Monday, May 28, 2007 is Memorial Day. Formerly known as Decoration Day, this is the time we set aside to honor those who died in war serving the United States of America. In Winona, Minnesota there is a ceremony down at the lake park band shell, complete with the municipal band, veterans in uniform, a 21-gun salute, guest speakers and about 500 attendees. It is a solemn occasion where respect of the highest human order is conferred upon men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice, whether that sacrifice took place at Antietam, Meuse-Argonne, Guadalcanal, Inchon, Loc Ninh, or Fallujah.

For the most part those who died were too young to marry and never knew the joy of seeing their children born and raised. Many of them never felt the thrill of falling in love. Some of them had never even been kissed, except by their Mothers. Their parents, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles shed mountains of tears when they learned of their fate. Their teachers and preachers were broken-hearted. The nation never received the fruits of their genius. Some of them could have devised a cure for cancer or a new source of energy; who knows for sure.

They joined the military for a variety of reasons, but mainly it was for the love of their country and a profound sense of duty. Despite the danger, they were optimistic that they wouldn’t die, banking on the odds that their number wouldn’t come up. For most of them the fatal wound was sudden and humane. Others would suffer long, painful deaths on a battlefield or in an army hospital. Some were genuine heroes because of their acts of bravery on the field of battle. Most just died, but to me they were all heroes.

When I was a college student the Vietnam War was in full swing. The government needed so many troops that they cancelled student deferments. We were all subject to a lottery, based on our birth dates. If your birthday came up early in the lottery you were headed to Vietnam. If you were fortunate enough to have your birthday come up late in the lottery you were virtually assured you would not have to serve in the military. I lucked out that evening with a relatively high number, 216 out of 365. As a result of a game of chance, I was never drafted and was spared the obligation of military service.

When I attend Memorial Day observances at the band shell near Lake Winona, I am grateful to my brothers and sisters who served. It will be no different this year as I think about all who died and sit next to Veterans; the heroes who lived. Some of the Veterans at our Memorial Day ceremony have been very successful financially while others have struggled their entire lives to make ends meet. Some hold positions of power and status while others are just ordinary working folks. None of their accomplishments or civilian honors means a darned thing to me as I sit with them on Monday. On Memorial Day I worship them and ground they stand on; all of them!

These Veterans, dead and alive, have fought and risked their lives so I can enjoy a picnic with my family and breathe the precious air of freedom in the greatest country in the world, the United States of America. While the drafters of the US Constitution created a nearly perfect democracy, none of that would mean a thing if the Veterans with whom I sit on Memorial Day hadn’t defended our country. It is the Veterans who have preserved my liberty and secured my birthright as a free American. As I have grown older and wiser I’ve come to the conclusion that the highest, most sacred title that can be earned and bestowed on any American is that of “Veteran.” When I go to my grave there will be no markings on my stone indicating that I am a Veteran, but oh how I have benefited because of you, my brothers and sisters!

I want to close with an admonition for all of us on the days after Memorial Day 2007. Any time you’re in an airport or a shopping center and see a young man or woman in a military uniform, take a second to go up to them and say, “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate the sacrifices you make every day to serve our country.” They will politely thank you, probably with a “Mam” or “Sir” as part of the sentence. Greet them sincerely and often; it costs you but a few seconds of your time and you owe it to every last one of them.

My friends, we who feast on the fruits of liberty can never repay the debt we owe to our active soldiers and Veterans. Let’s thank them every time we get a chance. For our current soldiers and national-guard members, that “thank you” will bring them a deserved feeling of importance and gratitude. For aging Veterans who served long ago our words are a dwindling opportunity to thank them before it is too late. Give them a hug. Don’t be afraid to shed a tear or two. God bless Memorial Day, God bless our country, and God bless our Veterans.

This week congressional leaders, with support of the President, announced that after months of negotiations they have agreed on a proposal to allow an estimated 12 million illegal residents to become citizens of the United States of America. For Mexican-born Juan, an uneducated agricultural worker, the proposal gives him a clear path to a green card and US citizenship. Ironically the green card hopes of Blanche, a 31-year old legally-employed computer programmer, are fading. Despite her perfect English, charming personality, excellent job performance, rare skills and an MBA from the University of Michigan, Blanche may soon be headed back to India forever, her American dream shattered.

Born in India in 1975, Blanche dreamed even as a child to someday live and work in the United States. Enrolled in Catholic, English-speaking schools, she studied hard throughout her elementary and high school years, graduating with honors. In 1997 Blanche finally got a student visa and came alone to the United States, enrolling at Michigan State University as a biology major. With some limited financial help from her parents in India, she worked on campus to earn a few extra bucks. Without the money to live in a nice apartment or party on weekends, she studied instead. During her senior year at the university, she discovered a shocking realization; she would not be able to stay in the United States after graduating college with major in biology. Complicated H1-B visa laws granted opportunities only for those with more marketable majors such as engineering, medicine, and computer science. Blanche stayed at MSU an extra year, adding a major in computer science to her resume.

After graduation Blanche was heavily recruited and got a position with a major hospital in Michigan. Along with that job came an H1-B visa, allowing Blanche to live and work in the US for three years, plus an additional three-year extension as long as she was gainfully employed. She would, however, eventually need an employer-sponsored green card to remain permanently in the United States. After working four years with the hospital and despite excellent employment reviews, she was told by the administration of the hospital that due to the lengthy and difficult green card application process, the hospital was only sponsoring green cards for physicians.

Now Blanche was four years into her six-year H1-B visa deadline. Because it offered her no hope for a green card she quit her job at the hospital. She was hired by a major accounting firm, where she was promised that the application for her green card would be processed, but only after she had been employed for a year. Now, five and a half years into her six year visa, her employer is working through the application process for Blanche’s green card. They must hire immigration lawyers, place expensive ads for Blanche’s position in major newspapers to make sure that no native workers are qualified for her position, and put up with countless delays from US immigration authorities. The last time she checked, her green card status was not certain. She might be allowed to keep her job and stay in the US while the application process is ongoing, but not even that is certain. US Immigration now tells the firm’s attorneys that it might be 2011 until the Blanche gets a green card, but only if they can reduce their tremendous application backlog.

Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and other CEO’s of American high-tech businesses have complained vehemently that US Immigration is impeding the flow of educated, high-skilled immigrants into the country. Immigration delays of the US Government have convinced some of the world’s best minds to settle in Europe, Australia, or Canada, depriving our country of scientists, doctors, engineers, and IT professionals who had originally selected the United States as their first choice for a new home. The human capital deficits caused by our inefficient and incompetent immigration system will have negative repercussions in the United States for years to come.

Ironically, the United States needs both Juan and Blanche. I’m not upset with the idea that the government is trying to give the Juan’s of the world a leg up in earning their way toward legal citizenship, especially if the US can control its borders in the future. However, it really bothers me that a government who will clear a path for a grape picker can’t likewise expedite the long-standing application of a computer programmer-business analyst like Blanche. Before we open the door to twelve million undocumented illegal aliens, US immigration should declare an “accelerated review and issuance” of all pending green card applications for highly educated and skilled workers. For gosh sakes, can’t we get Blanche through the doors ahead of Juan?

When I graduated from High School, my Aunt and Uncle from Denver presented me with perhaps the only graduation gift that I still possess; Webster’s Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary. Today it is dog-eared and the binding has come loose on the front cover, but there isn’t a week of my life when I don’t use that dictionary. Inscribed inside the first page are the words: “To Donald. Much happiness and success in Life! Love, Aunt Elaine and Uncle Bob — Graduation 1967”

It is reassuring that my Aunt and Uncle wanted me to be happy and successful. As I’ve grown it has occurred to me that success and happiness is made possible by avoiding stupid decisions and making wise ones. In my old Webster’s dictionary the definition for the word “stupidity” is “unthinking” or “irrational”. Before elaborating on stupidity, let me emphasize that in the context of this discussion, “stupid” does not refer to any genetic issues or intelligence quotients (IQ); it refers to mistakes of judgment that we all make during the course of our lives. The bad part about “stupidity” is that it usually causes personal loss or pain. The good part about “stupidity” is that we normally learn from our mistakes and make “course corrections” that enable us to have a brighter future!

All of us do stupid things, but the consequences vary widely. If you make a stupid business decision you might lose your company. If you make a stupid comment, you might lose a friend. However, some stupid decisions end up being “Devastating Decisions” or “DDs”, which are conscious, voluntary decisions that lead to loss of life or permanent injury. Prior to a long break or a summer vacation, my favorite physics professor would always admonish his students not to make any “DD’s”, such as getting in a car with a driver who has been drinking. Such a decision might lead to Webster’s definition of “devastate”, which means “to lay waste” or “to commit destructive actions”. For example, a “DD” can put you in a wheelchair for the rest of your life, give you the HIV virus, or kill you.

Let me illustrate for you two recent examples of “Devastating Decisions”. On April 12, 2007, on the way to mediate a session between Don Imus and the Rutgers University Women’s Basketball team, New Jersey Governor Jon Corzine’s SUV, driven by a State Trooper, was involved in a serious accident that nearly killed him. Corzine’s injuries included a large scalp laceration, a fractured clavicle, a fractured sternum, twelve fractured ribs, a fractured lower vertebrae, and an open, comminuted femur fracture with a large laceration and muscle damage. The New Jersey governor required over three weeks of hospitalization and will be in physical therapy for months to come.

Corzine’s “Devastating Decision” was a simple one; he didn’t wear his seatbelt. Traveling at over 90 miles per hour (another bad decision made by his trooper driver) and without a seatbelt, Corzine became a flying object in the crash. The trooper, who was buckled up, walked away. Corzine now urges all of his New Jersey constituents to wear their seatbelts and not to follow his bad example. In his case, one simple, Devastating Decision caused he and his family immeasurable pain and anguish, which will go on for months to come.

An even more unfortunate DD occurred in the early morning hours of April 29, 2007 when Josh Hancock, a relief pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals, slammed his SUV into the back of a parked tow truck, killing himself instantly. The coroner’s report released two days later indicated that Hancock had a blood alcohol content of .157 (nearly twice Missouri’s legal limit of .08) and was talking on his cell phone at the time of the crash. The Cardinals disappointedly accepted the findings of the coroner’s office, which made the tragedy even more horrific. Like Corzine, Hancock was not wearing a seatbelt, but the location and severity of his vehicle’s “crush zone” proved that Hancock died instantly on impact. In this case, Hancock’s DD was the excessive use of alcohol while driving.

The irony is that most of us have, at one time or another during our lives, acted stupidly in ways that could have resulted in a DD. When I was a kid I turned my bicycle into the path of an oncoming car. By the grace of God I walked away uninjured. Millions of Americans have driven automobiles while drunk, hoping and praying that they would arrive home without being pulled over by the police. Any of those incidents could have resulted in a DD. The moral of this story is twofold. First, we should not be quick to judge those who have been unfortunate enough to commit DD’s, as we probably have avoided them by the grace of God. Second, for the sake of our friends and loved-ones, we should avoid making DD’s at any cost.

When my children were teenagers I would always stress to them the difference between a stupid decision and a DD. “When you make a stupid decision, I’ll understand that you’re going through life’s learning process,” I told them. “If you make a Devastating Decision I will weep for the rest of my life.” I know that, despite my advice, they occasionally made decisions so stupid that they could easily have been DD’s. On occasion they will tell me about them; usually years later. My knees shake when I hear those stories. They’re still here; I’m still here. We’ve been blessed.

The last two years have been absolutely brutal for Unity Wilson. A long time protestor, for years she has railed against corporations, profits, production, corporate farms, CEO’s, high prices, foundries, gasoline oil refineries, child labor, exploitation of females, and global pollution. She has a few cohorts in Hubbard who regularly join her in protest, but they don’t make much of dent in a town where most people are obsessed with raising their kids and keeping bread on the table. Once in a while, to get her “protestor batteries” recharged, Unity goes up to Minneapolis to visit her sister, Serenity.

Hubbard contractor Jose Gonzales calls folks like Unity and Serenity “Granolas”. The name is probably derived from their “back to earth”, organic approach to life. In south Minneapolis, where Serenity lives, there are thousands of Granolas. Unity calls south Minneapolis “Conscience Heaven”. Many of south Minneapolis’ Granolas are fifty or older and purchased their homes years ago. They live in homes that most of them couldn’t afford if they had to purchase them at the market prices paid by their stockbroker, business analyst, investment banker, and accountant neighbors.

Granola homes are easy to recognize. Granolas don’t have lawns, choosing instead to plant wildflowers and native grasses. This is, after all, how the land looked before their evil ancestors came to ruin the country and rape the landscape. Folks like Craig Johnson, who lives in the suburbs and dutifully applies all five stages of Scott’s fertilizer and crab grass control on his carefully manicured lawn, think the Granolas are just plain lazy. According to Craig, the Granolas’ claim to the “restoration of prairie grasses” is a big, fat excuse to justify a yard full of weeds.

If one looks past the prairie flowers and potted plants on the porch, it becomes apparent that most Granolas aren’t really very good at fixing things. The screen doors have holes in them and a close look at the siding reveals a lot of peeling paint. The Granolas often look at their maintenance-deprived premises as some kind of vow of poverty, as if they should not be bound to meaningless activities like painting and roof repair. Jose, who is one of the few Hubbardites who will work for the Granolas, is put off by their lack of foresight in repair matters. Rather than putting new shingles on the house, the Granolas opt for a cheap repair of the roof, which will again leak in a few months. Time after time Jose explains the virtue of doing the job right the first time, but his advice usually falls on deaf ears. The Granolas don’t generally have a lot of extra income, so they never want to spend what it will take to actually fix the place. Then there was the Granola who wanted Jose to provide him with a data sheet detailing every input and production process used in the manufacture of wood shingles, just to make sure that he wasn’t guilty of damaging the environment. Jose just walked out the door, smiled, and told the guy to call him when he got tired of putting buckets on the floor.

There are distinct physical, fashion and spending attributes that separate the Granolas from the rest of the human race. Men wear long ponytails and dress in khaki pants or jean cutoffs, with button down shirts. Women wear their hair long, almost like the 60’s, hanging loosely down their backs or tied up like the men. Women wear loose fitting 100% cotton garments that reveal no female shape whatsoever. Earthy, muted-colored tunics are often worn with baggy slacks underneath. Accessories include Birkenstock sandals and knapsacks in lieu of purses. Granolas shop at 2nd hand stores, both for economy and to avoid channeling their money to the fashion industry. Women don’t wear makeup and probably don’t shave their legs or underarms, but no body knows for sure. Granolas home school or send their kids to public schools. No private, elitist schools for the offspring of Granolas! One place where the normally thrifty Granolas don’t mind spending lots of money is the local coffeehouse, where they purchase expensive herbal teas and ten-dollar sandwiches bulging with sprouts. Probably one of the biggest reasons the Granolas go to the local coffee places is the fact that there are a lot of other Granolas there to commiserate with. Granolas think themselves to be quite intelligent compared to other human beings. In reality they are urban mystics who often believe that they have the answers to all of the world’s problems, if only the rest of humanity would listen! No Starbucks for the Granolas; that would be selling out to corporate America!

To their credit, Granolas are not generally obese. It is rare to see a really fat Granola. They may have a bit of a tummy, but after all, you can’t get very fat on homegrown cucumbers, pure grains, and tomatoes. Because the Granolas don’t spend a lot of time watching television (except for PBS), they have a lot of time to wander in their jungle-like yards and to (badly) repair their houses.

Global warming is something that really troubles the Granolas. Convinced by Al Gore that humanity is sitting on a ticking time bomb, the Granolas believe that we have less than 10 years to avoid the ultimate destruction of the earth. Many Granolas think that we have already reached the “tipping point” where it will be impossible to avoid floods, famine, and killer heat. Frankly and sadly, this has caused tremendous depression in the Granola community. Both Unity and Serenity are deeply depressed. If there are Granola shrinks, they must be doing a land office business!