Musing through yesterday’s news, I read:
1. Johnny Depp was the victim of a fatal traffic accident.
2. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie split up.
Sir Richard Burton (Liz Taylor’s Ex) was also mentioned – twice (in actress Jean Simmons’ obituary and a review of the late-night wars.)

Of course, the problem with this breathless reportage is that all of it was wrong!

Johnny Depp is alive and well, and is only the victim of a story that re-surfaces regularly (and wrongly.) Brad and Angelina swear they’ve never been happier (which is too bad for Jennifer Aniston, who – according to many of the same online sources that reported the split-up – still pines breathlessly for Brad’s return.) And “Sir” Richard Burton properly refers to the English explorer who died in 1890, not the Welsh actor who twice married and divorced Elizabeth Taylor. Burton the actor was awarded an MBE in 1970, but was never knighted.

I for one am not going to spend a lot of time lamenting the “good old days,” when reporting was more accurate. Indeed, I am perfectly thrilled to live in an age when each of us can share our thoughts instantly with the whole world. That is the beauty and power of today’s Information Age – anybody can write anything. Unfortunately, that is also the reason why our current epoch might better be called the “Dis-Information” or “Mis-Information” Age – anybody can write anything (and usually will.)

I’m also not going to propose tougher standards on who should be allowed to write, or what erroneous crap they can foist upon the reading public. That horse has left the barn; Pandora’s box has been opened. We will never return to a time (indeed, such a time never existed) when only “responsible” parties can write “the truth.” Along with all the wonderful facts and opinion now available to us at the speed of light will be lies, half-truths, rumors, and innuendo which are equally accessible and – at first glance – perhaps even plausible.

So – if the writing is not going to be censored – how are we going to avoid ever more incidents of false information being disseminated? The answer – we aren’t. Therefore it behooves us as readers to evolve from our “it must be true – I read it somewhere!” mentality, to filtering data and considering its source. (This is going to be a challenge when one of the most accurate news organizations of late is The National Enquirer.) We’ll have to actually evaluate what we are reading and viewing online, and – of necessity – take into account the vast potential of Photoshop in assessing the believability of every picture we see.

In sum, we are going to have to… (dare I say it?) …THINK! (Please excuse the all-caps. I’m not morphing into Kanye West – really.)

We will decide what is correct from data promoted by multiple and conflicting “news” sources. (Has Obama created “millions” of jobs, “thousands” of jobs, or no jobs? Is the globe warming or cooling?) Our future, and that of our children, will depend on how well We The People sort through the noise. And only one thing is certain: it won’t be easy.

Aldous Huxley introduced us to the term, Brave New World. Well Bunky – we’d better be brave! ‘Cause whatever we choose to call this Age (Information, Dis-Information, etc.), it’s not going to be a place for sissies!

This Friday (January 8th) marks the Diamond Jubilee of Elvis Presley’s birth. He would have been 75, which is the age his arteries and heart already were when he died at 42 from all those fried banana sandwiches, uppers, downers, and laxatives.

There are so many bad Elvis impersonators (85,000 according to one report – of which about 3 are really good), and so many bad Elvis movies re-running constantly on TV (he made 31 as an actor – of which ditto), that it is easy to forget how wonderful he could be – especially in concert.

I had the opportunity to see Elvis perform 3 times, and it was a show like no other before or since. Yes, some of his most beautiful and simple songs suffered from over-produced arrangements (I especially grieved at the elephantiasis wreaked upon the hauntingly lovely “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You”), and he occasionally lapsed into self-parody with his early rock hits like “Hound Dog,” but over all, it was magic.

Much has been written since Elvis “left the building” in 1977 about his dark side. And yes, he was definitely given to excess. But as I’ve mentioned before in this column, I think what really killed him was the fact that – like his son-in-law Michael Jackson – nobody had the guts to say “no” to him. The hangers-on of his “Memphis Mafia,” his drug-dispensing doctors, his manager, and even his own father failed to utter the one word that might have saved his life.

It’s a shame. The King of Rock and Roll deserved better. The straight-from-the-heart singer who gave us “Love Me Tender,” “Loving You,” “Crying In The Chapel,” and “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” deserved better. The poor boy from Tupelo who defined a decade’s Pop Music in a way that few (Sinatra, The Beatles) ever will certainly deserved better. For all the joy he gave to millions, he had earned happiness and peace.

I hope he’s found it now. I hope he can hear his fans say back to him those words that were such a big part of every concert appearance:

“Thank you,” Elvis. “You’re beautiful.” “Thank you very much!”

I had the honor this past weekend of emceeing an event honoring a couple whose durable marriage and history of service to family and community earned them a long-overdue tribute dinner.

Like most such events, this one was set to consist of a time for guests to enter and visit with the couple, followed by the meal, a brief program from me, and then an opportunity for family and friends to offer their comments and toasts.

Prior to the event, the honorees entrusted me with the responsibility of pacing the evening. And – when I say “entrusted” – I mean that they handed the reins of their special night to me. Such assurance is rare in my business – I almost always have a chairperson or party planner who outranks me. Their faith was very liberating. It gave me the flexibility to run the show, based on my years of experience. If I thought it was time to move on to the next item on the agenda, no one was going to second guess me. I have to admit, it felt really good.

For about five minutes.

Then the realization soaked into my thick cranium that – if this party bombed – there would be little doubt who was to blame. It would be yours truly, and nobody else.

Fortunately for me, things went pretty well. At least, the guests of honor seemed pleased.

But it made me realize – for the very first time – how Newton’s Third Law of Motion (”For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”) affects our daily lives.

How many college freshman are so thrilled to be “free” of parental constraints, that they flunk out their first semester? They overdose on the freedom, without accepting its equal and opposite: responsibility to show up for class and study.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I should point out that – while I didn’t technically “flunk out” my first semester – I didn’t wow anyone with my mature behavior, either.)

However, the older I get, the more I agree with Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore:
I slept and dreamt that life was joy / I awoke and found that life was service
I acted and behold, service was Joy.

In 1992, independent candidate Ross Perot took on the sitting President of the United States (Republican George H.W. Bush) and the Democrat nominee (Arkansas Governor Bill Clinton) in a 3-way contest for the White House. Conventional wisdom dictates that he should have had no chance at all. Why?

1. He had never sought or held public office before, and thus had no track record.
2. As an independent, he had no party backing or organization.
3. In our telegenic age of blow-dried candidates with $300 coifs, his white-sidewalled crew cut had hardly changed since his years at the U.S. Naval Academy. While Bush resembled the Chairman of the Board at the local polo club, and Clinton both looked and spoke like a televangelist, Perot came across as Everyman. If ever there could be a “People’s Billionaire,” it was him.

Which is why 20 million Americans – 19% of the voters – cast their ballots for the gentleman from Texarkana. Apparently, they considered his message more important than his lack of elected experience or his supposed sartorial shortcomings. Uncounted millions more wanted to vote for him, and would have, had they not bought into the canard – no doubt endorsed by the Democrat and Republican National Committees – that he could “never” win. (Note to all would-be Nostradami: prognosticators who say never – ie. “we can never split the atom, …put a man on the moon, …elect a non-white President, etc. – tend to have a diet rich in crow.)

What exactly was this message that compelled 20 million Americans to “throw away” their votes? It was the very Essence of America – that’s what.

Perot said that if every grandparent understood how relinquishing their personal claims to a Social Security check would save their grandchildren from inheriting a bankrupt America – they would gladly do so. This was the “Greatest Generation,” after all – folks for whom no sacrifice was too much in order leave their beloved country better able to face the future.

So, with pie charts and straight talk, Perot gave us all fair warning of the financial melt-down to come. Events of the past months how only proved how right he was.

Last November, I was convinced that the Greatest Generation had given way to the Narcissist Generation, a group of voters who believed in “Me First,” and cared not a whit for the debt they were leaving for their children to shoulder. I would have told you then that – had Ross Perot been running in 2008 – he’d have gotten less than 2% of the vote.

But now, at the end of what has truly been the Long Hot Summer of town hall meetings, I think the tide may have turned. A late-August Rasmussen poll found that 57% of Americans would vote to kick out all 535 of our senators and congressmen. A 21st century Ross Perot (or Bill Cosby, or Rick Warren) run might trigger the biggest electoral upset in our nation’s history.

Like a lot of super-successful businessmen, Perot really was able to see into the future (which is how they become so successful in the first place.) And he got 20 million voters to share his vision. Unfortunately, it’s taken 17 years for most Americans to catch up. Now the problems have reached critical mass.

So Ross – if you’re interested – America needs someone with your clarity. America needs to hear your message again now. Only this time, it’s we who will be “all ears.”

Earlier today, my music-loving pastor asked me – as a guy who plays tunes for a living, as opposed to for my own enjoyment – which songs I’d be happy to never play again. After reflecting on that question for a few hours, I’ve decided that my “List of the Least” would have to fall into 3 categories:

1. Ubiquitous melodies. Joy To The World (”Jeremiah was a bullfrog…”), Tie A Yellow Ribbon, and Feelings (”Woah-oh-oh…”) were so overplayed for so long that – whatever their merits – I just got sick to death of playing them. Even truly beautiful songs like Unchained Melody (the Righteous Brothers hit featured in Ghost) can and have been worn out, simply from excessive use.

2. Over-dramatic tunes. Lushly produced, hyper-emotional songs (pretty much anything by Whitney Houston, Michael Bolton, Celine Dion, and Barry Manilow) get really old, really fast. And so did New York, New York (about 30 years ago, and ever since.) The fact is, all these hits are much more showcases for the vocal chops and technique of their singers than they are great songs. I think it’s instructive that the 2 best known purveyors of New York, New York (Liza Minnelli and Frank Sinatra) are both Academy Award-winning actors. Given one of these talents, a 36-piece orchestra, and enough reverb, even Itsy Bitsy Spider could be a show-stopper.

3. Just plain lame songs. “In the desert, you can’t remember your name, ’cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain.” (Aah – where should I even begin with this one?) This excerpt from the ’70s hit Horse With No Name tortures its syntax, uses double negatives, and displays a total logic lobotomy – all to set up a rhyme that doesn’t rhyme!

But my vote for the Worst Lyrics Ever is this verse from another ’70s classic, Put Your Hand In The Hand Of The Man. “Every time I look into the Holy Book, I wanna tremble / When I read about the part where the Carpenter cleared the temple / ‘Cause the buyers and the sellers were no different fellers than what I profess to be / And it causes me pain to know I’m not the man that I should be.”

This song was a huge hit. And we who made its composers rich deserved more than them (not) rhyming “tremble” with “temple.” Secondly, last I heard, Joseph was the carpenter, Jesus was a rabbi (teacher.) Next, the buyers and the sellers were only “no different fellers” if you like the idea of attending worship services where the Eucharist is brought to you by Pepsi-Cola. And finally, the composers set up the verse to end with a rhyme for the word “be.” They had an alphabet full of options to work with, including “me,” “see,” and every adverb ending in -ly. So which of the dozens of possibilities did they choose to rhyme with “be?” Why – be, of course! (At least it actually did rhyme, though I suspect Cole Porter rolled over in his grave a few times.)

But now that I’ve given you my non-hit parade, I would ask you to please remember that – if you hire me – you can feel free to request any of these songs you wish. (And Ring My Bell. And Torn Between Two Lovers, To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before, and… )

With all the focus on topics like War, Recession, and The Real Housewives Of Atlanta this week, you may have missed the BIG STORY: a newly-named group claims that Barack Obama fails to meet the statutory requirement that our Presidents must be born in the good ol’ US of A.

These folks are now called “Birthers,” and while a few otherwise reputable souls like Lou Dobbs of CNN might be among their number, they are generally dismissed by the President’s backers as right-wing nut-jobs. Which isn’t fair, because Birthers also include some left-wing nut-jobs.

During last year’s presidential campaign, Democrat Birthers asserted that John McCain – having been born in the Canal Zone of Panama – was similarly disqualified for the Oval Office. Senator McCain’s parents – whose citizenship is not in dispute – were stationed there with the U.S. Navy.

Nor is Birther-ing really new at all. As far back as the 1960s, there were those who tried to prove that JFK was actually born during a sea crossing from England, not (as stated) in Massachusetts immediately after the voyage.

What each group failed to realize was that exemptions to the Born In The USA rule apply to both the McCain and Kennedy situations. But apparently, mere facts won’t deter a zealous Birther from his holy mission.

Witness the current email making the rounds which alleges that then-college student Obama traveled to Pakistan in 1981, at a time when such trips were outlawed to US citizens. Therefore he must have been traveling on a foreign passport, mustn’t he?

Actually, no. The whole premise is a phony. In fact, US citizens could and did travel to Pakistan in 1981 – perfectly legally.

We live in an age of instantaneous worldwide transmission of video, audio, and print. For this reason, we’ve been called “The Information Age.” Unfortunately, a lot of what goes out each day – like the Birther story above – is crap. With no filters to stop anybody from saying anything about anyone, what we really live in is the DIS-information Age.

So here’s a note to Birthers: whatever you might wish were true, if you have to resort to lies to sell your thesis, it’s probably not a very good one to begin with.

Now here’s a second thought: just because Americans could travel to Pakistan in 1981 doesn’t mean the collegiate Obama did use a US passport on his visit. So, if you really believe in what you’re saying, have Lou Dobbs ask Pakistan’s Immigration Office to check whether any Indonesians named “Barry” stopped by, around 28 years ago. And – until you and Lou do that – cut the crap. You’re just making those of us with actual valid reasons for opposing this administration’s policies look like we’re in bed with the loonies.

Since his death June 25th, much speculation has been offered into who or what actually killed Michael Jackson. The 24/7 news channels have focused on his alleged use of Propofol, Demerol, and a variety of other heavy-duty pain killers/knock-out drops. Toxicology results will be issued in due time.

But there’s no need to wait. You, lucky reader, will get the answer right here, right now. Well – not right now. Let me toy with you for just a minute.

You see, the King of Pop died from the same malady that killed his former late-father-in-law, the King of Rock and Roll. Elvis also kept a well-equipped home pharmacy supplied by yet another all-too willing Dr. Feelgood. But here’s the scoop: no matter what you may have heard, drugs didn’t kill either Elvis or Michael. What did?

Both men died because not one single person loved them enough to tell them “no.”

Let that sink in for just a moment, please. Then think back to Elvis. If just one person had said to him, “El, I think you’ve had enough fried banana sandwiches for one day,” he might still be alive. He could have lived, if only somebody had cared about him enough to say, “Instead of using that heavy-duty prescription laxative again, how about drinking this bottle of water while we go on a nice long walk together?”

But did anybody do that? Did any family member stage an Overeater’s Anonymous intervention? Apparently not.

Perhaps if Bubbles the Chimp could have talked, Michael might have heard some similar hard truths, like “Michael, that third nose job was plenty.” Or the old politician’s adage, “Never be caught in bed with a live boy or a dead woman.”

In all fairness, sister Janet apparently did plan an Intervention. But Michael got wind of it, and threatened to lock the family out of Neverland Ranch. (NOTE TO JANET: Nice try, but – number 1 – we usually don’t tell the guest of honor that he’s about to be intervened. And – number 2 – someplace away from Neverland’s secret passageways and bedroom alarm system would have been preferred.)

Success doesn’t have to be terminal. And the even early adulation that Michael experienced can be overcome by loving – but not doting – friends and family. We in the real world could see that Michael needed serious help decades ago. Surely those closest to him could see it, too.

Yet, well-intentioned or not, they accomplished nothing. So who killed Michael Jackson? Hint: it wasn’t Bubbles.

Postscript: The incessant hype surrounding Michael completely obscured the June 30th obituary of one of Broadway’s greatest voices, Harve Presnell. Ironically, Presnell was best known for a song he introduced in The Unsinkable Molly Brown. That song’s name? “I’ll Never Say No To You.” (Also known as the Presley-Jackson national anthem.)

What – exactly – is “Peace?” Is it simply the absence of war, as in the Paxes Romana and Britannica, in which mighty military powers enforced their wills on subjugated colonies? The “Cold War,” that delicate balancing act between the USSR and USA – was that “Peace?” After all, we weren’t shooting at each other. (At least not directly – both sides usually let their proxies do the actual fighting.)

Those protesters in the streets of Teheran this very day – do they hate “Peace” so much that they are willing to be beaten and shot as rioters (”breakers of the peace”)? Or, just maybe, are they actually seeking something very similar to what we wanted in 1776?

As every schoolchild used to be taught – we were looking for Justice. We held “these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these rights are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

Isn’t that really what makes an otherwise peace-loving people rise up in protest? Isn’t the desire for Justice, and those rights and freedoms associated with it, that lead non-warlike people to rethink their attitude toward conflict?

William T. Sherman declared that “War is Hell.” And no doubt it is. But does that make War inherently evil? Without War, our Eastern Seaboard would still belong to England. Without War, the Great Southwest, from Texas to California, would be part of Mexico, which – without War – would still be a province of Spain. Without the blood of free men, Slavery would still be legal in this country, and Americans of African descent would be – in the eyes of the law – 3/5 of a person.

As we enter this July 4th weekend, I hope we will remember that it was not Peace that gave us the liberties we celebrate, it was our willingness to fight and – if necessary – die. Righteous warriors, not seeking conquest or fame, won something infinitely greater: Justice and Liberty.

So by all means love the idea of “Peace.” Just don’t confuse it with Justice. And, even if you hate the idea of War, whatever you do, don’t condemn the warriors who fight for that noble cause today. At least, don’t do it in my presence. Or you will find “Peace” to be conspicuously absent.

God bless America. God bless our troops. God bless all people everywhere for whom Justice and Liberty are unalienable rights of humankind. Have a great 4th of July!

Those who favor the current administration’s plan to generate billions and billions of dollars to fund their new entitlement programs often cite Scandinavia as a model of “spreading the wealth.” I’m married to a Dane and have traveled there, but would never call myself an authority. My wife Gina, however, has some very strong – and extremely unfavorable – opinions about what our government now proposes. Let me tell you why.

Indeed, in the 1960’s Denmark and Sweden enacted Tax The Rich legislation similar to what is now being proposed here. But what has occurred in those countries in the decades since provides a very good reason to not follow in their footsteps.

Why? Because 3 things happened there that will inevitably occur here, should we do so.

1. The rich took their money elsewhere. Rather than pay 90% and more of their income to the state in taxes, the rich either moved their families to less-taxed (or even un-taxed) havens, or they created corporations in those locales that sheltered their assets.

2. The middle class then had to take up the slack. Government programs, once created, rarely ever go away. So the burden in funding cradle-to-grave welfare and medical programs fell on those who were left behind. A registered nurse in Denmark began paying over 40% of her salary in income tax. A small business owner entered the 60% bracket. In time, even these monies fell short of feeding the Welfare Machine, so taxes were raised on every conceivable commodity (gasoline, especially.) When that wasn’t enough, Sales and Value Added Taxes went through the roof.

3. The best and brightest moved away, and the “takers” moved in. Immigrants (many from Turkey and the Middle East) came to Scandinavia on work visas, had babies, and thus qualified for all benefits of the nanny state. But they also refused to assimilate into the Scandinavian cultures. They were willing to take the Swedish and Danish kroners, but would not embrace the values of their hosts.

History repeats itself when we fail to heed its lessons. If we follow the Scandinavian model, your children and theirs will never know the opportunities and blessings you have always taken for granted.

(Of course, you could always move with them to Monte Carlo or the Cayman Islands. If “Spread The Wealth” becomes our national policy, they will be two of the places where our wealthy go.)

2 of my heroes and mentors died recently, both in their 90s and both immeasurable in their impact on me.

When Paul Harvey began his “The Rest Of The Story” programs back in the 1970s, I sent him some unsolicited true stories “with a twist.” A few weeks later, he called. For the next few years, I regularly forwarded him the raw material (always with 2 sources of authentication) for his son Paul Jr. to craft into finished scripts. Soon after, I’d receive a check signed by his wife Lynn (or – as he called her – “Angel”), but only for those stories he actually read on the air. Sometimes, he would use as few as 1 out of every 4 or 5 ideas I researched for him. Gradually, I got a little better at guessing which ones he would like. But what I learned was that I might not know which ones were right for him, but he always did.

My first meetings with Horton Foote were similarly frustrating. I knew him mainly as the author of the screenplay of “To Kill A Mockingbird” when he came to Dallas in the early 1980s, to cast “Tender Mercies.” I made it from the 1st audition to a 2nd, and ultimately to a 3rd and 4th, before losing “my” role to an LA-based actor. I was crushed at the time. But then, a couple of years later, he came back to town to shoot a new movie, “The Trip To Bountiful.” This time, I got a personal call to the audition – the ONE audition. It seems that he had remembered the kid from Texas who’d been not quite right for the Tender Mercies part, but who exactly fit the role of “Billy Davis” in the new project. Like Paul Harvey, Horton Foote’s gift was knowing the difference between a thing that’s almost right, and one that’s perfect.

Both men knew and understood their audiences, but more – they understood themselves. They trusted their own instincts, rather than committee reports or popularity polls. Add to that their talent, work ethic (neither ever really retired), and basic decency, and it’s no wonder they were so successful.

Nor is it any surprise that they will be so terribly missed. Giants always are.