Mountain Resort. The PUD is not to be confused with PRD, a planned residential development (also known as a residential planned unit development), which focuses on the development of houses, condos or apartments in a single project.
When I wrote this week about the town’s zoning regulation overhaul I tried to take the code language and explain it simply. This particular story was easier than most; it focused mostly on parking and traffic issues and was based on a public hearing.
Most of the proposed zoning changes were approved this week. By clicking on that link, you can read Stowe’s zoning-speak in all of its glory in the 180-page zoning regulations. Have fun. Don’t operate heavy machinery while reading.
Plenty of zoning stories I’ve written have required a fair amount of translation. Issues of site density, internal and external setbacks, and buffer zones are pretty tough to explain short and simply.
Take “Piecasso plans slip on grass” from May 17, 2007. The issue, as I saw it, was that the Development Review Board was “concerned about loss of grassy space for parking” at the Piecasso restaurant, which planned an expansion of its seating and parking lot. That’s not exactly what the review board members said, but that’s basically what they meant when they bemoaned the elimination of “green space” and a “greenbelt” that served as a “buffer” for adjacent properties.
Complicating matters was the parking lot, the mathematical formulas involved, and how many parking spaces the restaurant needs. Zoning rules spell that out — one space for every three seats in the restaurant, plus one space for each person employed at the restaurant during the busiest times. The rules also allow the board to require more — or less — off-street parking than is normally required if there’s a “special condition” or “unique usage” to the property.
And here’s a doozy: “With approval of the (Development Review Board) the actual construction of parking spaces in lots requiring 50 or more parking spaces may be reduced by 20 percent. … All calculations shall be rounded up to the next whole number.”
Oh, yeah, and if there are “multiple uses” at the establishment, “the parking requirements may be reduced at the discretion” of the review board.
I can’t remember exactly, but I think the discussion of these various formulas and terms went on for at least one or two hours at the Development Review Board hearing.
And after all that talk about the parking lot, I decided on this explanation: Piecasso needed 64 spaces and eventually updated its plans to have 65. And the restaurant added more grass and trees to its plans.
How’s that for translation?
6/23/08
Change is fast and furious
by Marina Knight
By the time I finish writing this, something to do with our job as newspaper people will have changed.
Many have heard the news and seen the headlines – newspapers are suffering, readership is dwindling and publishers around the country are in a panic. Big papers like the New York Times are in turmoil – they recently closed all their suburban bureaus and now have one reporter covering all of New Jersey. They are trying to figure out how to re-capture their audience and make themselves relevant again.
I was reading a paper online recently and it referred to its print version as the “dead-wood” version.
The times are changing and changing fast. The “newspaper” or print template for feeding people information used to be effective, but the truth is that a newspaper can only provide people with a fraction of the information they need nowadays.
Simply telling people what is news is not enough and the Internet – particularly the precedent that’s been set by the speed at which people can find out information – has changed everything.
So, what we are trying to do, just like everyone else in this business, is paddle in hard to catch the wave that is cresting high overhead. If we don’t we’ll surely be smashed to the bottom and given a good tumble before we come back up sputtering for air.
Actually, the picture for us is not nearly as grim as it is for some other papers. The Stowe Reporter is doing well, we have not seen a decline in circulation and print ad revenue is healthy. Last year we started a newspaper in Waterbury, which I am sure puts us in very lonely company.
But while things are good, we recognize the change that’s upon us so we’re making a big effort to grow our online presence (www.stowetoday.com) in the community and become not just a news provider but the local information and connectivity utility.
While the majority of what we’ll continue to provide is local news coverage, news is just one the jobs we need to do now. This is a big change.
We are asking ourselves tough but tremendously exciting questions: What can we as a newspaper company become? How can we utilize the Internet to meet people’s current needs for information and connection to our community? How can we continue to remain relevant?
By the time I finish writing this, something to do with our job as newspaper people will have changed.
Many have heard the news and seen the headlines – newspapers are suffering, readership is dwindling and publishers around the country are in a panic. Big papers like the New York Times are in turmoil – they recently closed all their suburban bureaus and now have one reporter covering all of New Jersey. They are trying to figure out how to re-capture their audience and make themselves relevant again.
I was reading a paper online recently and it referred to its print version as the “dead-wood” version.
The times are changing and changing fast. The “newspaper” or print template for feeding people information used to be effective, but the truth is that a newspaper can only provide people with a fraction of the information they need nowadays.
Simply telling people what is news is not enough and the Internet – particularly the precedent that’s been set by the speed at which people can find out information – has changed everything.
So, what we are trying to do, just like everyone else in this business, is paddle in hard to catch the wave that is cresting high overhead. If we don’t we’ll surely be smashed to the bottom and given a good tumble before we come back up sputtering for air.
Actually, the picture for us is not nearly as grim as it is for some other papers. The Stowe Reporter is doing well, we have not seen a decline in circulation and print ad revenue is healthy. Last year we started a newspaper in Waterbury, which I am sure puts us in very lonely company.
But while things are good, we recognize the change that’s upon us so we’re making a big effort to grow our online presence (www.stowetoday.com) in the community and become not just a news provider but the local information and connectivity utility.
While the majority of what we’ll continue to provide is local news coverage, news is just one the jobs we need to do now. This is a big change.
We are asking ourselves tough but tremendously exciting questions: What can we as a newspaper company become? How can we utilize the Internet to meet people’s current needs for information and connection to our community? How can we continue to remain relevant?
6/17/08
Two little stories about my move to Stowe
BY BIDDLE DUKE
Let’s get something clear. I didn’t move to Stowe. I bought the Stowe Reporter.
That was an important distinction — more so then, when we made the move, and I was only 35 and in the middle of a newspaper career and my working life. I wasn’t retiring to the good life in a quaint resort town in Vermont. I had found a newspaper I could afford. That it was in a beautiful community with a sound economy and decent economic prospects and a great school sealed the deal, which went down May 1, 1998.
I remember when in March of that year I went to Peter Manigault, the chairman of the Evening Post Publishing Co. He’d been my mentor and my friend and he’d invested almost five years in me, teaching me much about business, journalism, life and friendship.
Peter was stunned by my choice. I was leaving his company of many newspapers and TV stations, where I had terrific prospects, and his hometown of Charleston, South Carolina, a place that people want to move to, not away from, to buy a tiny newspaper with middling prospects and cold winters.
“You want to spend the next 10 years fleecing ski bunnies from Boston and New York?” he said in his halting manner.
Once I was in the saddle here, the questions from neighbors, most of whom I would discover had some economic connection to my new venture — as advertisers, readers, employees — were more rhetorical: “How did you decide on Stowe?”
I didn’t. Stowe had little to do with it. That response, of course, is not what most people imagined or probably what they wanted to hear. Most folks live here by circumstance or choice and people are comforted when the choices of others confirm their own. But I wasn’t going to do that. I moved to Stowe to run the newspaper; that it was located in a terrifically cool place just made that prospect more appealing.
It bears mentioning that one of the other papers I’d looked at was in Libby, Montana. I’d have moved there in a heartbeat for all the reasons that people are moving away. W.R. Grace’s vermiculite mine had contaminated the town and the paper was leading the charge against the big, bad corporation. If it wasn’t, it sure would have under my ownership. (W.R. Grace was eventually brought down by the Libby case).
My wife smacked away that idea. Who was I kidding? Moving our family to Montana was a stretch, but moving to a toxic mining town was a joke not even worth considering.
So Idoline, a UVM grad, greeted the prospect of Stowe like an oasis in the parched desert. Then we visited, saw that it was really nice — that the entire state of Vermont is an oasis — and made the decision that, yes, I could proceed with negotiations to purchase the Stowe Reporter.
Which I did.
And I’m sure glad I didn’t ruin my marriage and my health and move to Libby. I would never have discovered, 10 years later, what a great excuse buying the Reporter gave me for moving to Stowe and Vermont.
•••
The other story is tangential.
When we moved here, we didn’t waste any time finding a house, which is emblematic of how we approached this move: It was all business. We weren’t necessarily looking for the perfect home. It just had to work.
At the end of one day of searching, we spotted something in the window of McKee Real Estate, Brent Libby’s operation that is now the Sotheby’s affiliate on Mountain Road.
Brent was in. The house was up the street and we could see it right away. We went.
Other than being smack on the road, the house was ideal and in many ways picture perfect. And in our price range: $292,000. Four bedrooms, a pond, 2 acres, two old barns, within biking distance of town and schools.
We made an offer on the spot. Sold.
Of course, being all business, I went right to work on the house’s first problem: that cars were flying by some 10 yards from the front door. Within the first few weeks of moving in, I called and introduced myself to the very congenial police chief and explained my problem to him.
Ken Kaplan replied: “I’ll send a cruiser up there. That should slow people down.”
Genius, I thought. I like this town. The chief’s on my side.
Sure enough, one of the officers pulled right in to my driveway and parked facing the road. Pretty soon, he pulled out with his flashers on and pulled someone over.
Sonofagun, I thought, that’ll slow ’em down. Then another and another.
For the next few weeks, people were damn careful driving by my house. Those speeders. That showed ’em.
A few months later, a nice man I know threw a party for me. One of my neighbors, Chip Percy, attended, along with a bunch of other Percys. To be a Percy in Stowe is like being a Kennedy in Massachusetts — they own tons of land and businesses and are speckled throughout local government.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I appreciated the way you introduced yourself to your neighbors,” said Chip. “You had the cops saying your hellos for you.”
What do you say at moments like that?
What I said was “Oh, darn. Sorry. I didn’t know they would issue tickets.” Which was the truth.
And all credit to Chip for pointing it out, clear and simple, the first time we met. He laughs now at the memory of what a dumbbell I was, and he’ll have that on me till I die.
What I didn’t know then and what I understand so well today is that almost nothing you do in a town of 5,000 or so is a secret. Which is pretty slow thinking for a newspaper publisher. But while I’d spent 15 years working and running newspapers, I really didn’t know what I was getting into when I took over the Stowe Reporter and moved, yes, moved, to Stowe, Vermont.
Let’s get something clear. I didn’t move to Stowe. I bought the Stowe Reporter.
That was an important distinction — more so then, when we made the move, and I was only 35 and in the middle of a newspaper career and my working life. I wasn’t retiring to the good life in a quaint resort town in Vermont. I had found a newspaper I could afford. That it was in a beautiful community with a sound economy and decent economic prospects and a great school sealed the deal, which went down May 1, 1998.
I remember when in March of that year I went to Peter Manigault, the chairman of the Evening Post Publishing Co. He’d been my mentor and my friend and he’d invested almost five years in me, teaching me much about business, journalism, life and friendship.
Peter was stunned by my choice. I was leaving his company of many newspapers and TV stations, where I had terrific prospects, and his hometown of Charleston, South Carolina, a place that people want to move to, not away from, to buy a tiny newspaper with middling prospects and cold winters.
“You want to spend the next 10 years fleecing ski bunnies from Boston and New York?” he said in his halting manner.
Once I was in the saddle here, the questions from neighbors, most of whom I would discover had some economic connection to my new venture — as advertisers, readers, employees — were more rhetorical: “How did you decide on Stowe?”
I didn’t. Stowe had little to do with it. That response, of course, is not what most people imagined or probably what they wanted to hear. Most folks live here by circumstance or choice and people are comforted when the choices of others confirm their own. But I wasn’t going to do that. I moved to Stowe to run the newspaper; that it was located in a terrifically cool place just made that prospect more appealing.
It bears mentioning that one of the other papers I’d looked at was in Libby, Montana. I’d have moved there in a heartbeat for all the reasons that people are moving away. W.R. Grace’s vermiculite mine had contaminated the town and the paper was leading the charge against the big, bad corporation. If it wasn’t, it sure would have under my ownership. (W.R. Grace was eventually brought down by the Libby case).
My wife smacked away that idea. Who was I kidding? Moving our family to Montana was a stretch, but moving to a toxic mining town was a joke not even worth considering.
So Idoline, a UVM grad, greeted the prospect of Stowe like an oasis in the parched desert. Then we visited, saw that it was really nice — that the entire state of Vermont is an oasis — and made the decision that, yes, I could proceed with negotiations to purchase the Stowe Reporter.
Which I did.
And I’m sure glad I didn’t ruin my marriage and my health and move to Libby. I would never have discovered, 10 years later, what a great excuse buying the Reporter gave me for moving to Stowe and Vermont.
•••
The other story is tangential.
When we moved here, we didn’t waste any time finding a house, which is emblematic of how we approached this move: It was all business. We weren’t necessarily looking for the perfect home. It just had to work.
At the end of one day of searching, we spotted something in the window of McKee Real Estate, Brent Libby’s operation that is now the Sotheby’s affiliate on Mountain Road.
Brent was in. The house was up the street and we could see it right away. We went.
Other than being smack on the road, the house was ideal and in many ways picture perfect. And in our price range: $292,000. Four bedrooms, a pond, 2 acres, two old barns, within biking distance of town and schools.
We made an offer on the spot. Sold.
Of course, being all business, I went right to work on the house’s first problem: that cars were flying by some 10 yards from the front door. Within the first few weeks of moving in, I called and introduced myself to the very congenial police chief and explained my problem to him.
Ken Kaplan replied: “I’ll send a cruiser up there. That should slow people down.”
Genius, I thought. I like this town. The chief’s on my side.
Sure enough, one of the officers pulled right in to my driveway and parked facing the road. Pretty soon, he pulled out with his flashers on and pulled someone over.
Sonofagun, I thought, that’ll slow ’em down. Then another and another.
For the next few weeks, people were damn careful driving by my house. Those speeders. That showed ’em.
A few months later, a nice man I know threw a party for me. One of my neighbors, Chip Percy, attended, along with a bunch of other Percys. To be a Percy in Stowe is like being a Kennedy in Massachusetts — they own tons of land and businesses and are speckled throughout local government.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I appreciated the way you introduced yourself to your neighbors,” said Chip. “You had the cops saying your hellos for you.”
What do you say at moments like that?
What I said was “Oh, darn. Sorry. I didn’t know they would issue tickets.” Which was the truth.
And all credit to Chip for pointing it out, clear and simple, the first time we met. He laughs now at the memory of what a dumbbell I was, and he’ll have that on me till I die.
What I didn’t know then and what I understand so well today is that almost nothing you do in a town of 5,000 or so is a secret. Which is pretty slow thinking for a newspaper publisher. But while I’d spent 15 years working and running newspapers, I really didn’t know what I was getting into when I took over the Stowe Reporter and moved, yes, moved, to Stowe, Vermont.
6/10/08
Why the latte factor is all froth
By Lisa McCormack
Financial prosperity is all about the latte factor; just buy fewer lattes, invest the money you save and you’ll retire rich.
Ask the financial gurus who smugly share their wisdom on Oprah and write books with titles like “Everyone Can be a Millionaire” and they’ll tell you it comes down to living beneath your means and controlling your discretionary spending. In other words: If you can’t make ends meet, it’s your fault.
But that philosophy appears to be all froth, at least here in Vermont, where gasoline has hit the $4 mark, home heating oil is hovering around $5 a gallon and grocery prices are escalating so rapidly that even weekly specials and double-coupon deals don’t help much.
Given that the median household income in Vermont was $47,665 in 2006, most would still struggle to fill their gas tanks and heat their homes even if they swore off lattes forever.
The reaction generated by an article I wrote last week about roiling home fuel prices brings my point home.
Heating fuel dealers I interviewed for the article were still crunching the numbers to determine if they should offer pre-buy plans, and if so, how much should they charge. One dealer said his customers “should prepare to be shocked” when they received their new contracts.
The subject came up Sunday at a barbecue I attended. Within our group were service workers, state employees, a social worker, business owners. retirees, and a recently laid-off single mother.
Although the weather was a steamy 90 degrees, all voiced a common concern: How would they be able to heat their homes this winter?
Most have already cut back their spending this year. They’ve eliminated family vacations. They’ve curtailed shopping trips to Burlington and road trips to visit out-of-state relatives. They’re eating less meat and forgoing takeout pizza and Chinese food in favor of an occasional potluck with friends.
Vermonters are resourceful people and my friends are finding extra money wherever they can. One man whose construction business has sputtered as real estate prices have cooled started a lawn-mowing business. A woman with four kids ages six and under has started a home daycare business to boast her family income.
Those who used to spend their weekends at yard sales are scouring their basements and barns for anything they can do without and are holding their own yard sales to generate some quick cash.
My friends who garden are planting extra rows to freeze and can and a few who have never gardened have planted backyard plots.
These days, financial survival isn’t about cutting back on lattes, or fancy vacations or other luxuries. It’s about stretching already thin paychecks to cover the escalating costs of essentials: fuel, food, heat.
Most at the barbecue were hopeful that things would eventually turn around. My friend, Anne, was laid off from her manufacturing job several months ago. She has sent out a few dozen resumes and is optimistic that she will find work in the service sector soon as the local resorts gear up for the summer tourism season.
“In the meantime, I try to look on the bright side, she said. “At least I don’t have to worry about not having enough gas to get to work.”
Financial prosperity is all about the latte factor; just buy fewer lattes, invest the money you save and you’ll retire rich.
Ask the financial gurus who smugly share their wisdom on Oprah and write books with titles like “Everyone Can be a Millionaire” and they’ll tell you it comes down to living beneath your means and controlling your discretionary spending. In other words: If you can’t make ends meet, it’s your fault.
But that philosophy appears to be all froth, at least here in Vermont, where gasoline has hit the $4 mark, home heating oil is hovering around $5 a gallon and grocery prices are escalating so rapidly that even weekly specials and double-coupon deals don’t help much.
Given that the median household income in Vermont was $47,665 in 2006, most would still struggle to fill their gas tanks and heat their homes even if they swore off lattes forever.
The reaction generated by an article I wrote last week about roiling home fuel prices brings my point home.
Heating fuel dealers I interviewed for the article were still crunching the numbers to determine if they should offer pre-buy plans, and if so, how much should they charge. One dealer said his customers “should prepare to be shocked” when they received their new contracts.
The subject came up Sunday at a barbecue I attended. Within our group were service workers, state employees, a social worker, business owners. retirees, and a recently laid-off single mother.
Although the weather was a steamy 90 degrees, all voiced a common concern: How would they be able to heat their homes this winter?
Most have already cut back their spending this year. They’ve eliminated family vacations. They’ve curtailed shopping trips to Burlington and road trips to visit out-of-state relatives. They’re eating less meat and forgoing takeout pizza and Chinese food in favor of an occasional potluck with friends.
Vermonters are resourceful people and my friends are finding extra money wherever they can. One man whose construction business has sputtered as real estate prices have cooled started a lawn-mowing business. A woman with four kids ages six and under has started a home daycare business to boast her family income.
Those who used to spend their weekends at yard sales are scouring their basements and barns for anything they can do without and are holding their own yard sales to generate some quick cash.
My friends who garden are planting extra rows to freeze and can and a few who have never gardened have planted backyard plots.
These days, financial survival isn’t about cutting back on lattes, or fancy vacations or other luxuries. It’s about stretching already thin paychecks to cover the escalating costs of essentials: fuel, food, heat.
Most at the barbecue were hopeful that things would eventually turn around. My friend, Anne, was laid off from her manufacturing job several months ago. She has sent out a few dozen resumes and is optimistic that she will find work in the service sector soon as the local resorts gear up for the summer tourism season.
“In the meantime, I try to look on the bright side, she said. “At least I don’t have to worry about not having enough gas to get to work.”
5/30/08
More RAM
By Tom Kearney
We installed a terabyte server at the Stowe Reporter this week. In case you didn’t know, a terabyte equals 1,000 gigabytes.
A gigabyte used to be humongous, but now it has been subsumed by the terabyte. Which, you’ll be pleased to know, is the size and shape of a book.
Computers were developed in my lifetime, and I have childhood memories of Univac, the first commercial computer. People oohed and aahed at this marvelous invention, and TV shows filmed it in operation. It was the size of a mobile home —25 feet wide, 50 feet long — and it could hold 1,000 words. That’s right, 1,000 words. If you went beyond that, the data had to be stored on magnetic tape.
The newspaper I worked for bought a computer system in about 1972. It had a central brain, and eight very dumb terminals. It had one megabyte of storage space. And, since United Press International dumped its daily load of news, sports, entertainment, weather and what have you into that computer, it filled up every day. “System full! System full!” screams would appear on your screen, and everybody on those eight terminals would go nuts, killing off every file they could.
No photos, no graphics, no images at all; just words, text files, letter piled upon letter until you hit the 1-megabyte ceiling and had to start deleting.
Here’s how people thought about computer storage in those days: The 1-megabyte computer was about the size of a PC tower these days. But it was too small for 1970s editors; they couldn’t fathom how lots of articles could fit into something that small. The machines just didn’t sell.
So, the company mounted the computer inside a 5-foot-tall cabinet that was otherwise empty. Editors saw the cabinet, judged that it was a sufficient size, and the computer systems started selling like hotcakes.
My brother-in-law helped design the on-board computer for the Apollo space capsule that took Americans into space, even to the moon, in the late 1960s. The computer had 1 megabyte of storage capacity, and it was in charge of almost everything in the spacecraft.
Last week, the Stowe Reporter’s front-page photo — showing a group of cows — consumed 15.8 megabytes of storage space. You could have run almost 16 Apollo capsules with the space required for a single color photograph.
What is the value of memory? It’s a sliding scale, for sure.
For instance, I know Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs and Randy and the Rainbows had a hit with “Denise” in 1963. But of what value is that?
I have this image: My head is full of shoeboxes, each filled with index cards. When a memory question comes up, I have to rifle through the index cards until I find the answer: “714” or “Randy and the Rainbows.”
Of course, sometimes the cards stick together, or are out of order, and it takes forever to retrieve the answer. I can usually find it eventually, and I seldom crash, but I have reached this conclusion: I need more RAM.
We installed a terabyte server at the Stowe Reporter this week. In case you didn’t know, a terabyte equals 1,000 gigabytes.
A gigabyte used to be humongous, but now it has been subsumed by the terabyte. Which, you’ll be pleased to know, is the size and shape of a book.
Computers were developed in my lifetime, and I have childhood memories of Univac, the first commercial computer. People oohed and aahed at this marvelous invention, and TV shows filmed it in operation. It was the size of a mobile home —25 feet wide, 50 feet long — and it could hold 1,000 words. That’s right, 1,000 words. If you went beyond that, the data had to be stored on magnetic tape.
The newspaper I worked for bought a computer system in about 1972. It had a central brain, and eight very dumb terminals. It had one megabyte of storage space. And, since United Press International dumped its daily load of news, sports, entertainment, weather and what have you into that computer, it filled up every day. “System full! System full!” screams would appear on your screen, and everybody on those eight terminals would go nuts, killing off every file they could.
No photos, no graphics, no images at all; just words, text files, letter piled upon letter until you hit the 1-megabyte ceiling and had to start deleting.
Here’s how people thought about computer storage in those days: The 1-megabyte computer was about the size of a PC tower these days. But it was too small for 1970s editors; they couldn’t fathom how lots of articles could fit into something that small. The machines just didn’t sell.
So, the company mounted the computer inside a 5-foot-tall cabinet that was otherwise empty. Editors saw the cabinet, judged that it was a sufficient size, and the computer systems started selling like hotcakes.
My brother-in-law helped design the on-board computer for the Apollo space capsule that took Americans into space, even to the moon, in the late 1960s. The computer had 1 megabyte of storage capacity, and it was in charge of almost everything in the spacecraft.
Last week, the Stowe Reporter’s front-page photo — showing a group of cows — consumed 15.8 megabytes of storage space. You could have run almost 16 Apollo capsules with the space required for a single color photograph.
What is the value of memory? It’s a sliding scale, for sure.
For instance, I know Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs and Randy and the Rainbows had a hit with “Denise” in 1963. But of what value is that?
I have this image: My head is full of shoeboxes, each filled with index cards. When a memory question comes up, I have to rifle through the index cards until I find the answer: “714” or “Randy and the Rainbows.”
Of course, sometimes the cards stick together, or are out of order, and it takes forever to retrieve the answer. I can usually find it eventually, and I seldom crash, but I have reached this conclusion: I need more RAM.
5/29/08
On the way to court
By Scott Monroe
It's Friday morning and I'm getting ready to drive 15 minutes north to Lamoille District Court in Hyde Park.
Almost 17 years have led up to this moment.
At 10 a.m., the sentencing will begin for Howard Godfrey, convicted by a jury in January of raping and murdering Patricia Scoville in Stowe. The conviction for aggravated murder carries an automatic sentence of life in prison. This morning's proceeding, therefore, is the end of the court process, the final chapter for Patricia's parents, David and Ann, in finding their daughter's killer and bringing him to justice.
Godfrey, 61, will begin serving his life sentence today.
Scoville, 28, was killed in the Moss Glen Falls area of Stowe in 1991; her body was found buried under leaves and dead tree limbs. She died of asphyxiation, or deprivation of air, an autopsy showed.
The killing had a big impact on Stowe - and on me.
I began writing about the Scoville case in 2005, when DNA evidence linked Godfrey to the crime. The key clue that had been left behind was male semen on Scoville's body.
This is the first murder case I've written about, the first time I've
covered a murder trial. A lot of what I saw during the trial stirred my emotions: the shoes and clothes found with Scoville's body, wrapped in plastic evidence bags; the water bottle that was found in the woods; the video of authorities uncovering her body. And the maps.
They especially struck me, as prosecutors showed maps of Stowe to the jury: the village, Mountain Road, Moss Glen Falls, landmarks along the way. I knew all the roads and landmarks. I could clearly picture Patricia Scoville on her bicycle, riding through. It's hard to believe such a vicious crime could happen here, in Stowe.
But it did.
Yesterday (Thursday), David and Ann Scoville were honored at the Statehouse. Vermont officials dedicated the Patricia Scoville Memorial CODIS Laboratory, in honor of David and Ann's tireless efforts to get Vermont a DNA database in 1998.
The dedication was also attended by many Stowe residents and officials, including Bruce Merriam, Ken Libby, Neil Van Dyke and others who were there in 1991 when a missing-person case became a murder investigation.
David and Ann will be at the sentencing hearing this morning. So will family, friends, and local law-enforcement officers who worked over the years to find the killer.
Family may choose to speak publicly to Godfrey, and Godfrey - if he wants - may speak publicly before he's led away to a lifetime behind bars.
Back from court
The hearing started shortly after 10 this morning in Lamoille District Court in Hyde Park. David and Ann were there, with about a dozen other family members.
Howard Godfrey wore a blue dress shirt and jeans.
Assistant Attorney General Cindy Maguire spoke first, calling the crime the“most heinous act one can commit.”
“And while a sentence of life in prison gives some comfort to the family and community ... it does not give the family full closure, because such a horrific act could never have closure at the end.”
There were three speakers:
First was Lynn Lenihan; she was 8 years old when Patty was born, so they grew up more like sisters than aunt and niece. “She will always be that spirited young woman to those who knew her,” Lenihan said. She hopes Godfrey will feel pain when his life is over, a pain that will “multiply on itself for all of eternity.” Ann Scoville said, “Even now, after all this time, I have to shake my head in disbelief.” During the trial, “there were times I felt as though I were looking in on a TV drama,” but what struck her was that “the person who brought us here was missing.”
She said Scoville, her first-born daughter, would have turned 45 June 3, only 11 days from now. “As I celebrated Mother's Day with my own mother, who is 93, I couldn't help but think of what could have been.”
The question that haunts Ann Scoville is “Why?”
“Why our Patty?” she said. “Again, my question to Mr. Godfrey is why?” She hopes that question will haunt Godfrey in prison, “that he remember the anguish of this mother and ask himself, why?”
David Scoville described his “little girl, my first-born, my honor student, my cheerleader, my Cornell graduate ...”
But, “she was doomed to remain alive to me only in my memories. ... There was nothing any of us could do to bring her back. Our memories were our only connection, and still are.”
To Godfrey: “That was my little girl you raped and murdered.”
He hopes his memories of Patty “have the power to overshadow the events of 1991” and he “hopes she also rests more easily.”
Godfrey appeared upset during the three speeches, though he did not actually cry. His attorney, Kerry DeWolfe, told the judge that he “continues to maintain his innocence.” Asked by the judge if he wanted to address the court, Godfrey replied, “No, your honor.”
At the end, Judge Dennis Pearson sentenced Godfrey, and seemed somewhat emotional himself. He said Godfrey had committed “the most serious and awful crime acknowledged by our society” and the “worst possible nightmare any parent can face.” The Scovilles, he said, deserve praise for their “superhuman ability to arouse themselves from that nightmare. ...”
The hearing ended at 10:50 a.m. It had lasted about a half-hour.
Outside the courthouse, David thanked reporters (me included) for keeping
Patty’s story alive these last 16 and a half years.
“Patty finally had her day in court,” David said.
It's Friday morning and I'm getting ready to drive 15 minutes north to Lamoille District Court in Hyde Park.
Almost 17 years have led up to this moment.
At 10 a.m., the sentencing will begin for Howard Godfrey, convicted by a jury in January of raping and murdering Patricia Scoville in Stowe. The conviction for aggravated murder carries an automatic sentence of life in prison. This morning's proceeding, therefore, is the end of the court process, the final chapter for Patricia's parents, David and Ann, in finding their daughter's killer and bringing him to justice.
Godfrey, 61, will begin serving his life sentence today.
Scoville, 28, was killed in the Moss Glen Falls area of Stowe in 1991; her body was found buried under leaves and dead tree limbs. She died of asphyxiation, or deprivation of air, an autopsy showed.
The killing had a big impact on Stowe - and on me.
I began writing about the Scoville case in 2005, when DNA evidence linked Godfrey to the crime. The key clue that had been left behind was male semen on Scoville's body.
This is the first murder case I've written about, the first time I've
covered a murder trial. A lot of what I saw during the trial stirred my emotions: the shoes and clothes found with Scoville's body, wrapped in plastic evidence bags; the water bottle that was found in the woods; the video of authorities uncovering her body. And the maps.
They especially struck me, as prosecutors showed maps of Stowe to the jury: the village, Mountain Road, Moss Glen Falls, landmarks along the way. I knew all the roads and landmarks. I could clearly picture Patricia Scoville on her bicycle, riding through. It's hard to believe such a vicious crime could happen here, in Stowe.
But it did.
Yesterday (Thursday), David and Ann Scoville were honored at the Statehouse. Vermont officials dedicated the Patricia Scoville Memorial CODIS Laboratory, in honor of David and Ann's tireless efforts to get Vermont a DNA database in 1998.
The dedication was also attended by many Stowe residents and officials, including Bruce Merriam, Ken Libby, Neil Van Dyke and others who were there in 1991 when a missing-person case became a murder investigation.
David and Ann will be at the sentencing hearing this morning. So will family, friends, and local law-enforcement officers who worked over the years to find the killer.
Family may choose to speak publicly to Godfrey, and Godfrey - if he wants - may speak publicly before he's led away to a lifetime behind bars.
Back from court
The hearing started shortly after 10 this morning in Lamoille District Court in Hyde Park. David and Ann were there, with about a dozen other family members.
Howard Godfrey wore a blue dress shirt and jeans.
Assistant Attorney General Cindy Maguire spoke first, calling the crime the“most heinous act one can commit.”
“And while a sentence of life in prison gives some comfort to the family and community ... it does not give the family full closure, because such a horrific act could never have closure at the end.”
There were three speakers:
First was Lynn Lenihan; she was 8 years old when Patty was born, so they grew up more like sisters than aunt and niece. “She will always be that spirited young woman to those who knew her,” Lenihan said. She hopes Godfrey will feel pain when his life is over, a pain that will “multiply on itself for all of eternity.” Ann Scoville said, “Even now, after all this time, I have to shake my head in disbelief.” During the trial, “there were times I felt as though I were looking in on a TV drama,” but what struck her was that “the person who brought us here was missing.”
She said Scoville, her first-born daughter, would have turned 45 June 3, only 11 days from now. “As I celebrated Mother's Day with my own mother, who is 93, I couldn't help but think of what could have been.”
The question that haunts Ann Scoville is “Why?”
“Why our Patty?” she said. “Again, my question to Mr. Godfrey is why?” She hopes that question will haunt Godfrey in prison, “that he remember the anguish of this mother and ask himself, why?”
David Scoville described his “little girl, my first-born, my honor student, my cheerleader, my Cornell graduate ...”
But, “she was doomed to remain alive to me only in my memories. ... There was nothing any of us could do to bring her back. Our memories were our only connection, and still are.”
To Godfrey: “That was my little girl you raped and murdered.”
He hopes his memories of Patty “have the power to overshadow the events of 1991” and he “hopes she also rests more easily.”
Godfrey appeared upset during the three speeches, though he did not actually cry. His attorney, Kerry DeWolfe, told the judge that he “continues to maintain his innocence.” Asked by the judge if he wanted to address the court, Godfrey replied, “No, your honor.”
At the end, Judge Dennis Pearson sentenced Godfrey, and seemed somewhat emotional himself. He said Godfrey had committed “the most serious and awful crime acknowledged by our society” and the “worst possible nightmare any parent can face.” The Scovilles, he said, deserve praise for their “superhuman ability to arouse themselves from that nightmare. ...”
The hearing ended at 10:50 a.m. It had lasted about a half-hour.
Outside the courthouse, David thanked reporters (me included) for keeping
Patty’s story alive these last 16 and a half years.
“Patty finally had her day in court,” David said.
5/16/08
Small-town newspapers
By Jesse Roman
I love the fact that I get to explore every day. I talk to interesting and motivated people, I attend important events and I have the privilege of sharing the information I glean from these experiences with everyone in the community.
I have fun, but also take my job very seriously. Credibility is really all you have in this business. If the public can’t trust what you write, there is no reason for you to be writing.
I think the majority of people who read the Stowe Reporter understand that, and understand the function of a newspaper. Most know a newspaper is not a means for the writers to pick on people we don’t like; our objective is not to plug businesses or promote agendas. As reporters, we’re not here to persuade and we’re not trying to portray the towns we cover as anything more or anything less than what they are. The idea is to gather accurate information, and lay it all out there so that individuals can make up their own minds about what’s going on. It’s an essential function for the community because informed citizens are empowered citizens.
Not everyone sees the newspaper this way. Some people don’t understand its function and don’t grasp the rationale of showing both sides of an argument. For some, any negative press is seen as an attack, even if they are given a substantial and adequate voice in the story. As reporters, we are not supposed to criticize, we don’t state opinions and we don’t judge. What we write, and what some see as “negative press,” ultimately comes directly from the mouths of the people we interview and the opinions they convey. We are simply giving people a voice, like all newspapers are supposed to do.
In the process, however, there are bound to be some people who don’t agree with everything we write or everything we do. Just read the letters to the editor. In that section — but much more often behind closed doors — I have been called a sensationalist, too young, and even empty below the brain. And I think that’s great. When people stop caring about what I write, then I’ll worry.
I love the fact that I get to explore every day. I talk to interesting and motivated people, I attend important events and I have the privilege of sharing the information I glean from these experiences with everyone in the community.
I have fun, but also take my job very seriously. Credibility is really all you have in this business. If the public can’t trust what you write, there is no reason for you to be writing.
I think the majority of people who read the Stowe Reporter understand that, and understand the function of a newspaper. Most know a newspaper is not a means for the writers to pick on people we don’t like; our objective is not to plug businesses or promote agendas. As reporters, we’re not here to persuade and we’re not trying to portray the towns we cover as anything more or anything less than what they are. The idea is to gather accurate information, and lay it all out there so that individuals can make up their own minds about what’s going on. It’s an essential function for the community because informed citizens are empowered citizens.
Not everyone sees the newspaper this way. Some people don’t understand its function and don’t grasp the rationale of showing both sides of an argument. For some, any negative press is seen as an attack, even if they are given a substantial and adequate voice in the story. As reporters, we are not supposed to criticize, we don’t state opinions and we don’t judge. What we write, and what some see as “negative press,” ultimately comes directly from the mouths of the people we interview and the opinions they convey. We are simply giving people a voice, like all newspapers are supposed to do.
In the process, however, there are bound to be some people who don’t agree with everything we write or everything we do. Just read the letters to the editor. In that section — but much more often behind closed doors — I have been called a sensationalist, too young, and even empty below the brain. And I think that’s great. When people stop caring about what I write, then I’ll worry.
5/14/08
The fallout of rising food and gas prices: Could some good be wrapped in the bad?
By Marina Knight
First, I’d like to welcome you all to our new staff blog. We hope it will be insightful. The goal is to give our readers interesting, behind-the-scenes insights that might spark conversation and inspire thought. Please feel free to comment on what you read by simply clicking the comment link at the bottom of each post.
The headlines have recently been dominated by the rising cost of food and the outrageous price of gasoline. Aside from when Hillary will pull out of the race, the mainstream media seem to be interested in little else.
Would it be bombastic to think that some good could come from the horror?
In the case of the rising gas prices, the argument is strong. We all know about global warming and it seems naysayers can no longer refute the science and the numbers that show human impact has accelerated the crisis. In Vermont, driving cars accounts for 44 percent of the pollution we green-staters emit.
If gas becomes too expensive, perhaps people will begin to drive less.
Prices at the pump today are still much lower than those in Europe. If you think it’s expensive to drive here, go there. From firsthand experience, a full tank of gas will run you about $80. It’s been this way for years, and high prices have turned people to public transportation.
Recently, that has started to happen here, too. Just a week ago, the Reporter’s Jesse Roman reported that Green Mountain Transit numbers are on the rise, in large part due to the increased price of gas and broader awareness and concern for the environment.
Drivers in America last year laid down just over 3 trillion miles, down 12.2 billion or 0.4 percent, according to the Federal Highway Administration's monthly Traffic Volume Trends.
Americans drove less for the first time in 27 years. If this is linked to the cost of gas, keep it on the rise.
The second headline dominator will be more difficult to argue. It is hard to see the good in the rising price of food that is sparking unrest in poor countries around the globe. Higher food prices have affected Vermonters to a much lesser extent than the world’s poorest populations. Perhaps the best thing to do in a crisis like this is learn from our mistakes.
The story has brought attention to the fact that turning farms into fuel plants may not be the best fix for high global oil prices. Didn’t anyone see that, when you ask the rice farmer to grow crops that power cars instead of people, people might get hungry? Instead of Congress mandating a fivefold increase in the use of biofuels last year, perhaps it should have simply mandated that people drive less.
We should assess which hunger is more fierce; our hunger for basic foods or our hunger for oil.
First, I’d like to welcome you all to our new staff blog. We hope it will be insightful. The goal is to give our readers interesting, behind-the-scenes insights that might spark conversation and inspire thought. Please feel free to comment on what you read by simply clicking the comment link at the bottom of each post.
The headlines have recently been dominated by the rising cost of food and the outrageous price of gasoline. Aside from when Hillary will pull out of the race, the mainstream media seem to be interested in little else.
Would it be bombastic to think that some good could come from the horror?
In the case of the rising gas prices, the argument is strong. We all know about global warming and it seems naysayers can no longer refute the science and the numbers that show human impact has accelerated the crisis. In Vermont, driving cars accounts for 44 percent of the pollution we green-staters emit.
If gas becomes too expensive, perhaps people will begin to drive less.
Prices at the pump today are still much lower than those in Europe. If you think it’s expensive to drive here, go there. From firsthand experience, a full tank of gas will run you about $80. It’s been this way for years, and high prices have turned people to public transportation.
Recently, that has started to happen here, too. Just a week ago, the Reporter’s Jesse Roman reported that Green Mountain Transit numbers are on the rise, in large part due to the increased price of gas and broader awareness and concern for the environment.
Drivers in America last year laid down just over 3 trillion miles, down 12.2 billion or 0.4 percent, according to the Federal Highway Administration's monthly Traffic Volume Trends.
Americans drove less for the first time in 27 years. If this is linked to the cost of gas, keep it on the rise.
The second headline dominator will be more difficult to argue. It is hard to see the good in the rising price of food that is sparking unrest in poor countries around the globe. Higher food prices have affected Vermonters to a much lesser extent than the world’s poorest populations. Perhaps the best thing to do in a crisis like this is learn from our mistakes.
The story has brought attention to the fact that turning farms into fuel plants may not be the best fix for high global oil prices. Didn’t anyone see that, when you ask the rice farmer to grow crops that power cars instead of people, people might get hungry? Instead of Congress mandating a fivefold increase in the use of biofuels last year, perhaps it should have simply mandated that people drive less.
We should assess which hunger is more fierce; our hunger for basic foods or our hunger for oil.
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