A Friend in “Need”

The call came at what seemed like a good time. My old friend Skip (not his real name) was in a bind. He was living in North Carolina and he had just lost his job and his rent of $800 was due. He was mad at the landlord and didn’t want to pay it.

“I figure we can help each other out”, he said, “I can give you about $500-600 a month and we’d both be better off”!

The issue for me was giving up my privacy. Skip and I went way back to high school, but we had never lived together. We were and are two very different people; both of us would be struggling for control and I knew that would cause arguments.

“Skip it would have to be 600 a month to make it worth my while, considering the cost of utilities.”

“Oh, OK”, he said, “Well I sure want to get out of here”

“How soon are you taking about moving?” I asked as I looked at the calendar, which read Monday January 12, 2009.

“I would be there Thursday, the 14^th”, he said, “I can drive straight down I-85.”

The suddenness of the move shocked me. I wanted more time to clean up his room area and bathroom. Plus I wanted more time to get used to the idea of not being alone in this house anymore. I was feeling a sense of reluctance coming on. I caulked it up to me just being selfish. Boy I’m going to have to learn how to listen to myself when the alarms go off.

It seemed like he arrived in the blink of an eye and in that instant my quiet existence became a tension filled cohabitation of my home. I showed him his private bedroom and bath area, and let him use part of another vacant bedroom for storage. There was also a bonus room that he could workout and watch TV in. Then I showed him the kitchen, family room and the laundry room with a washer and dryer he could use. There was plenty of space for him to be here and he quickly made himself at home.

Turns out when Skip arrived he had no money, or so he claimed. He was living on food stamps and said he brought a feast with him that we could both share. He had about 20-30 steaks in his cooler, even though he knew that I don’t eat beef or pork anymore. Everytime he went to the store he bought more red meat, even though he was supposed to be buying things we both eat. Meanwhile, I did my regular cooking thing working with chicken, ground turkey and fish, making soups, turkey chili, gumbo, veggie pasta, salads, and so on. He ate everything I cooked and had seconds. In other words, we shared my food but he saw to it that I couldn’t share his.

I also like wine and I would always keep a bottle of Merlot for company. But 6 bottles of wine later, I learned that he believed any open bottle of wine was meant for him. During the Super Bowl, a lady friend of mine and I were sipping the Merlot from wine glasses. When I looked up, Skip came waltzing in the room with a big water glass full of wine, drinking it like grape Kool-aide. He looked over at me and laughed as if to say, “You can’t get me to drink out of that little glass”. That’s when I knew that he thought the whole thing was funny, and right after that I started hiding the wine in my room.

He said had no money, but he always seemed to have enough change to buy gas for his SUV and a 40 ounce can of beer every night. When I emptied the garbage, I heard bottles and cans clinking around in his trash. He sat around all day working out, never looking at the want ads for jobs. If I let him use my laptop, he would surf for news from our hometown, even though he hated the city with a passion.

By March 1^st, , or about 50 days into his “visit”, I told him the rent we discussed was now due. The conversation quickly turned ugly,

“I thought you would understand”, he said, “the job market is tight and I don’t have any money.”

“Well why don’t you call a relative and see if they can help you out, cause we got bills to pay!”

Skip became very angry and said, “I’m not borrowing any money from my family!”

“Oh, but you don’t mind taking money out of my pocket! You didn’t tell me you were coming here penniless; you said you would save money by paying me $600/month.”

“You expect me to pay $600/month to live here?”

“That’s what you said to get in the door” I said, “If you’re gonna stay, it’s time for you to kick in!”

“Well I’ll let you know by Monday”!

I didn’t press it and I let it slide for a couple of weeks. He got a job working at a car repair place, but he didn’t say anything about rent. Finally, I decided to take him to lunch to let him know that he had to leave.

“I’ll give you some money next week,” he said, “That’s when I get my first check.” A week later he gave me $200 dollars from his first check. By now he’d been living here nearly three months and was almost 1800 dollars behind what he promised. As he laid the money down on the counter, this became his mantra.

“That’s the best that I can do”, he said as he walked away. It was like he had worked out a formula in his head and that was what he was going to pay me. Only problem is, he never talked about it with me. Three more paydays came and the money got less and less. $150, $105.00 and $140.00 were the last offerings. He’d just lay the money down and walk away never talking to me about it. I couldn't take it anymore.

“Skip, we need to talk”, I said as I looked upstairs. He came running downstairs like he was ready to fight.

“I see where this is headed”, he said. “You’re trying to say I’ve used more than that in utilities, which is bullshit. I haven’t run up that much of a bill.”

“Dude, why don’t you wait and see what ‘I want to talk about, instead of jumping to conclusions?”

“No, I don’t have to wait. You’re a predictable motherf***er; I can see right thru you!”

This was the problem with Skip. You couldn’t have a rational or calm conversation with him. He was both judgmental and defensive. I guess he figured he could intimidate me by raising his voice. It was then that I realized that I had been avoiding this conversation because I knew the big blow-up was inevitable. I really didn’t want to talk to him about anything; I just wanted him gone.

“Skip, here’s the problem. You’ve worked out some formula in your head for what you think you should pay me. But for some reason you don’t think you have to talk to me about it. You’ve decided what your rent should be without talking to me! All you say is that’s the best that I can do!”

“Well that is the best I can do!”

“Well since you don’t want to talk about it, all I can say is that this ain’t working for me.

“Well I’m outta here,” he said, looking back like he thought I was gonna stop him. But my response stopped him dead in his tracks.

“How soon can you leave?”

“Well, as soon as I can pack”, he said slowly as he tried to size me up to see if I was serious.

“Good! Can can do it today?

"Yeah", he said

"Fine," I said, "then you can keep your $140.00, cause you'll need it"

He was startled into a brief silence as he headed back upstairs. But then he started going on the attack again, by getting personal, calling me being selfish, telling me that all my friends hated me, and that I was jealous of him and his job. He also told me I was a failure and that I was trapped in the past and that no woman would ever want me. That's the short version and I might have missed a few.

“You can call me anything you want Skip, but make it LONG DISTANCE”, I yelled back. “Tell your story walking my brother, and whatever you do, DON’T STOP PACKING!”

Two hours later he was packed up and driving off. He calmed down enough to say thank you and we shook hands and I wished him well. I don’t know where he went, and I really don’t care. He had used up every bit of patience and good will that I had for him. That’s when it became apparent that my best friend really hated me for being who I am. I had opened my doors to someone that had no intention of pitching in and helping me pay the bills. He got there and looked around and decided that I didn’t need any help and he was determined not to provide it. Where did I go wrong?

My friends on Facebook offered a lot of advice, when I asked the question,

“How long would you put up with a deadbeat roommate?”

The answers were humorous and informative. Jennifer said she’d been living with a deadbeat roommate for 8 years; but she was stuck with him because they were married. Others said I should have laid out the rules of the house in writing from the beginning. Another told me that I should have written up a letter of agreement for the rent as it was agreed to and signed, before he moved in. Some told me that they would only let him stay for one month before he had to go, if he didn’t pay rent. But another friend, Adrienne, said she might give a friend up to six months to work things out because in her words, “Friends are the family we choose”!

Adrienne’s words are beautiful and I agreed with her at first. But then I realized that I had been thinking the same way, when I opened my door to Skip. You end up giving friends a break because you love them and trust them, like family. But some of them don’t deserve it and you may not find out until it's too late. The best way to avoid a situation like this is to make it a business transaction from the get go.

1. Agree to a specific rent amount that spells out what they are responsible for
2. Ask for a security deposit, or work it into the rent
3. Spell out in the agreement what the roommates responsibilities are, if they can’t pay the full rent. (i.e. Cutting the grass, vacuuming and cleaning the house, washing the car, doing the laundry.
4. Spell out the rules of the house, like not leaving dirty dishes in the sink, and rinsing your dishes before you put them in the dishwasher; household chores, etc.
5. Also spell out what food staples that you will pool your resources on like dishwashing liquid, laundry detergent, hand soap, paper towels/napkins, butter, ketchup and so on.
   
6. Put everything in writing, stipulating when the rent is due, and get it signed and notarized.

These tips might not cover everything, but it’s a good start. In these tough economic times, more of us are considering opening our doors to roommates to share expenses. Simple rules and steps like these can keep you from going through the 4 month nightmare that I just experienced. But it also might save a friendship, because any true friend in need should have no problem signing a rental agreement. It’s better to make your expectations clear, instead of assuming that you’re on the same page, because people who owe you money often get amnesia about the promises they made.

As for me and Skip, we could be friends again in the future and maybe we could be neighbors. I feel somewhat guilty that we couldn't work things out, but I keep thinking of the saying at the nightclub when it's closing time,

"You ain't gotta go home, but you gotta get the hell outta here!"

Hug Your Mom For Me!

Each year at Mother’s Day, I realize once again that my mother is gone and I don’t think about her enough. Lois Brown Metoyer, a beautiful courageous woman, lost her battle with brain cancer in June of 1972, just as I was finishing my junior year in college. She was 43 years old when she died and I had no idea then how young she was. She’s been gone now for almost 37 years, actually dead much longer then she was alive in my world. It still doesn’t seem possible because she was once so full of life.

I think of how Mom and I had clashed throughout my high school years. My parents had insisted that I go to an all-white, all boys’ school and we had also moved to a white neighborhood. It wasn’t that we sought the company of white folks. It was that my parents fought to integrate areas that had always been segregated and they had the courage to be pioneers. What’s the point of fighting racism if you’re unwilling to meet it face to face? But being a pioneer had its’ issues and for me it was girls; there were none at school or in my neighborhood.

Mom didn’t want me to date until I was a junior in high school and had a fit if she ever caught me talking to girls on the phone. So I would sneak to the phone booth at the mall or to a service station to call the only black girls I knew. There were white girls living in my neighborhood, but my Mom would have murdered me in my sleep if she ever caught me looking at one. She didn’t hate white women; in fact she had many white friends. But she hated the thought of a black man dating anyone outside his race. If she had met Sammy Davis Jr. in 1960, he would have lost his other eye, after he got married to white, Swedish born actress May Britt.

There’s no doubt that Mom wanted the best for me and I knew that. But it was a time when I felt smothered. She had no brothers, so she had no idea how to raise boys. There were four kids in our family and I was the oldest boy. So I guess I was the test case for her and her two younger sisters. One of my last high school memories was about my hair and graduation. She wanted it short and close cropped, while I wanted an Afro.

“I can’t stand that AFRO mess”, she said, “Your hair doesn’t fit under the cap”.

Dad took me to the barber shop that night and supervised the hair cut. He tried to compromise, because he understood how I felt.When I came back home, she still wasn’t happy, but Dad calmed her down. Later he gave me these words of advice,

“Son, no matter what, don’t upset your mother!”

Later that night I walked the stage and got my diploma as my parents looked on. My Dad shook my hand and said congratulations. But all Mom saw was my hair,

“I can’t believe you had that AFRO mess”! So much for the joy of graduation night.

Three months later, I went away to college at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. Mom and Dad drove me down there and helped me move into the room. They looked at each other and Dad said,

“Well son, we better go so you can get settled in.”

For the first time I could remember, my mom was speechless. She just looked at me from behind her shades and I realize now that she was crying.

“I’ll walk you to the car”, I said, as I suddenly realized I was about to be alone.

“No son, you stay here, we’re ok!”

We said our goodbyes and I watched them walk down that long hallway, with my Dad’s arm around her. I thought she’d be glad to see me go. But it wasn’t until then that I realized that she loved me very much, even though we always seemed at odds.

My college years were a blur spent focusing on my own selfish ideas of what it meant to be grown. I never called home and never came back. I wanted to prove that I could live on my own and support myself. But my world and the world of my family was rocked when we learned that Mom had a brain tumor that required surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. The doctors said they got it all and there was hope.

I came home for the summer and could tell she was suffering. But we found a way to communicate through music. We both loved jazz and rhythm and blues. When I came home from work, I discovered that she was stealing my records and playing them on her stereo.

“How did that get up here?” she would say, “You must have left that on my record player”! We both laughed, knowing that she was the one with sticky fingers.

But a few months later we learned that the cancer was back and that it had spread through her body. There was nothing else the doctors could do. I came back home from school to visit and could see the change in her face and I knew that she was dying. She searched my face when I came in the hospital room and she could read me like a book. Tears started rolling down her eyes as she looked at me, knowing what I was thinking. By now she couldn’t speak because the cancer had taken her motor skills away. So we just looked at each other in a long glance, reading each others thoughts.

A few weeks later, Mom was gone, freed from the suffering of being trapped inside a body that didn’t work anymore. To this day I am filled with regret, that we didn’t have more time to get past those teen age friction years. I wish that I could have shown her that I was going to do something with my life, but we ran out of time. Two years after she died, I was a successful TV anchor in our hometown, but my Mom never got to see it once. Fortunately my Dad was still there, and we became great friends as adults. But you know how it is; we want to make our Moms proud first; that’s why everyone says “Hi Mom” on TV. Of course there’s no telling what she would have said, because I did the news with a BIG AFRO!

So please do me this favor. Hug your Mom for me, and let her know how much you love her.Hug her like you know that she won’t be there one day; celebrate her life, her wisdom, her grace and beauty. Hug her like you don’t ever want to let go, even though one day you’ll have to. Prepare for the day you have to say goodbye, by making sure that you didn’t miss a “reasonable” chance to make her happy. And remember my dad’s advice,

“No matter what, don’t upset your mother!”

Happy Mother’s Day Mom, I love you always!

"Will That Be Seniors?"

I didn’t expect those words to hit me so hard. It’s something I guess we all go through, but I wasn’t really ready for this. We had just arrived at one of those big lunch buffets at a restaurant chain. I was treating my friend Bill to a meal and it was a good choice because Bill is a red meat eater and I like chicken and fish. I told him the place was decent and reasonable, (meaning cheap but filling). I opened the door and we both walked in, laughing and talking about a pretty young lady we had just flirted with in the parking lot. Yeah we still had "IT"!

“Good afternoon,” said Trish the lady at the cash register, “Will that be two for lunch?”

“Yes”, I said with a hungry smile as I surveyed the room looking for a booth,“Two for lunch.”

“Very good sir”, said Trish and that’s when she laid them on me, those four little words that make you realize that some people see you differently then you see yourself,

“WILL THAT BE SENIORS?” she said, with an innocent smile on her face.

Suddenly everything slowed down to a Matrix crawl, like time was standing still as my mind raced back and forth. I could feel myself blink while I was shouting inside my head,

“Did this little Heffa just ask ME if I’m a SENIOR?

“Me, a S-E-N-I-O-R? HAH!”

I wanted to tell her, “Look here Trish, I’m 6’5” and in pretty good shape at 225 pounds. I don’t have a big belly hanging over my belt and I didn’t come limping in the door on a cane and or a walking stick. I walk at least 4 miles 3-4 times a week and I ride a mountain bike. No I can’t dunk a basketball anymore, but I still have a mean 3-pointer from the top of the key. I can cut my grass in 45 minutes with a walking mower and that includes edging the front and back and cleaning up the clippings from the street with my gas blower". What’s even funnier is that Bill is better shape then me.

I was ready to pull out my ID and show Trish that I’m too young for senior status. But suddenly the irony hit me, reminding me of the days back in college, when we were too young to buy beer. My white roommates and I would ride to the liquor store and try to look older. We were too cheap to invest in false ID's so we had to fake it and I always got the job, because I had a BIG Afro and a goatee. I was scurred as hell the first time, when the dude at the register looked at me slowly and said,

“Two six packs of Schlitz Malt liquor, anything else fella?”

“Uh No,” I mumbled in my deepest voice, “That’s all, just the beer, RIGHT ON!”

I couldn’t believe it; I had actually looked old enough to buy the beer and I was so happy that I didn’t have to pretend I'd lost my ID, or run out the door in a COLD SWEAT. I could buy the beer by just looking the part! Yeah baby I looked grown!

I also had fond memories of being a SENIOR in high school, when we were the bad asses that the freshmen were scared of. I’d walk down the hall, wearing my letter sweater with that menacing “Senior Swagger”, sometimes snarling at the freshmen just to make them jump in fear. Those were the days when Seniors ruled!

All of these memories flooded my mind as poor innocent Trish remained frozen in time, smiling at me and waiting for my answer. Then I flashed back again, to the other weekend when I stopped at a liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine. A young brother was in line in front of me, paying for a bottle of vodka. But the sister at the register told him he needed to show some id because NOW, it’s the LAW.

He groaned for a minute and then reached in his pocket for his wallet. That’s when I threw in my two cents,

“Cheer up brother," I said with a grin, "Be glad she asked you for ID, It means you still look young”!

He smiled and looked over at me and started laughing, and then I added,

“And just so you know, they don’t ever ask me for ID anymore”!

Now he was almost on the floor rolling, after he looked over at my gray hair.

“Hold on now”, I said, “It wasn’t that damn funny!” We all fell out laughing again.

Yeah it was funny, but that’s only because I was making the jokes.

In that instant I blinked again, and previous the question was still hanging in the air,

“Will that be Seniors?”, said Trish as she waited to ring up my order. So I set aside my indignation to ask this important follow-up question,

“Is there a Senior Discount?”

“Why yes sir,” said Trish, “For the two of you it will be twelve dollars for the buffet and that includes your drink!”

“Yes Trish, We’re both Seniors”, I said with a sneaky grin.

“Do you have a Seniors card? No? Well you’ll both have to fill one out.”

“No problem Trish”, I said as I started writing down my name, trying not to fake a quivering hand. OK my hand was shaking, but it was from the laughter as I said to myself,

“I been looking older all my life! Finally it’s gonna pay off. Pass the peas!”

So I’m trusting all you “Whippersnappers” not to turn me in and call the “Senior police”. Hell, nobody would believe you anyway!!!

What was I Thinking?

Ladies and Gentlemen, "President-Elect Barack Obama"!!!!!
I sat there speechless in my chair, witnessing this incredible moment by myself. I had tried to go to a watch party that night, but it was just too noisy, so I rushed back home. Yet as I sat alone in front of my TV, I shared the moment with e-mails and instant messages to my friends in Atlanta, my family back home in Omaha, and my extended family on Facebook. As we saw him walk up and speak to that excited throng at Grant Park in Chicago, I had to admit that I never believed this miracle would happen; at least not in '08.

I couldn't help thinking back to a moment almost one year ago, at the airport in Las Vegas, Nevada where I had just finished a business trip. But my flight back to LA was late and I had some time to kill. I noticed a sharp looking young brother who was supposed to be on the same flight. I always try to speak to young black men, just to let them know that I see them, like the village elder. I guess it's one of the privileges of gray hair. It also keeps me connected with what they are thinking about, since I'm from a different generation.

This young brother was eager to talk to me as he put down his iPod and Blackberry. He told me that he was also on business in Vegas and he had just signed up to work on Barack Obama's presidential campaign. He was very excited about the possibilities of Obama's candidacy and he wanted to know what I thought. I weighed my words carefully, trying to find a balance in my troubled thoughts that wouldn't discourage his enthusiasm. Being the voice of reason, I told him that I applauded his effort and I was envious of his ability to commit to such a goal. But there was a "but" lingering in my thoughts,
"But I really wonder if he can get elected?” I told him, "I just don't know if I believe that America is ready for him! I know he's ready for America, but will they let him run?"
The young man looked at me and listened intently. He told me he believed in Barack and was convinced he was backing the right candidate, not to mention he was building an incredible organization. I looked back at him and said,
"I know he's GOOD, I heard him speak at the 2004 Democratic National Convention in Boston. I believe he will be President eventually. But I don't think he'll get past Hillary!"

The young brother looked at me like he felt sorry for me, and he seemed to be thinking,
"This old dude don't understand nothing. Doesn't he know the 60's are over?"

I thought I knew what I was talking about. Everything I told him was the truth, at least as I saw it. I had faith in Obama, but not in the America I have been living in. We've been too blinded by race in this country; trapped in a mindset bogged down by the history of slavery. Blacks/Africans had to be dehumanized in this slavery system to justify the horrors of putting people in chains, and buying and selling them like cattle. That vision of inferiority is firmly planted in the American psyche and we haven't been able to shake it.

I went to all-white schools in high school and college and I met white men and women that had never been in the same room with a black person before. They were surprised when I was "articulate", and amazed when I could answer a question, proving my intelligence.
But they were never shocked that I wanted to play basketball or football because that fit the profile of their expectations for me. it's a scenario that I've seen repeated time and time again in my adult life on almost every job I've had.

But as President-Elect Obama gave his acceptance speech, I had to accept the fact that America had fooled me! This Time America Stood UP and Got it right! This election was about the need for symbolism, the need to have a President that we could believe in again. You could see it in the eyes of the people who came out that night to hear Obama speak. His words lifted them up and brought them to a new level of confidence. They/We adored him; and his beautiful family. It's was like a beautiful fairy tale that came true. They could actually see through his skin.

Perhaps one of the most eloquent statements that night came from a middle aged white man who was there to witness firsthand the Obama acceptance speech in Grant Park,
"I feel like a nightmare is finally over", he said through his tears, "I think we have a future now, I think we really have a future!"
When he said that, I realized that Black people had not suffering alone all these years with this pain and shame of racism. This election for many of us was like a cleansing of all the hate!

But to that young brother I met on the plane last year, I can only say,
"Thank God you didn't listen to me! Thank God you believed it was possible NOW. Thank God you were NOT prepared to be patient and wait for Obama to have his turn. You knew 13 months ago that Obama's time IS NOW and that later would have been TOO LATE!
Yes, I was wrong, and I am SO HAPPY ABOUT IT!

Hudson Family Pain Exposes Racism

Like so many millions of Americans I was devastated by the news that Jennifer Hudson’s mother, brother and seven year old nephew were murdered. I poured through the news accounts over the internet looking for details of what happened. But I also stopped to look at the notes of support from her countless fans; people who just wanted to let her know that they shared her grief.

“Jennifer we love you”, said so many writers, “Our thoughts and prayers are with you and your family at this difficult time!” It was almost unanimous in the expressions of shock, sympathy, despair and love; all rolled up into one big prayer. Like I said, it was almost unanimous.

Because there hiding in the weeds was a nasty, racist note that nearly broke my heart. I have to repeat it word for word so that you understand how painful this thing was to read:

“It serves her right for living like an animal on the Southside of Chicago. She got what she deserved! Plus it’s two less votes for Obama!”

I couldn’t believe what my eyes were reading to me. Could anyone actually be that hateful to write something so brazen, hurtful and full of lies? It reminded me of the murder of young Emmett Till in 1955, who was executed because he whistled at a white woman. There were people in Mississippi who were so full of racial hatred that they actually said told reporters,

“He got what he deserved! How dare that black boy whistle at a white woman; and what was his black ass doing down here anyway; just another troublemaker from up North!”

Those segregationist people is Mississippi didn’t believe a crime had been committed; that if Emmett Till had known his place, he might still be alive today as long as he didn’t live on the Southside of Chicago!

Whoever wrote this post about Jenifer Hudson’s family appeared to be from Chicago and seemed to have his own twisted view of Chicago. He also made it clear that anyone who lives in that Black Community is insignificant and worthless and deserves whatever trouble comes their way. He didn’t care that an innocent woman and her family were slain in their own home, possibly by a trusted family member. It was the kind of domestic crime that could and does happen in any neighborhood, amongst any racial group in America.

While there is crime on Chicago’s Southside, it is just not a neighborhood of killers, muggers, crackheads and thieves. It’s an area filled with thousands of hard-working, law abiding, decent people, who are just trying to make their way. But because of the way news is covered in this country, viewers and listeners assume that most blacks in certain neighborhoods are a bunch of lazy, drug smoking, thieves living on welfare. No one deserves to be murdered under any circumstances; especially in a tragedy like this.

But the final blow to my human instincts was that comment about the election,

“Plus it’s two less votes for Obama!”

Where did that come from? Yes Jennifer Hudson sang our national anthem at the Democratic convention and supports Obama, who also lives on the Southside of Chicago. But for normal people, these murders had nothing to do with politics.

This kind of wacko is disgusted at the thought of a black man from the Southside of Chicago, standing on steps of the White House, and waiting for the key to the front door. He would probably do anything in his power to stop it from happening. It scares me because we know he is not alone in being trapped in a legacy of hate

He could easily have been one of the skinheads in Tennessee who were arrested by the FBI three days later for plotting to assassinate Obama. They also planned to kill another 100 African Americans including the beheading of 14 of the victims. For them the murders of Jennifer Hudson’s family was good news. They must also celebrate every time they hear about the murder rate in Chicago and black on black crime.

For many Americans, the candidacy of Barack Obama is a campaign of hope as much as it is about change. It is a chance for us to show the rest of the world that we are prepared to be take our seat at the new world table of inclusion. It would put us on the same level of international respect that South Africa gained when Nelson Mandela emerged from prison and marched straight into the Presidency. His election saved that country from an almost certain bloodbath in the streets over who would control the government. Yes they still have problems, but they didn’t have the race war that everyone was expecting.

Here in America, we are proud to say that Barack Obama’s candidacy proves that the United States is changing; that the country has come a long way from the bitter days of segregation based totally on the color of our skin. Yes, we’ve come a very long way.

But the harsh reality is everybody didn’t want to come with us.

Wall Street Welfare

Bailout Plan: Since we share the blame, let’s share the payoff!

I am a little confused by this Wall Street Meltdown business. Are they saying that this whole crisis was caused by people like me, who qualified for a so-called “sub-prime” loan? As Steve Urkel used to say on his TV show, “DID I DO THAT?” The answer is a resounding HELL NO!

Anyone who bought a home in the last three years, took the plunge because the real estate market was so white hot! Properties were escalating in value at unbelievable rates; sometimes as much as five per cent a year. So if you did your research and picked a good property, your chances were good for having a home that was instantly worth more than you paid for it. These loans were marketed to consumers as a way to get in the door, make the payments, and then refinance the loans with the new “instant” equity.

The risk with a “sub-prime” loan was in the fine print. The loan would reset after two years and the payments would certainly go up, no matter what happened. If you made your payments on time, the payments would still go up! If your credit score went up 100 points, the payments would still go up. Perhaps even more bizarre is that these loans were nearly 100 per cent interest; which was pure profit for the lending institutions.

Here’s where the GREED enters the picture. There is no reasonable explanation for why the loans were set up in such a way to guarantee that the payments would increase. These banks and lending institutions were determined to maximize their profits by either forcing the homeowner to pay more or forcing them into foreclosure. Either way the banks thought they would win because they would have received two years of payments on the purchased property. Those payments would substantially reduce their exposure on the loans and allow them to resell the same home at a profit if/when the buyer defaulted. But the banks didn’t expect the real estate market to go so cold, so fast and they suddenly found themselves with a lot of foreclosed property they couldn’t move.

What do you suppose would have happened if these same banks had tried to work with the homeowners who needed help? Instead of using escalating payments to force people out of their homes, they could have worked to keep those buyers as customers. They should have worked to make those payments affordable for homeowners, the same way they wrote the loans in the beginning. Today those banks would have thousands of happy homeowners, instead of thousands of empty houses that keep dropping in value every day.

But the other piece of the puzzle is the financial institutions that bought and sold home loans at the drop of a hat. Two months after I bought my home through Homebanc, the loan was sold to another mortgage company with terrible customer service. For instance, they wanted to charge me $10.00 to pay my mortgage through their website. Let me say that again; there was a FEE for me to pay my bill online! How do you justify that kind of clip-joint mentality? That’s not the way that you generate trust with your clientle; not the way that you win friends and influence people. But it does reveal the mindset of these profit at all cost companies that are begging for our help now, from the same people that they’ve been ripping off. This crisis could have been averted if a little common sense and compassion were part of the plan.

Before we move on from the “sub-prime” loan mess, let’s don’t forget the insider scams that ripped off the system for millions of dollars. Scores of mortgage brokers, real estate agents, and appraisers formed partnerships, built on a foundation of greed and deceit. These predators bought homes at discount prices and then used phony appraisals to resell the properties at inflated prices. A $50,000 home would be appraised at $125,000, and then resold to a fake buyer for a $75,000 profit. Then the same house would be resold again and again for escalating prices, even though no improvements were made. Finally, the last fake buyer would default on the last big loan and the bank would foreclose. It wasn’t until then that the bank discovered that the home was only worth the original $50,000; considerably less than the phony appraised value of $400,000. These insider scams contributed greatly to the mortgage meltdown, but you don’t hear much about them now.

Who was responsible for the oversight of those phony loans and the way they were processed? These rip-offs were strictly inside jobs by greedy people who knew how to manipulate the system and get away clean. There are entire neighborhoods that were devastated by these white collar thieves, who left behind a trail of vacant houses in various states of disrepair. Imagine the impact on homeowners in those neighborhoods who were just trying to own a home of their dreams. What do you think happened to property values in those areas, because of this housing pyramid scam? None of these victims ever worked on Wall Street!

Yes, you would think the “sub-prime” home buyers are the ones who caused the failures and problems at Merrill Lynch, Goldman Sachs, Lehman Brothers, Morgan Stanley, Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae. That’s why they need this 700 billion dollar bailout, which the government claims will save the country’s financial institutions. Well I’m all for helping out the Wall Street unfortunates and giving them a little welfare money; but let’s flip the script just a little bit.

Let’s recalculate the $700 billion dollar bailout and add enough to give one-million dollars to every American who paid taxes in 2007. This payout to taxpayers would be used to pay off or pay down their debt on homes, cars, credit cards, and other installment loans. This plan would make many of us debt free, with a tidy profit left over. The beauty is that we’d be paying off the banks and bailing them out from the ground up. Talk about an economic stimulus plan. I can’t wait to get that check!

One final piece of advice for consumers who have money left over. Whatever you do, don’t put all of it back in the bank!

Blogged with the Flock Browser

So Right, He's WRONG!

When driving in Atlanta, GA you have to listen to AM radio if you want to avoid traffic jams. But what's even worse then being stuck in traffic is listening to the constant liberal bashing from self proclaimed "patriots" like Sean Hannity.

His show is a total and complete flag-waving sham. The people who call in to his program start off by saying, "Sean, you're a great American", and he has the nerve to sit there and pretend that he is humbled by the line; even though every caller says it. His show kinda reminds me of the old Western movies, when the snake-oil salesman is out on the street selling a magic potion. At the right time, his accomplice limps up to the front of the crows and buys a bottle. One swig of the potion and suddenly the "customer" can walk again. It's the same game, only played out daily on "Talk Radio".

Sean deals in the world of "bait and switch" and he never lets the facts get in the way of a good story. The recent Don Imus debacle is a classic example. Everyone knows by now what Imus did last year; attacking an innocent group of Rutgers basketball players by calling them terrible names on his live radio show. But instead of condemning Imus, Hannity went on the offensive and attacked Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. Hannity called them hypocrites for using the same kind of offensive language. He played excerpts of speeches that both men made several years ago. His logic, that Jackson and Sharpton had no room to criticize anyone.
But Hannity's logic was a flawed as his consistently biased program. The comments made by Don Imus were on a live radio program, compared to a speech at a private function. Imus is supposed to be a professional broadcaster, who knows the difference between attacking politicians and attacking a women's basketball team. Sean Hannity should also know the difference since he works in the same field, but instead he chose to twist the facts, so he could justify his opinion.

Whether you agree with the words of Sharpton or Jackson is not the issue. The point is, they did not make their remarks on a scheduled live radio program. It is that kind of flawed and biased logic that makes Hannity so obnoxious. It is shameful and irresponsible for him to try to trick his listeners with that kind of biased reporting. If this is the kind of work that makes him a "great American", it's no wonder that the worldwide image of the United States continues to slip.