There was a time when Arkansas was an antique hunter's paradise. But now it's time to get rid of a lot of that junk. Americans used to visit Cuba to see old-model cars in the days before the embargo was being lifted. Now we're reduced to visiting the latest Kim's North Korea to see models of outdated technology. But fanciers of old-time inventions love the whole experience.
"It was amazing to fly on all those Russian planes I'd seen," says Brian Crooks, who works for United Airlines but never had the opportunity to fly an Ilyushin ll-18 or Tupolev-134. Aeroflot retired that one in 2007. For that matter, the whole North Korean state is a holdover from the past, more museum piece than working state and needs to go, too.
Nor is this country short of antiques that need to go ASAP--like the current chief of Veterans Affairs, Robert McDonald, who asserted that the VA's model should be, get this, Disneyland. "When you go to Disney," he asserts, "do they measure the number of hours you wait in line? What's important? What's important is: What's your satisfaction with the experience?" So it's OK to keep right on fiddling with wait times and engaging in other games with numbers.
Those vets who have to rely on the VA for their meds and medical care in general don't sound at all happy about their experience. And shouldn't be. They need medical care now, but are forever being told to wait for it later. And later and later. A decent government would outlaw such treatment as cruel and inhuman punishment. There may indeed be a place to store antiques, but it's not in government.
Then there are those walking antiques in state government who leave only trouble in their wake.
Wasn't there a time when the state Senate had a few members as brave as they were sage? Like Sam Levine of Pine Bluff. One of his colleagues at the time declared: "Nothing in this bill should be construed to re-open the schools." And that was meant as an assurance. Sound familiar? It was Mister Sam's finest hour, for he knew just what it meant to oppose Orval Faubus: sure and utter defeat. But he didn't care about all that. What mattered to him was not popularity, fleeting as it is, but to that ultimate court of appeal: Posterity. So he began his historic filibuster at 11:24 one morning and just ran the clock out, and his memory still shines.
Editorial on 05/31/2016