[An election year repeat from April 16, 2016] As a kid, I was allowed to read “Walt Disney Comics & Stories” (Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck offerings).  Bugs Bunny and Woody Woodpecker comics were okay too.  But Mad Magazine was strictly verboten.   I think my parents were afraid I was going to emulate – and turn out like – Alfred E. Neuman — the poster boy for Mad.   It made me all the more desirous of sneaking copies home and hiding them under my bed in the small – locked – toolbox where I hid enough Black Cat firecrackers, M-80’s and cherry bombs to take out Tehran.  I found Mad Magazine (launched in 1952) hysterical!  Still do.  The satire is classic.   

Alfred E. Neuman made his Mad Magazine debut in 1956.  His famous motto?  “What me worry?”  That same year, there was a write in campaign to have Alfred E. Neuman elected President.  His campaign slogan was “You could do worse. . . . and always have.”  With the division on current Presidential choices, perhaps we should consider Alfred E. Neuman.  He’s younger. Maybe smarter.   And doesn’t have much baggage.  

How are you at pronouncing words in the English language?  Okay.  Pronounce this — Ghoti. 

No, it’s not “Goh-tee.”  Nor is it “Gah-tee.”  Or even “Gah-hoe-tee.”  It is pronounced. . . . are you ready. . . “FISH.” 

The term “Ghoti” is a contrived word which was crafted to point out the idiosyncracies in the spelling of English words.  Often attributed to George Bernard Shaw, the term actually has an earlier published reference (1874) citing an 1855 letter of one William Ollier.   Now – are you ready to learn why “Ghoti” is pronounced “Fish”? 

GH – as in “enough”

O – as in “women”

TI – as in “nation”

Ta dahhhhhh. . . .  FISH.   James Joyce subtly references the word in his book Finnegan’s Wake (“Gee each owe tea eye smells fish“).  And in the Klingon language of Star Trek, “Ghoti” means “fish.”   Sooooo, if you’re ever captured by Klingons, you know how to ask for food.  I wonder how they say “I prefer salmon. . . . “

The last public event that I attended was on March 6, 2020.  It was the annual joint meeting of The Chicago Literary Club and The Fortnightly of Chicago.  About 200 folks gathered at the famed Lathrop House – home of the Fortnightly.  Two members of each organization (including yours truly) were invited to deliver a twelve minute paper to those in attendance (the paper is online at http://www.chilit.org).   The topic for each presenter – “The Fork in the Road.”  Little did we know. . . . .

There are many things over which we have no control – the calendar, the lottery of birth, the tyranny of the clock, gravity, physics and biology all have their way with our lives whether we like it or not.  But there is an abbondanza of decisions for which we have a hand on the wheel — at least somewhat.  There are big decisions (should I ask her to marry me?) and little decisions (hmmm. . . chicken noodle soup or beet salad?).  

Every day, the decisions – the roads and forks – keep coming.  And while we may see the fork in the road, we don’t always see what lies ahead.  And as each one of us knows – life can turn on a dime.  We all have a narrative about how in the world we ended up where we are today.  An agglomeration of forks, bumps, twists and turns.  “Poof” – here we are.

Covid-19 has been a painful fork in the road over which the world has had little control.  Little did I know on that evening of March 6th the irony of my presentation.  And what the road would bring.  And as I sit here today – I wonder how long that road will last. . . .  

[A repeat from March 9, 2014] Two guys are in an airplane flying at 35,000 feet. Suddenly there’s a loud “BANG.” The pilot comes on the intercom “Ladies and gentlemen, we have just lost one of our four engines. We have three other engines and it is no problem to fly.  But we’ll be about one hour late getting to our destination.”

A little while later – another loud “BANG.” Captain comes on “Folks, we have lost a second of our four engines. But this plane can fly on two. But we’re going to be about two hours late getting to our destination.“

A few minutes later, there is another huge “BANG.” The captain comes on the intercom and says “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve never had this happen but we’ve lost a third of our four engines. This plane is designed to fly on one engine so we’re fine.  But we’re going to be about three hours late getting to our destination.”

So the one guy turns to the other and says “Man – if we lose that fourth engine, we’re going to be up here all day!”

(An Autumn repeat – from September 11, 2016)

For millennia, folks have been burning garbage and “stuff” with relative impunity.  The smoke was often choking.  And sometimes toxic.  Now – there are limitations on such activity.  

But. . . . as a kid, I remember my father – and other men in the neighborhood – raking leaves in the fall.  And ushering them out to the street – at the curb – and lighting them up.  Saturdays and Sundays in October were the optimal days for raking, gathering and burning leaves.  And the distinct smell of burning leaves was overpowering.  And – from my recollection – not so unpleasant.  Everyone burned their leaves.  I mean what were families supposed to do with them?  My dad would stand – smoking his pipe – and talking with the other men.  As the leaves burned. . . . .   

I tend to think it would be nice if for a few hours in the fall, everyone could spoon some dead leaves out to the street.  And burn them.  Like the “good old days” (did I really say that?).    I don’t need a “bad for the environment” speech.  Or “think of what it does to your lungs.”  Or “aren’t there regulations?”  Just think about sharing an indelible olfactory moment of an autumn afternoon long ago . . . . .

[A repeat from March 23, 2016] It was a hot, dry, sun-drenched afternoon in Coleman, Texas.  A family played dominoes on a steamy porch.  The father-in-law looks up and suggests that they get in the car and take a drive to Abilene which is 53 miles away.  One by one, the family members nod acquiescence.  They pile into the car.  The drive is hot.  Dusty.  And long.  The family arrives in Abilene.  They go to a diner where the food is as bad as the drive.  They get back in the car and take the same hot, dusty, long drive back to Coleman.  They arrive home exhausted.   

One by one, the family members admit that they never really wanted to go to Abilene.  They agreed to go because they thought the others wanted to go.  Thus – everyone decided to do something — that no one wanted to do . . . . . 

The “Abilene Paradox” was first introduced by Jerry B. Harvey in a 1974 article “The Abilene Paradox:  The Management of Agreement.”   The article suggests that individuals are normally averse to acting contrary to the inclinations of a group.  Social conformity and social influence — “peer pressure” — drive agreement.  The reservations one might have – with a decision or direction – is subsumed by the feeling that their concerns must be “out of step” with that of the group.  This leads to reluctant silence.  Grudging acquiescence.  And frequently poor decisions.  We see this in families.  Businesses.  Organizations.  And politics.