It's not often that I find myself agreeing with Justices Sandra Day O'Connor, Clarence Thomas and Antonin Scalia --- and believe me, I'm just sure they cry themselves to sleep at night --- but I did yesterday.
Along with Chief Justice William Rehnquist (another noted liberal) those justices were in the minority, dissenting with a ruling that local governments have a constitutional right to seize private property through eminent domain and turn it over to other private property owners.
Josef Stalin would be proud. Not to mention the fact that somewhere, Mulu Birru is smiling, since eminent domain was the Sword of Damocles that he and other Pittsburgh city officials held over property owners heads time and time again.
And Lord knows, Our Fair City had its share of "redevelopment" in the 1960s and '70s, which got us such architectural marvels as the Midtown Plaza Mall and the Executive Building.
It breaks down like this: Five years ago, the city of New London, Conn., approved a redevelopment plan for a waterfront neighborhood that would include upscale shopping, office buildings, and a hotel, along with a new U.S. Coast Guard Museum. The development would replace some abandoned industrial land along the Thames River.
But the local redevelopment authority and the city also decided to condemn a nearby neighborhood of private houses. Eminent domain laws require governments to pay fair market value for any property that's seized, but nine residents --- including one woman who has lived in the same house since she was born in 1918 --- refused to sell.
And then they sued, saying New London authorities were violating their Fifth Amendment rights. The Fifth Amendment says that private property may not be taken for public use without compensation. It doesn't say anything about taking private property for private use, which a shopping development arguably is.
The case wound its way through state courts in Connecticut before landing at the U.S. Supreme Court.
Justice John Paul Stevens, writing for the majority (PDF file), cites case law back to the mid-19th century that ruled that "public use" can be interpreted very broadly: "Promoting economic development is a traditional and long accepted function of government," he writes. "There is, moreover, no principled way of distinguishing economic development from the other public purposes that we have recognized," like public transportation projects, for example.
In their dissent, the other four justices call the majority decision "troubled" and "flawed." "If it is true that incidental public benefits from new private use are enough to ensure the public purpose ... why should it matter, as far as the Fifth Amendment is concerned, what inspired the taking in the first place?" writes O'Connor.
No matter what reason is given, she writes, the effect is the same: "Private property is forcibly relinquished to new private ownership."
The beneficiaries of this ruling, O'Connor says, are likely to be "those citizens with disproportionate influence and power in the political process, including large corporations and development firms." (Sandra Day O'Connor: Closet liberal and Nation reader?)
O'Connor also questions the wisdom of allowing government officials to decide the "best use" of already developed property: "Who among us can say she already makes the most productive or attractive possible use of her property? The specter of condemnation hangs over all property. Nothing is to prevent the State from replacing any Motel 6 with a Ritz-Carlton, any home with a shopping mall, or any farm with a factory."
Indeed. It's bad enough in the Mon-Yough area that the Turnpike Commission is about to take hundreds of properties in the name of building a highway that will enable people to zip more quickly Downtown from their McMansions in Washington County.
Now, we have to worry about borough council or the township commissioners coming along, looking at our '60s split-level with the Steelers flag on the porch and the dead grass in the front yard, and saying, "You know what would look good right here? A Starbucks."
The only bright spot is that Stevens and the majority leave the door open for the state legislatures to put the brakes on this kind of foolishness: "Nothing in our opinion," he writes, "precludes any State from placing further restrictions on its exercise of the takings power. Indeed, many States already impose 'public use' requirements that are stricter than the federal baseline."
There's a slim ray of hope in those comments, I guess. Personally, I can't wait for the day that the Pennsylvania General Assembly decides to voluntarily give up some of its power. I also can't wait for the Pirates to win another World Series. In either case, I'm not holding my breath.
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Speaking of economic development of dubious potential, business owners in Pitcairn are planning to fight back against a proposed Wal-Mart near the intersections of Routes 48 and 130 in Monroeville, writes Bill Heltzel in the Post-Gazette.
(Pharmacist Phil Arlia) counted 29 independent drugstores from Braddock to Irwin, when he opened in 1969. Now he's the only independent left. "The largest retailer in the world moving in a half-mile up the road, how can it not hurt you?" asked Arlia. "Notice, I didn't say we'll go out of business."
He has adapted as chain stores opened. He still stocks convenience items but no longer carries entire lines of deodorant, hair coloring or Timex watches. Instead, he concentrates on personal service, quick delivery, next-day special orders and credit.
He is hopeful that PennDOT and Monroeville will not "create a monster" by giving Wal-Mart the permits it needs, but he is prepared to fight.
"This is going to be fun," he said. "It's a challenge. The big boy on the block thinks he can come into a small town and stomp them. We'll see."
Summertime, summertime, sum-sum-summertime, summertime, summertime, sum-sum-summertime ... etc. What better way to catch some rays this summer than in our new Tube City Online "Rainbow Gardens Lifeguard" T-shirt? Just please don't impersonate a real lifeguard. I am gratified to see that, of all of the serious problems facing this great nation of ours, the U.S. House of Representatives has again taken a firm stand against burning the American flag. Don't address our crippling deficit, or the continued difficulties in Iraq, or the rising price of fuel, or the growing gap between rich people and poor people. No, get out there and tackle that flag-burning problem.
Personally, I'm tired of chasing flag-burners out of the front yard. "Get out of here, you consarned flag-burners!" I shout, shaking my fist at them. On Saturday mornings, the Giant Eagle parking lot is crammed from curb to curb with flag-burners, and you can't even enjoy a Pirates game without some clown in the row in front of you pulling out a flag and lighting it up.
Actually, you can't enjoy a Pirates game because after a brief flirtation with averageness, they have once again ascended the heights of mediocrity. Seriously, they're not even bad enough to be interesting. If they were losing games 40-0, then you might be compelled to watch, because you could at least be ensured of an interesting slaughter, much the same way that a demolition derby or a trip to an abattoir can be entertaining. These 5-4 losses are just pitiful. Guys: The games are nine innings long. You can't quit after the seventh-inning stretch.
Now that I think of it, I'd rather tour an abattoir than see a demolition derby. I've gone to exactly two demolition derbies in my life; once when I was about 8, and the other two years ago at the Washington County fair. I got dragged to the latter by a group of friends.
The first round was sort-of amusing, if you're into loud noises and car crashes. (I'd just as soon hang out on the Parkway East if I want to see that.) By the third round, I was looking at my watch, and by the fifth, I was praying that a tie rod would come off of one of the cars, fly into the stands, and puncture my skull to put me out of my misery.
It didn't help that several cars in the demolition derby were newer than mine. I'd see some old Chevrolet Impala plow into another car, and I'd say, "Damnit, you ruined the driver's side door, and I need one!"
Speaking of cars, what is it with the birds? I left work the other day to find that I no longer had a sleek, grey Mercury: I had a bird-dropping colored Mercury with a few grey spots. I washed it last night, but five will get you 10 that by tomorrow morning, I'll need a putty knife just to scrape a patch of pigeon feces off of the windshield large enough so that I can drive.
And I swear that someone in our neighborhood has been feeding the birds bran muffins and Ex-Lax. I awoke the other morning to see a strange, misshapen shadow on the bedroom wall. Upon putting on my spectacles (because I'm blind as a bat without them), I realized that a bird had decorated the entire side of the house, including the window and the screen.
The bird is long gone, but despite all of the rain, his (or her) memory lingers on my siding and the window screen. I'm going to have to take the screen down and scrub it with soap and hot water. Something's wrong with our civilization when we're reduced to cleaning up birdie bowel movements: Who, exactly, is the superior species here? But if I don't clean it up, then opening my bedroom window will continue to be a disgusting activity.
Not that I'm going to be able to open the window this weekend, because they're predicting temperatures will be up into the 90s, and I'm probably going to have to break down and turn on the A/C. I despise hot weather. Every time it's 95 degrees and I run into some clown who says, "isn't this weather beautiful," I want to beat them about the head and shoulders with a bottle of suntan lotion. Cold isn't a thrill, but I can always put on more clothes (and if you've ever seen me, you'd encourage me to put on as much clothing as possible). I can't take off skin during a heat wave.
Air conditioning can be a wonderful convenience, especially if you're in some ridiculous place like Arizona, but I much prefer letting some fresh air in. When that air isn't being filter through screens contaminated by diarrhetic birds, that is. And do I even have to say what air conditioning causes? High electric bills.
I don't need to send $100 a month to Duquesne Light. The phone company is already into me for $155 this month because I called their repair service after I didn't have a dial tone for two days. The problem was on their end --- though they deny it --- and you'd better believe the Public Utility Commission is getting a complaint. I might as well wad that complaint up into a little ball and stick it somewhere, which would save me a stamp and do about the same amount of good, but at least I'll have the satisfaction of screwing up someone else's day.
I can't complain to anyone about the refrigerator, unfortunately. I returned from Florida to find out that it had turned into a large, smelly, warm porcelain cabinet. The temperature inside was up to 57 degrees, the ice cream was dripping out of the carton, and the milk smelled like an earthquake in a graveyard.
The repairman came out and recommended that I dig a pit and push it in: The compressor is shot. The damned thing is 13 years old! My mother got 25 years out of her refrigerator. My grandmother's was 40 years old. Shouldn't technology be improving, not regressing?
I have a lot of other topics to cover --- those stupid Turkey Hill Dairy billboards with the giant cows, for example. Who wants to see a 10-foot-tall udder at 7 o'clock in the morning? Some freak who's into cow porn? Unfortunately, I see the doctor is here again. He says I'm off my meds. I'd argue with him, but I think I'll just go nighty-night for a while instead.
About three years ago, I was assigned to review Myron Cope's book, Double Yoi! "Keep it to 200 words," the editor said.
Double yoi, indeed. Two-hundred words? Hmm-hah. That seemed hardly worth bothering Mr. Cope. So I checked with someone else: Are you interested in a profile of Myron Cope? "Sure." Length? "Whatever you need."
I called Cope, explained that I wanted to interview him for two pieces. Well, he was busy prepping for a Steelers game that weekend, he said, but he could talk when he got back into town. But he warned me that the best he could allow was about a half-hour, because he wasn't feeling well, and he knew he'd be tired. We set a date and a time. "Bye now," he said.
I literally grew up listening to Myron Cope. When I went to college, I tortured my roommate by listening to Cope's talk show as I did homework. (What a dumbkopf I was: That could explain my grades in freshman calc and physics, now that I think of it.) He was from Baltimore: "How can you listen to that guy?" he'd ask. "I can't stand that." Like so many people, he couldn't get past the voice.
But that nasal gargle, which Cope himself often mocks, masked the very civil way that Cope conducted his talk show (even idiotic callers got a fair shake). It also masked his dry wit, his trenchant analysis of the culture and business of sports, and his plain decency.
I've been blessed to interview everyone from Nobel Prize winners to convicted murderers, but for crying out loud, this was Myron Cope.
Needless to say, the day for the interview came, and I was as nervous as I've ever been. I had 30 minutes. I had to make it count. With one eye on the clock, we started.
In the end, Cope gave me an hour. And he thanked me for interviewing him. And when the stories came out, he sent me a thank you note for my interest in him. I keep it in the top drawer of my desk at home and pull it out every so often.
Out of all of the thousands of people who have talked to Cope over the years, and the hundreds of local yokels who've interviewed him, I'm sure I rank somewhere between the nacho guy at Giants Stadium and the gas station attendant who wiped his windows in 1974. But he took the time to write me a thank you note.
Too many people --- like my roommate --- have written Cope off as a clown because of his voice and his often outrageous stunts. (Remember the music videos he used to do for the WTAE-TV news?) But if you ever have some time to kill in the library, check out Cope's books, or look up some of the work he did in the '60s for True and Sports Illustrated and The Saturday Evening Post. (The "Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature" will help you find the stories.) The man could write. In fact, he still can: Double Yoi! is a warm, witty and often bittersweet memoir that's well worth your time, even if you're not interested in sports. Cope's chapters about the death of his wife and his own struggle with depression and drinking are wrenching and funny at the same time.
In my recent move, I rediscovered something that I was afraid I'd lost: It was a reel-to-reel tape I made of Cope's last talk show on the old WTAE radio. I threaded it up and listened to a few minutes, and instantly was reminded why I enjoyed Cope's talk show so much. There was warmth, humor and humanity in every word. (The only other sports talk show I ever liked as much his was Bruce Keidan's, and for the same reason.)
Western Pennsylvania has been fortunate to have had a monopoly on Cope for more than 30 years. Lord willing, I hope he gets a chance to work on the books he says he wants to write --- I'm looking forward to them --- and I hope retirement treats him well. He's a good man, a unique talent, and one of the few Pittsburgh personalities truly deserving of the title "legend."
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Myron Cope Links:
An appreciation by Bob Labriola of Steelers.com
Joe Starkey of the Tribune-Review on Cope's writing
Bob Dvorchak of the Post-Gazette on Cope's retirement
"Everything is Cope-Aesthetic," Mark Collins, Pitt Magazine, Sept. 1996
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In other business, it's the 25th anniversary of "The Blues Brothers," and the Chicago Sun-Times is running a weeklong look back at the places in Chicago that were featured in the film. The church where James Brown was preaching has fallen on hard times, and the street where John Lee Hooker was singing in an open market was demolished to make way for the expansion of the University of Chicago.
And don't tell The Penguin, but the orphanage has been torn down anyway. (Of course, it was only a false-front movie set, built in an alley.)
It's good stuff, even if you're not on a mission from God.
The following is baseless speculation. Any resemblance to any real events is purely dumb luck. It is a conspiracy theory that ranks closely with the notions that commercial passenger jets are spraying middle America with mind-control potions via their exhaust trails, or that Richard Nixon was on the grassy knoll in Dallas with a Mannlicher-Carcano rifle.
It stems from a conversation that Alert Reader Officer Jim and I had the other day. I'd say that we were drunk, but he was going on duty and it was a little early in the day for me. (On the other hand, we were a little hyper-caffeinated.)
We got to talking about the ongoing federal grand jury investigations into alleged misuse of the coroner's office by Dr. Cyril Wecht, and the simultaneous federal probe into supposed fundraising irregularities by Allegheny County Sheriff Pete "The Big Ragu" DeFazio and Pittsburgh Mayor Tom Murphy.
Like me, Officer Jim can't figure out exactly why the feds are probing Wecht. Even if he did misuse his office --- and that's only a rumor of what the allegations are, because no one is saying for the record --- we can't figure out why the feds would be involved. That sounds like a state or county matter to us.
It strikes me that the only way the federal government would have jurisdiction would be if there were allegations of income tax evasion or civil rights violations. (Or possibly mail fraud. Wecht isn't offering mail-order autopsies, is he?)
We're also not sure why Murphy is still under investigation. The allegation is that the firefighters' union endorsed him in exchange for his agreement on their new contract. But as several people have pointed out, isn't that how political dealmaking is done everywhere? Without that kind of horse-trading, government would grind to a halt. (Exhibit A, may it please the court, would be the current U.S. Senate battle over John Bolton. That's what happens when elected officials refuse to compromise and make nice.) As long as a cash bribe didn't change hands, where's the crime?
"It seems like something's going around," said Officer Jim, noting that the feds have gotten several convictions in a municipal corruption scandal in Philadelphia that has connections to that city's mayor, John Street.
Like Murphy, Wecht and DeFazio, Street is a Democrat.
And Officer Jim pointed out that Erie Mayor Rick Filippi (a Democrat) is also under federal indictment in a bribery scandal. (He also has heard reports of a grand jury probe in Scranton, but that turns out to be a state investigation into abuse at the Lackawanna County Prison.)
Isn't it curious that the Justice Department is probing all of this alleged corruption by Democrats as Pennsylvania's most prominent Democrat, Ed Rendell, prepares to run for re-election and a member of one of the state's most prominent Democratic families, Bob Casey Jr., prepares to run against Rick Santorum for the U.S. Senate?
And wouldn't it be a nice present both to Santorum and Rendell's eventual Republican opponent if a whole bunch of indictments against prominent Democrats were to come down early next year?
OK, we're dangerously close to black helicopter territory, I know. I'm sure it's all just coincidence, and one that's not that surprising, to boot, since Pennsylvania is not known as a model of good government. (Though compared to our neighbors in New Jersey and New York, Pennsylvania is cleaner than the Little Sisters of the Poor.)
Still, until something happens --- say, the feds get some indictments in Pittsburgh or drop their investigations, or some "Deep Throat" wannabe spills their guts to the news media --- speculation is all we've got. That hardly seems fair to anyone involved, but that's life in the big city, I suppose.
Coming tomorrow: A theory about how Sheetz is conspiring with The Pillsbury Co. and the Illuminati to keep the price of cinnamon rolls high. Don't miss it!
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In other news, scientists at Pitt and in Russia are working on a grand unified theory of everything that can go wrong in the world. At least that's according to The Onion.
Says America's finest news source, "the list is widely believed to include hundreds of trillions of potential scenarios, from 'cement truck with soft brakes cutting swath of destruction across quiet suburban subdivision' to 'snagging shirt cuff on door latch'":
During a recent tour of the facilities at the University of Pittsburgh, the scenarios were projected onto a large screen as they were processed.
"Accidentally breaking off hand of Infant Of Prague statuette while gently trying to clean it with cotton swab and soapy water," the projection screen read. "Briefs get wedged in area between bureau drawers and base unit, making it difficult to dislodge them; sleeping with neck twisted awkwardly, resulting in headache; absent-mindedly discarding bus ticket with tissue; placing fingers too close to prongs while plugging in night-light, resulting in mild electrical shock."
Last week's leftovers and other morsels:
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Did you know lap dogs are allowed on airplanes now? Once again I show my ignorance, I guess. I was surprised upon arriving at the Palm Beach airport to find people holding little yappy dogs in the departure lounge. At first, I thought they (the people, not the dogs, natch) were visitors seeing their loved ones off, but that didn't make sense --- just like Greater Pitt, you have to have a boarding pass to clear security. When our flight was called and the people (and the dogs) stood up to board, I was astonished.
I happen to like dogs, but I have a lot of questions about allowing them onto commercial flights. Peanuts are banned from most airlines because some people have allergic reactions to them --- don't some people have allergic reactions to dogs? The air inside the plane's cabin is recirculating constantly, presumably spreading allergens to all parts of the aircraft. Is the airline going to be responsible if someone claims to be having an allergic reaction to a dog? Also, what happens if the dog bites someone? And peanuts are relatively quiet, compared to a dog that's in pain because the cabin pressure is changing upon take-off or landing.
(Somebody asked me, "What happens if the dog has an accident?" I already know the answer to that. The stewardess goes up the aisle with a big roll of paper towels, which is exactly what happened when one of the dogs did have an accident.)
I'm not making a case that dogs shouldn't be allowed on airplanes --- if their owners are going somewhere on a trip, something has to be done with the pooch, too. It just surprised me, that's all.
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More on airplanes: Smoking has been banned on most domestic U.S. flights since 1989. Why do airplanes still have "no smoking" lights? Since the lights are always on, wouldn't a simple "no smoking" placard at each seat be cheaper? And why do we still have to have a lecture on each flight that there is no smoking on board the airplane?
OK, I know the answer to the last question: We get the lecture because people are stupid. During the flight from Washington, D.C., to Tampa, one lady passenger refused to stay seated when told. When we were landing in Tampa, she got out of her seat despite being told specifically by the stewardess to sit down. The pilot finally stopped the airplane on the tarmac and refused to taxi to the gate until she sat down and put her seat belt on.
For crying out loud! How much time were you saving, lady? Thirty seconds? Forty-five? It's a simple concept --- when the seat belt light is turned "on," sit down and put your seat belt on.
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Or perhaps people are just arrogant, including Little Miss Won't Sit Down. Before I'd ban cigarettes from airports and airplanes, I'd ban cellular phones. I'm allergic to cigarette smoke, but I'd rather spend two hours in a cloud of chain-smokers than 20 minutes listening to people yack, loudly, on their cell phones about absolutely nothing. Even listening to little yappy lap dogs for a three-hour flight would be preferable.
In Palm Beach, about 200 people in the departure lounge were treated to an ear-splitting blow-by-blow description of someone's medical problems, courtesy of an elderly Noo Yawker, tawkin' to someone back home. (Someone finally went over to tell her to pipe down, at which point she stood up and made a loud, not-quite-sincere apology.)
Inside the plane, each time the pilot announced that passengers could use their cell phones, the air quickly came alive with the sounds of electronic boops and beeps. Soon, people were having thrilling conversations like: "Guess where we are? We're on the plane. Yep. We're going to take off. Yep. So we'll see you at the airport. Yep."
Yes, and they'll be able to spot you immediately. You'll be the one with the cell phone stuck up your nose, and I'll be the one escorted from the plane in handcuffs.
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On other matters: A press release from the Fantastic Sam's chain of hair salons (I hesitate to say "clip joints") alerts me that the location near the Waterfront in Munhall raised more than $2,000 to benefit a little girl from West Mifflin. Mallory Oross, age 5, is suffering from abdominal cancer.
According to the release, stylists opened the shop on Sunday, June 5, and held a "cut-a-thon" in which they contributed all of their receipts for the day to Mallory's care. She needs surgery, radiation treatments and possibly a bone marrow transplant, and the family's health insurance is not covering many of the costs.
You can contribute by sending contributions to the Mallory Oross Fund, c/o Auto Workers Credit Union, 6010 Mountain View Drive, West Mifflin, PA 15122, or visit the family's website at ourmissmallory.us.
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On Friday, I forgot to mention the annual Greater Pittsburgh Soapbox Derby, held Sunday in Our Fair City! Mea culpa. Brian Krasman had a preview in Friday's Daily News.
The soap box derby has been held on Eden Park Boulevard since 1956. Krasman reports the original sponsor was Deveraux Chevrolet. When they dropped their sponsorship in 1972, the event was suspended for 11 years. It was brought back in 1983 and has been with us ever since, and it's one of the nice things about the Mon-Yough area. I only got to see a little bit on Sunday, but the weather was wonderful for soap box racing.
Another kind of vehicle was the topic of a story in the Post-Gazette on Thursday. Al Lowe profiled longtime city funeral director and businessman Frank S. Striffler and mentioned his collection of antique hearses.
Striffler owns an 1866 horse-drawn hearse, a 1938 LaSalle, and two Cadillacs: 1965 and 1977. All this reminds me that I just saw an '80s Cadillac hearse for sale in front of a body shop in Hazelwood. I'm sure it's been well-maintained and it probably has very few miles on it. Did you ever think when a hearse went by that you might be the next to buy?
I've met several of the Strifflers, and they've been very nice to me. They also invest money back into their communities and provide a necessary service, which makes them aces in my book. I could make a bunch of funeral home puns here, I suppose, but that would be a grave error. And besides, I'd better be shoveling off.
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