As you celebrate your three day Labor Day weekend, you might pause a moment to remember this guy, the author of the holiday, President Grover Cleveland.  The holiday was rushed through Congress and approved unanimously in 1882 only six days after the end of a strike that had seen a confrontation between the U.S. Military and striking Pullman workers left a number of  workers dead.  In an effort to appease organized labor (a political strategy very much alive today), a holiday was organized to honor workers and the Labor movement.  Interestingly, a September date was chosen in order to avoid aligning it with traditional May Day labor celebrations in various socialist and communist countries. As far as I know, there are no plans from the current administration to move the holiday (sorry, I know that was an unnecessary editorial comment…but I couldn’t resist).

Of course, for us, the holiday signals the traditional end of summer, the beginning of the school year, the kickoff for fall political campaigns and, most importantly, the start of football season!  We are looking at a beautiful weekend here in North Carolina.  Hurricane Earl passed through the eastern part of the State and took all of the heat and humidity with it.  We will enjoy working in our yard, bike riding and barbecuing with friends.   I wish you and your families a wonderful Labor Day weekend.

I guess the Hurricane Party is alive and well.  Check out this article in today’s Charlotte Observer.

When I was an undergrad at Tulane University in New Orleans in the early and mid 70s, it seemed like every year we dealt with the approach of one or more hurricanes coming up through the Gulf.  Of course, we knew that the Crescent City was terribly positioned if it should take a direct hit, and many fellow students grew up in areas regularly hit by hurricanes.  But we were young, invincible and this was, after all, New Orleans.  So what do you do if your life is in danger?  Throw a party of course.

Hurricane parties were a regular part of college life.  As a storm approached, students would huddle in the common areas of their dorms with kegs of beer, munchies and the joy that comes from knowing that classes had been cancelled.  Deep down, we never actually considered the real possibility that we could get wiped out by a hurricane.  Usually, the hurricane would veer off to the west at the last moment, savaging western Louisiana or east Texas, and we would read about the hardships in the Times-Picayune the next morning.  As teenagers, we weren’t particularly deep thinkers and we didn’t give it much thought.

Of course, that sense of invincibility died with Hurricane Katrina.  I don’t know if they still party at Tulane when a storm approaches, but I have to think the attitude is at least a little different than we displayed in the 70s. 

When I was in the Navy, hurricanes took on a different sense of urgency.  If a storm approached, all ships, including the one I served on, were sortied to sea or to a safe storm anchorage.  It was safer for a ship to ride out a storm at sea than it was to deal with it while tied up to a pier.  So I used to kiss Jodie and our baby, Pete, goodbye, and head out to sea.  I always felt it was a terrible position to be in…leaving Jodie to deal with the storm alone, while I made saving the ship the priority.

We now have Hurricane Earl approaching the NC Coast.  Our son Pete lived through a couple of smaller hurricanes when he lived on the NC Coast.  Our son Dan now lives in Wilmington while serving at Camp LeJeune.  We are keeping an eye on the storm, urging Dan to take it seriously, and praying for the safety of those who find themselves in its path.

Today is my father’s 83rd birthday.  He is quite a remarkable man.  Having spent time in both academic medicine and private practice, Dad is one of the most distinguished psychiatrists in the country.  He still keeps regular office hours and has spent a great deal of time trying to untangle North Carolina’s mental healthcare mess.  He is a calm voice of reason in a very turbulent arena. 

There is nothing like raising your own family to give you a perspective on the job your own father has done.  Over the years, I have come to appreciate the tears, sweat and sacrifice Dad put into raising my brothers and me, and giving us the opportunity to succeed.  He so inspired my brother David that he followed my father into psychiatry.  What greater compliment is there for a son to give his father?

I have benefitted over the years from my father’s love, support and advice.  I am grateful for him and I love him.  Happy Birthday Dad.

I just got back from a funeral for the daughter of some dear friends.  Their daughter, a single mother, died last week of cancer at the age of 33, leaving behind two young children, who will now be raised by my friends.  Their daughter was a Christian and by all accounts strong in her faith.  She faced death with a grace and courage that can only come from God.

The funeral was a terrific testimony to the type of person she was.  There were a number of occasions during the service where I found it hard to keep my emotions in check.  As men, we are brought up thinking that tears are for the weak.  Up until a year ago, having never experienced the death of someone close to me, I always found it easy to stay just a bit emotionally detached during a funeral.  However, when my mother died, all pretense of detachment seemed to die with her.  I cried real tears of grief.

Today, I found myself thinking of my mother during the service.  I also thought of how these young children must feel, and how my friends, her parents, must be struggling.  Needless to say, that was not the emotional detachment I had come to rely upon to deal with events like this.  It was hard to keep my composure.

I thought that Rev. Gary Byrum, who preached the funeral, did a remarkable job of explaining that tears of grief and faith are not mutually exclusive.  In fact, tears are an expression of the love felt for a loved one, which can be expressed consistent with the faith that although the person is no longer with us, they are in heaven with the Father.

Ron and Janet, and kids, you and your family are in our prayers.

My great friend Dale Folwell makes his living buying and selling securities for his own account, and he is very good at it.  Dale has a fantastic mind for the markets and is a bit counter culture with the buy-sell decisions that he makes.  He prides himself on painstaking research, understanding his targets in intimate detail.  Knowing how hard Dale works to make his market decisions, I was particulary gratified by a compliment that he paid me about 10-15 years ago.  During a period of time where I was wondering what I wanted to be when I grow up (a question I am still pondering), Dale assured me that he felt like I was headed towards significant accomplishments in life.  He ended by paying me the ultimate compliment, for a man of his profession and ability:  ”Pete, if you were a stock, I would buy you.”

Over the years, I have forgotten many of the compliments (and the criticisms) that I have received, but I have never forgotten what Dale said.

Bekah has a lot of fantastic things going on in her playwriting career. A number of very significant shows in the pipeline.  In addition to her plays, she is pitching movies and TV shows.  I don’t think I am at liberty to share everything that is happening…but it is pretty cool stuff.  Bottom line…Bekah, if you were a stock, I would buy you,

I’m home alone this weekend while Jodie and her sister are visiting her parents in Maryland.  Jodie hates to leave me like this because when I’m alone, left to my own devices, I tend to just cut loose.  I become a wild man.  You wouldn’t recognize me!  Yup, last night, I stayed up past my bedtime and didn’t go to bed until 1030pm!  To make matters worse, I slept in this morning…all the way to 0645.  When I’m on my own, I eat whatever I want…absolutely no discipline.  I’m like an animal!  Last night for dinner, I had an organic salmon frozen dinner.  For lunch, a few minutes ago, I had Cream of Mushroom soup!  You can see that there is no end to the amount of trouble I can get into on my own.  Already today, I have balanced the checkbook, finished the paperwork to refinance our mortgage, bought a new bike pump, washed the car and done the laundry.  Wild…wild…wild!

I made it through the first class at Elon yesterday.  There were no apparent fatalities or injuries, either to student or professor.  I figured out a few things I could do better and will make those changes before next week.  Excellent class.  Great support from the Law School. 

I started off by sharing some real world constituent letters with them (the names were redacted to protect the innocent) including the lady who wants the death penalty for animal abusers, the woman who wants to stop the senseless torture of poultry and the 9th grader who is upset at the prospect of the increased taxation of cigarrettes, since it will make it harder for her to sustain her smoking habit.

There is an interest story in the Military Times about a wounded soldier who is having trouble getting coverage for medication needed to break his addiction to pain killers that he picked up over a ten months recovery period for wounds received in Iraq.  Apparently, there are some Department of Defense regulations that are making things difficult.

I’m sorry, but I think this is shameful.  Having a son with injuries sustained in Iraq, I can definitely empathize with what this family is going through.  I have a “you break it, you buy it,” attitude about situations like this.  If the military and the federal government take a healthy young individual, put them in harm’s way for our protection and benefit, and they are wounded or hurt in the process, then it is imperative that we stick by them throughout their recovery and rehabilitation.