Rush busts into the People’s House

Rush Limbaugh is offensive to a lot of people. He’s God’s gift to others. That wide difference of opinion led to a bizarre event at the Capitol Monday afternoon that was a mixture of rights and wrongs.

Photo courtesy House Communications

I had a college professor for Sociology 101 who started the semester by saying, “If I don’t piss you off, I’m not doing my job.” That got our attention. And that’s what Limbaugh does to audiences every day. He incites them, provokes them, shocks them … all to get their attention.

Art is the same way.

Its very purpose is to provoke thoughts and feelings. Just like celebrities, some art exists merely to be beautiful, some to enrich our lives through iconography, emotions, and yes, even outrage.

The freedoms afforded us have served us well, especially the freedom of speech, which we’ve used often to protest statues throughout the United States. Such as:

Natchitoches, La. – An 82-year-old statue of an elderly black man tipping his hat — “Uncle Jack” — has been removed. The NAACP began protesting the statue during the Civil Rights Movement in the ’60s. It was seen by the black community as a symbol of “the worst form of slavery known to human kind,” according to LSU history professor Charles Vincent. It was the first statue of a black man erected in the U.S. The Smithsonian wants it.

How do you think the Native Americans of South Dakota felt about an entire mountain — smack dab in the middle of their most sacred ground — bearing the faces of our nation’s founders? To them, I imagine it was like saying, “Here’s what we think of your holy ground, and while we’re at it, gaze upon a massive symbol of the very nation that has already taken everything else from you.”

Those feelings persist. Just four years ago, a gallery in Rapid City replaced a statue of a Native man with his hands tied behind his back. The Lakota thought it was degrading, even though the artist said it was meant to show that when Native Americans were put on reservations, they would never be able to live according to their heritage again. Nonetheless, the statue came down.

Photo by Chip Ellis

A statue in West Virginia depicts a somewhat masculine female veteran, and people there don’t like her. The chairman of the Senate Military Committee has suggested the statue be altered to depict her in a skirt, but local officials say it’s not likely to happen.

A slave statue was commissioned by the Downtown Indianapolis Cultural Trail. Amid outcry, the project has been cancelled. African-American artist Fred Wilson was paid for the work he’d done on the statue up to that point and was told he can “finish his work if he chooses and display it wherever he wants.” But it won’t be on the cultural trail.

Closer to home, opponents of an eight-foot statue of Hall of Fame singer / songwriter Chuck Berry in St. Louis said he should not be honored because he is a “felon and not a friend of women.” Others said he is St. Louis’ “most famous musical native son, who through his music changed race relations and culture around the world.”

Charlie Parker was one of the most influential improvising soloists in jazz, a central figure in the evolution of bop in the 1940s. He was also an alcoholic and heroin addict, which eventually caused his death at 34 years of age.

In our own Hall of Famous Missourians, there are those who were afflicted by addiction, or viewed as racists, or had various extra-marital indiscretions. They were also long deceased by the time they were inducted.

Do I like Rush Limbaugh? No. There are those in our company who do, however, and I respect their right to do so. Do I give him credit for changing the face of talk radio in the United States? Absolutely.

I’m a white woman. It’s not up to me to say whether a certain statue should be offensive to the black community or Native Americans. Likewise, no man is qualified to say whether I should be offended by Limbaugh’s comments about sex, birth control, and women.

I am.

Deeply.

I resent him for saying it, I resent him for meaning it, and I resent that his statements perpetuate a sentiment among many that women are still second-class citizens in this country.

But I can’t dispute that Limbaugh is, in fact, a famous Missourian. And I can cover events like the unveiling of his bust for the Hall of Famous Missourians and write a straight story void of personal opinion — and did.

I can even appreciate him for keeping the conversation going, for making people’s blood boil, for stirring in them a passion about politics and social discourse that gives them the voice to speak up. However, House Speaker Steven Tilley squelched that voice, and he did it in the People’s House. No matter what race, color, creed or gender you are, that should infuriate you. You just got locked out of your own House. The House that you pay for.

Critics have blasted Tilley for holding the unveiling in quasi secret, not giving notice for the public to attend, and even locking the public galleries of the chamber. We, the press, were given 25 minutes’ notice. Some news organizations that cover the capitol but have newsrooms some distance away had no chance to cover the event. If Kermit Miller of KRCG-TV, Jefferson City, had not been standing at Tilley’s office door when Tilley and Limbaugh walked to the House chamber and asked if it was okay to video record the events, media cameras would not have been allowed on the House floor to cover the event.

Democrat legislators, not yet here early on a Monday, were given no notice at all.

I defer to News Director and Capitol Historian Bob Priddy to draw the line in the sand:

“It is never, ever, proper to close and lock the doors of the Missouri House of Representatives for a private function. Never.

“In 1924, a few days after the Capitol was dedicated, a private group held its state convention in the House chamber. The doors were locked, keeping outsiders away. But not for long. When Governor Arthur Hyde heard that the Ku Klux Klan was meeting in the House chamber and locking the doors, he ordered the doors unlocked and left open. The Klan didn’t like it but the doors of the People’s House stayed unlocked.

“We have covered events in the Missouri House of Representatives since 1967. The only times we recall the doors of the House being locked, and only selected people allowed in, have been for caucuses of House members. Speaker Tilley has unilaterally assumed the power to close the House for a personal event. Not even the Ku Klux Klan at a time when it was a powerful organization could get away with something like that.”

We don’t think that’s a right this state or this nation has bestowed upon the Speaker of the Missouri House.

The People’s House.

Your House.

Tiger Spot

Right away, the name should have said, “trouble.”

“Tiger Spot,” it ws called.  Everybody knows tigers don’t have spots.  Tigers have stripes.

But “Tiger Spot” it became when artist Paul Jackson was hired by the University of Missouri-Columbia to create a large mosaic of a Bengal Tiger in the sidewalk in front of the steps to the Ellis Library.   Jackson’s creation made of 300,000 small Italian tiles covering about 700 square feet, was an impressive piece of work when it was unveiled in the fall of 2001 after two years of building.  It was a rare  True Son of Ole Mizzou or True Daughter of Ole Mizzou who didn’t find the mosaic dramatically impressive.

But water was a concern from the start.  The University spent more than $10,000 in the next year to install a drainage system under that part of Lowry Mall to draw water away from the area.

But the spot was fragile and exposed to traffic and weather — and the next thing you knew, the tiger started missing pieces and then chunks.  A year after it was unveiled, the Tiger needed noticeable repairs in ten places.  An independent company specializing in mosaics was called to study the problems. The report came back critical of Jackson’s techniques.  As early as late 2002, there was talk of relocating the mosaic to another location.   But there were concerns about such a move because Jackson still claimed the copyright on the work.  A different artist made repairs five years ago but the Tiger continued to deteriorate and finally its condition was so bad that the University covered it up with a big white tarp with the university logo on it.

Jackson, remembered by some of us as the designer of the Missouri quarter who protested what the U. S. Mint did with his design (and rightfully so in the opinion of many), has resisted University efforts to remove the Tiger.

Until now.

The University has announced it was reached an agreement with Jackson to pay him $125,000 to make his lawsuit go away and to buy out all of his rights to the mosaic.  The University now has the power to remove the Tiger.  A University news release says, “The future of the site will be assessed by the MU Arts and Artifacts Committee, which will include representatives from MU Libraries and Missouri Students Association.”

Not all public art lasts.  Some is never intended to be permanent.

But the Tiger was intended to be part of the Lowry Mall for years to come when it was unveiled in 2001.  It was a striking creation when Paul Jackson made it, a marvelously appropriate part of the center campus, an impressive and appropriate part of the mall linking so-called “white campus” with the original “red campus” that is now Frances Quadrangle.

We hope removal doesn’t involve sledgehammers.  It would be nice to think that there is an interior wall somewhere at the University where a restored great Tiger mosaic might yet find a protected, safe place to call home.

We don’t like you

We never have liked you. We never will like you. And we don’t even want to think about you, especially after we’ve moved out of your house. Don’t remind us you’re still among us. Go away.

Got the hint yet?

To make sure you understand that you’re unwelcome, we’re going to sic two of our state senators on you: Kurt “Doberman” Schaefer and Bill “Bulldog” Stouffer. And they’re going to issue press releases to make sure you are scared off. Don’t even think about crossing these guys.

They threw down the gauntlet Friday afternoon, letting us know that they will aggressively protect us against the scourge of Missouri license plates with KU on them.

Yep, we’ll let you put almost any darned thing on your license plates these days, but those two letters have no place on a Missouri license plate. If you graduated from the University of Kansas, it’s best that you stay as anonymous as possible. You are unclean. Do not advertise that status on our sacred plates.

Bulldog’s press release says in the second paragraph, “With the long-standing rivalry between Mizzou and KU, I find it appalling that the creation of this license plate would be conceived in the Show Me State. I have no doubt my colleagues in the Missouri General Assembly will stand behind me and block this.”

His comment is in the fourth paragraph of Doberman’s press release. The first paragraph in Doberman’s release says, “Years ago, the Legislature worked to change the design of Missouri license plates. Since then, citizens have been involved in new license plate designs. Even though this is an important part of the process, I want to make sure our license plates reflect our state and highlight the things that make us Missouri.” Bulldog’s comments are in the fourth paragraph of Doberman’s release.

How in the world can a graduate of Kansas University dare stand up to a 1-2 punch like that?

These two stalwart defenders of the purity of our sacred plates note that the KU Alumni Association has been trying to get a KU license plate in Missouri for some time. Stouffer promises that as chairman of the Senate Transportation Committee and as co-chair of the Joint Committee on Transportation Oversight that he will take “swift action” to block any approval of a KU license plate.

Schaefer is the chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee. He makes no threats in his news release but the Department of Revenue would do well to remember his committee has its hands on state agency purse strings—including the department’s purse strings. Kansas money is not welcome here, at least not for buying license plates.

And these Jayhawkers better understand that a riled Missourian is a dangerous Missourian. Missourians might demand reciprocity. But with the hostility the University of Kansas has shown toward continuing the football rivalry with Mizzou, we’re sure our neighbor to the west won’t want an MU license plate from Kansas.

We repelled invaders from Kansas in the 1850s. We torched Lawrence.

Think about it Jayhawkers. Don’t push your luck. Doberman and Bulldog know where we keep our matches.

I have one of the worst jobs

I am a reporter. I am a broadcaster. You can’t get much worse than that. And, my goodness, the company that I keep!

An internet career listing organization called Careercast.com has ranked 200 jobs from best to worst. Being a broadcaster ranks 191st, right behind shoemaker/repairer, drill press operator, conservationist, and taxi driver … and right ahead of butcher, dishwasher, meter reader, and waiter.

Then the list gets even more dismal. “Reporter” is No. 196. The rating is for a newspaper reporter but a reporter is a reporter. And since there’s so little numerical difference between broadcaster and reporter, and I am a broadcast reporter (and more), I don’t mind considering them in the same misery index, as defined by Careercast. The only worse jobs to have than reporter are oil rig worker, enlisted military soldier, dairy farmer, and lumberjack.

The organization rates the physical work environment on five categories totaling 40 points. Four categories totaling 41 points measure emotional work environment. Out of 81 possible points, the reporter rates 69.250.

Stress is another factor. Out of 97 possible points, the reporter shows 44.750. Physical demands for the reporter are ranked at 49.25 (compared, for example to the oil rig worker at 74.47 and the dairy farmer’s 72.66). Reporters get killed in the rankings of “hiring outlook.” We’re at minus-4.75. Broadcasters are at 8.75 to the good. The only job in the bottom ten that also has a negative hiring outlook is dairy farmer.

Some related jobs and their rankings: Photojournalist is 166. Disk jockey is 180. Disk Jockey!?

I’m ten to fifteen points below disk jockey. Talk about a blow to the heart —-

Maybe its because they get to play records at weddings and meet lots of nice chicks while I, on the other hand, have to mingle with Jay Nixon when he’s in town or Steven Tilley or Jason Crowell and sometimes even with people who are in the Congress.

The top ten jobs for 2012, says Careercast, are: software engineer, actuary, human resources manager, dental hygienist, financial planner, audiologist, occupational therapist, online advertising manager, computer systems analyst, and mathematician.

But I am a reporter and a broadcaster. Where did I go wrong? And why do I insist on continuing to go wrong?

Because what many of the people like those in the 191st and 196th jobs do is important. Because somebody has to tell you what the people you elect (and that some of them appoint) are doing to you, for you, and with you. And the doing is addictive. Being where things important to people happen and having the opportunity to tell you about them is just about the greatest thing in the world. The hell with the rankings. I would never trade being a reporter for a chance to look in people’s mouths or their ears or design video games or any of the other things in the top ten for anything although sometimes I do feel like the little guy with the shovel who walks behind the circus parade and cleans up the elephant poop. When somebody asked him one day why he didn’t get a better job, he responded “What? And get out of show business?”

I’m off to the capitol now and like all good reporters, I’ll be looking for the next big scoop.

Crunch Time

(MISSOURINET CAPITOL STUDIO. Noonish, Tuesday, May 8, 2012) — This is the time of year, every year, when those of us who watch the Missouri General Assembly realize the inmates have taken over the asylum. Their supervisors have lost control. A character named Amok is running throughout the third floor, where the legislative chambers are located.

Amok, by the way, is a product of Malaysian culture, an individual who has been brooding about things for some time suddenly launching a mass assault against people or objects. Although Running Amok (we didn’t know that was his first name until we did some dictionary work a few minutes ago) was thought to be most prevalent in Malaysia although psychologists worldwide say it is part of every culture.

This is the time of year when the clock seems to grow in size and it becomes a countdown to THE END. Every two years it is more than the end of a legislative session. It is for many members of the House and the Senate the end of a legislative career. For some, it becomes a last chance to make a mark, to create a legacy, or to achieve something an obituary writer might want to mention, one hopes, many years from now. For some with dreams of greater glory, it is a time to add a credential, knowing that opponents are watching in these last crucial days for any mote or any misstep that becomes campaign ammunition.

Today, we’re back in the capitol on two and a half hours of sleep. The senate quit at 3:40 this morning, deadlocked by Senator Jason Crowell who is in a stare-down with Speaker of the House Steven Tilley about $2.3 milion out of a $24 Billion state budget. The House didn’t go quite so late, but House correspondent Mike Lear also is running on a tank where the low-fuel light is glowing.

But then, so are members of the legislature.

Fatigue. Pressure. Unresolved major issues. Unresolved personal agendas. The looming end of a unique life experience for many. They’re all factors in these lasts days. If you like to watch people, the capitol in these last two weeks is crawling with case studies.

The House and Senate met for only a few minutes this morning. Senator Crowell has bludgeoned the senate to a standstill by promising to keep any bill brought up for debate from getting to a vote until he gets Speaker Tilley’s money for Southeast Missouri State thrown out of the budget. Both are Republicans. But at this time of year, and in Missouri’s present political climate, cohesiveness is not one of the finer qualities of the Republican Party. Democrats are small in numbers but waiting to find ways to take advantage of the majority’s situation or to just sit back and watch Republicans scrap among themselves.

This is the time for a lot of negotiations, a lot of bargaining, a lot of arguing, a lot of threatening, some rhetorical fist-shaking, and sometimes some regrettable words — Crowell apologized early this morning on the senate floor to any fellow senators he might have upset with remarks that charged senate leaders with backstabbing and lying — although not in those specific words.

It’s that time of year. Amok has entered the building and is running in the halls. Most of the time a sort of order eventually is restored although on days like these it is hard to realize that it will be.

The political science textbooks and the college public policy courses don’t describe this all-too-human part of the process.

Usually at times like this somebody blinks. Somebody caves in. Somebody figures out a way to accommodate both angry sides so things can move ahead. Usually. But this year? Well, it just seems as if half of the cards in the deck are wild.

If the legislature doesn’t pass a budget by 6 p.m. Friday, the governor can call it back for a special budget session. In a campaign year, it would not be a good thing for incumbents to face opponents who charge their inability to find middle ground on state spending has forced the state to spend another $25,000 a day on a special session at a time when the state is so short of money that pensions for the blind might be eliminated and schools again go under-funded.

How lucky capitol reporters are to have front row seats for all of this.

We have to keep telling ourselves that on days when the Senate adjourns at 3:40 a.m. and we get home with the sun well above the horizon.

Let us nobly speak of the common Elderberry

Aunt Martha: For a gallon of elderberry wine, I take one teaspoon full of arsenic, then add half a teaspoon full of strychnine, and then just a pinch of cyanide.

Mortimer Brewster: Hmmmm. Should have quite a kick. 

It’s a classic of the Broadway stage, a play about a couple of batty old spinster sisters with an even loonier brother who live in a house in Brooklyn, N.Y. 

Mortimer Brewster is the bewildered nephew who discovers a body hidden in a window seat at the sister’s home and learns that his aunts, Martha and Abby, have a penchant for putting lonely old men out of their misery by serving them their special-recipe Elderberry Wine.

Their brother, Teddy, thinks he is Teddy Roosevelt who yells “Charge!” as he dashes up the stairs — apparently under the delusion that he is charging up Dan Juan Hill. Teddy (Brewster) also goes to the basement where he thinks he is Teddy Roosevelt digging locks for the Panama Canal. Actually he is digging graves to hide his sisters’ hobbies.

Why “elderberry wine?” Simple. What’s funny about the word “Merlot?” And when spoken by a couple of elderly ladies, the mere word packs a comic kick that was not matched in the entertainment world until Walter Matthau courted Sophia Loren and impressed her with a box of red wine in “Grumpier Old Men.”

More than seven decades after Elderberry Wine became a featured inanimate character of a stage play that is still performed by high schools, community theatres, and in revivals on the legitmate stage, the elderberry is getting some serious attention.

The University of Missouri College of Agriculture, Food and Natural Resources (a friend of mine once remarked that the names of law firms often sound like what you’d hear if you dumped a bunch of pots and pans down some stairs; the College of Agriculture, Food and Natural Resources always struck us as falling — to coin a phrase — into the same category) is convening what it claims is the first international symposium on the elderberry. It will be in June, 2013, during the plant’s peak flowering season. Symposium organizers hope horticulturalists, botanists, biochemists, and representatives of other disciplines will show up.

Such a major event for a berry that has been part of so much dark humor for so long has prompted us to investigate why the elderberry is worthy of such attention.

This berry is so common that it grows in ditches and canal banks. It grows in ponds and ditches and grasslands.

Elderberries are supposed to be juicy and sweet. They’re in pies and jellies … and wine. More than 50 species of songbirds like them. The leaves of the elderberry vine are munchies for white-tailed deer.

However, don’t go looking for elderberries and pick something that looks a lot like them: water hemlock. That’s bad stuff. Experts say you shouldn’t even touch that stuff.

But assuming you don’t get the hemlock by mistake or that you don’t find your self sipping some of the Brewster sisters’ finest homemade version of the wine, you could live a longer life by letting some fine elderberry wine cross your lips. Elderberries are high in antioxidants and researchers at the University of Missouri are experimenting to see if the berries can be used to fight prostate cancer.

What do you want to bet there’s a wine and cheese reception during that seminar next year. Wonder if anybody will ask the person behind the portable bar for a glass of elderberry wine and tell the bartender, “Please hold the arsenic, the strychnine, and the cyanide.”

There is no truth to the rumor that people ordering elderberry wine will be carded to see if they are 70 or older.

Dead heat on a merry-go-round

(CAPITOL STUDIO, 8:30 p.m., Thursday, May 3, 2012) — We’d be at home by this time on most Thursdays during the legislative session. Lawmakers usually wrap up their work weeks about mid-day Thursday. But tonight, a small group of senators is blocking a vote on a prescription drug monitoring bill that they says violates personal freedoms. As with most filibusters, this one is mostly an exercise in gnawing time off the clock with occasional instances of passion and rare flashes of verbiage that comes within six degrees of profundity.

We have been told that as we write this, negotiations on a new version of the bill are underway in hopes of satisfying Senator Rob Schaaf of St. Joseph, who started this exercise shortly after one o’clock this afternoon. He has his allies who have volunteered to take two-hour shifts during the filibuster. They’re all Republicans except for Maria Chappelle-Nadal, who had to leave after a short stint this afternoon to go home to University City where she is a school board member. But she promised to come back and take the 2 a.m. to 5 a.m. shift.

While he was on the floor, Schaaf was soliciting emails and faxes from people listening to him on the internet. It almost sounded as if he was auditioning for a job as master of ceremonies during his local NPR station’s pledge week. He got a lot of responses. We’ll have more at the end of this entry about how he got the means to do that.

This has been the filibusteringest legislative session those of us at the press table, the secretary’s dais, and the clerk’s office can recall.

“Our job as a senator is to slow down that train that is rolling down the track that wants to run over the liberties of the people we’re elected to serve in this body,” Senator Jim Lembke is saying as we write this. Lembke says, “A government that moves quickly is a very dangerous, dangerous thing.” He says a government that is slow in its actions better serves its people.

And that’s why the Senate exists. It has been described as the saucer to which the coffee is poured to cool (a depiction often traced to a conversation between Thomas Jefferson and George Washington).

Filibusters are excruciating things to endure — we’ve made that observation before. But they are important, so important that the Senate is extremely reluctant to move the previous question, a motion that cuts off debate and moves to a vote.

We have on our bulletin board in the studio a list of times the Senate has used the PQ to shut down debate. It’s been almost five years since it was last used. Interestingly, the last senator to use it is the sponsor of the prescription monitoring bill being filibustered right now, Senator Kevin Engler of Farmington. He used it four times to get passage of a proposed constitutional amendment designating English the language of all official proceedings of the state. It was used eight other times in that session.

The motion is used all the time in the House these days although we remember a time when it wasn’t used very often there either. But the House limits the amount of time anybody can speak on a bill and then is not bashful about shutting off debate and passing bills. That’s the freight train that Lembke is talking about. Although he has not specifically said the majority in the House runs that train, others have said so.

So bills reach the senate where they sometimes have to run the filibuster gauntlet, where senators like Rob Schaaf and Jim Lembke and, earlier this session, Maria Chappelle-Nadal can talk and talk and talk, hoping the passage of time forces closer examination of legislation and produces changes that head off unintended consequences, corrects mistakes, and moderates extreme positions. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Years ago, the Missourinet went to then President pro Tem Jim Mathewson and we said, “If you install a decent public address system in the senate, we’ll put your debates on the internet through the Missourinet web page.”

He did. So we did. The Senate now does its own streaming. But that’s why we’ve been able to write what Senator Lembke has said as he has said it (we thank him for speaking slowly enough for us to keep up with him). And it’s why Senator Schaaf was able to solicit all those emails and faxes that provided talking material — the internet broadcasts that have opened the senate to all of the people of Missouri.

And for the last couple of hours we’ve done what a lot of other people have been doing — listening on the internet to the Senate being the Senate.

They’re wonderful things, the internet and filibusters — in their own ways.

UPDATE: A short time after we went back upstairs to the senate press table, bill sponsor Kevin Engler brought in a compromise that included the statewide vote that Schaaf wanted although he didn’t like the language of the ballot title. The Senate had been debating a bill that already had passed the House. But by the time Engler brought in a new proposal there were not enough Senators left in the building to pass the bill that Shaaf had been blocking. Only 16 of the 34 senators were in the chamber at 9:35 p.m. when a voice vote perfected a rewritten senate bill — in other words, approved changes in the original proposal and put the bill into position for final passage.

But it might have been a sort of pyrrhic victory. The issue is likely dead for another year. Although Engler was holding out hope after the vote that the senate would send the bill to the House next week when all 34 senators are back, floor leader Tom Dempsey told us there won’t be a final passage vote. Schaaf has accomplished his goal — killing the bill.

Engler says killing the bill means more prescription drug criminals will kill more Missourians.

Filibusters are best when they’re over. Only when the curtain comes down can the audience appreciate the clash of ideas and the collision of wills that has been played out before them. Both sides can win. Both sides can lose.

And, at last, both sides can go home for the weekend.

Thank you, we’d rather suffer

Suppose you were having trouble making your mortgage payments. Your car is old, has 235,000 miles on it and needs an engine overhaul and you can’t even afford to take it to the car wash. And your wife has just told you of an unexpected surprise that will be arriving at your house in a few months.

And then you get a call from the state treasurer’s office. The unclaimed property folks have opened a forgotten safe deposit box abandoned by your late uncle Gregor and have found he had squirrelled away one million dollars in little gold bars and you are the only heir.

But you say, “I don’t want it. It might help me today but I want a million dollars every year and Uncle Gregor isn’t going to give me that. In fact, if he was alive today I’d find a way to get him thrown in jail for not giving me some of that money every year before now.”

“I’d rather be miserable and complain about it. I’d rather eliminate the hamburger and just eat the Hamburger Helper because I don’t want any more money than I get now. I’ll spend  a dollar-39 on a can of Engine Gook at the discount store instead of getting the overhaul so I can pay the mortgage. And I can turn my old Boy Scout tent into a nursery.”

How about picking up a few extra dollars by delivering prescriptions for the pharmacy down the street for a couple of hours on Saturdays? ”No. Not interested. That might require me to make a slight change in my lifestyle. And besides, it might put me in a higher tax bracket.”

“Don’t bother me. Let me suffer. I like to suffer. And complain about it. I don’t care that the neighbors point at us as the poorest family on the block and wonder why we don’t want to be better.”

State government has an Uncle Gregor. Uncle Gregor has not paid his taxes for several years. But he would if he didn’t have to pay interest and penalties. The House of Representatives figures a lot of Uncle Gregors would pay $70 million in back taxes if the legislature promised not to pay millions more in penalties.

But some Senators say they don’t want Uncle Gregor’s money because it would only be a one-time payment. Furthermore, Uncle Gregor should be punished for not making payments from year to year. So he can keep his $70 million.

Better to short-fund elementary and secondary education for a fourth year in a row than to invited Uncle Gregor to get on the right side of the revenue department god.

A University of Missouri study says Missouri is missing out on an estimated $468 million in taxes because it won’t take steps to collect taxes on internet sales. Some argue that requiring people to pay taxes they should be paying anyway is a tax increase. So forget about the equivalent of being a part-time delivery person for the local pharmacy.

Five members of the House and five members of the Senate will be working for the next few days on how to get by without help from Uncle Gregor and without taking a part-time job to improve the family’s financial situation. They have until May 11.

Chocolate chip cookies and fish for breakfast

(Missourinet Capitol office, 2 p.m., April 25th, I think. Wednesday, anyway.) On days like this I think of the catch line of a television commercial, “Well, you always wanted the life of an active reporter.”

Even on days like this, coupled with a day like yesterday and the day before, I have to admit that “Yes, I did,” and yes, I still do.

Our state senate passed the last of its budget bills about 2:30 a.m. today, Mondaytuesdaywednesday, April 25. It took almost no time for the senators to vamoose back to their hotel rooms or apartments or their homes. Reporters have to stick around and write their stories, which is why you should have heard the news of what transpired between 8:15 p.m. and 2:30 a.m. when you listened to a Missourinet newscast at 5:55 or 6:05 or whenever your Missourinet affiliate carries our first newscast. The sky was showing light between the clouds when this reporter arrived at his home, awakening Frederick the cat who complained loudly enough that he awoke Nancy the wife. It’s easy to blame cats for such things.

I also woke up Frederick on — let’s see — I think it was Tuesday morning when the senate had been in session but not actually meeting until midnight, putting the active reporter home at 3 a.m. for three hours of pillow worship. Frederick did not appreciate a second straight early morning invasion of his cat rest this morning.

If you’re going to be a journalist, you better learn how to sleep fast. Not go to sleep quickly, but cram as much sleep into your limited time as possible. Four and a half hours later, at 10:30, Nancy the personal alarm clock, awakened me so that I could return for another dose of the Missouri Senate.

The senate met for about 20 minutes, took a vote so members can collect their per diem, introduced a bunch of guests and then recessed for three hours of committee meetings.

This is the time of year when a lot of groups show up at the capitol not just to lobby, but to feed the multitudes. The Missouri Society of Certified Public Accountants was in the rotunda with chocolate chip cookies. Mmmmmm. Chocolate Chip cookies are righteous. It’s okay to consume them on an empty stomach and on short sleep rations. Out on the south lawn, electric cooperatives were serving potato salad, slaw, beans and rice, hush puppies and fish parts. No, make that little pieces of fish. That sounds better. It was lunch for normal people. For people like Bob Watson of the local newspaper, the only other survivor from the Senate press table to be there when I walked into the chamber this morning, and for me, it was breakfast.

I’ve kept track of the life of an active reporter this week. Thanks to the senate, which took two days to get its members settled down enough to debate the budget and then decided to get the bills passed before any of them came up with any new problems to solve, I finished my 40-hour work week about the time it adjourned this morning.

Such is the glamorous life of an active reporter.

But if all we did as reporters is add up the hours that we work, we would long ago have found cubicle work in the bowels of some room with few or no windows. People like Bob Watson and me and the others who survived the long march to this morning’s adjournment have the special opportunity to watch the human drama of politics at its frustrating worst and its noblest best. If we choose to break the events of Mondaytuesdaywednesday down into their small segments, it is easy to focus on the absurdities of individuals. But (God help me, I almost said “at the end of the day.”) when the event ia completed, there is an understanding that government is a challenging balancing act. Sometimes it is unbalanced. Often it is imperfect. But early this morning, a majority of 34 Senators who come here and serve here with their own agendas and who have to deal with the agendas of dozens of others in the halls and hundreds of agendas of the people back home found a majority that could pass the budget bills.

Some of them went home angry. Some went hone disappointed. Some when home happy they had achieved their goal or a goal of one of their political supporters. I guarantee you that all of us went home tired.

We’ll be back at the senate press table in an hour, fortified by our chocolate chip cookies and fried fish parts, when the recess ends, hoping that floor leader Tom Dempsey is merciful unto us survivors. If it’s all the same to him, this active reporter would prefer to go home with the sun setting today, not rising tomorrow.

And that’s a day in the life of an active reporter. In this case, the day was Mondaytuesdaywednesday.

May I take my hidden camera into your factory?

Remember a few years ago when the dreaded Humane Society of the United States used a hidden camera to show the public images of cattle that could not walk being slaughtered in the state of California? The furor that caused led to the biggest beef recall in American history.

The Missouri House of Representatives has sent the state senate a proposed law that would make anybody who records such things a criminal if they do it without the cattle processor knowing they’re doing it, and getting permission to record those images.

The HSUS seems to be The Great Satan as far as Missouri agriculture is concerned. And Representative Casey Guernsey doesn’t want it showing any similar images of Missouri processing plants — if there are any to be shown. He says the public doesn’t understand agriculture practices. So his bill would charge a person with a new kind of fraud if they go to work for a processor and then shoot video of what is going on inside the building and then lets people see what he saw.

Do it more than once, and the undercover camera person could be a prison inmate. Furthermore, that person would be liable for restitution for any damages caused  resulting from what now would become a crime.

We checked with an expert at the other end of the room about this sort of thing because as a reporter we innately dislike any legislation that impedes public knowledge about something as important as the food we eat. Cyndi Young is the director of the Brownfield Network, the nation’s largest radio farm network. She and her husband also raise cattle. She told me that “down” cattle — the kind that were shown in the California videos being dragged to their slaughter or taken by forklift to their slaughter — can be unable to walk to their doom for several reasons. Perhaps they’re dehydrated. Perhaps they broke a leg while being hauled in one of those big trailers to the slaughterhouse.

She also told me that federally-inspected plants (the only ones she and her husband send their cattle to) have federal inspectors who check the animals for diseases and who check the meat that comes from them.

The slaughter of the animals that become our food is not something most of us would like to see week after week on a TV (un)reality show. So images that might be secretly made inside a slaughter house are likely to be pretty revolting to folks who think their hamburger and their chicken breasts arrive in their supermarket cooler though some non-violent and mysterious way. Missouri’s defenders of agriculture are critical of the HSUS for seeking that public reaction. The animal agriculture industry has often voiced the opinion at the capitol that HSUS wants to eliminate animal agriculture and using hidden-camera images to turn the public’s stomachs and to turn public opinion is a way to do that.

HSUS denies those assertions.

Animal agriculture apparently through HB1860 seems to think that the only way to counter the perceived information abuse by HSUS is to make criminals of anyone who gains access to a production facility under false pretenses and then circulates recordings of what they see.

No industry likes to be cast in an unfavorable light. But the reporter who sees such a bill  might be excused for being uncomfortable about an industry as important at the one that processes our food that wants to make it a crime for someone to show the public something other than the company line.

There aren’t many journalists in the Missouri House, where 108 of the 163 members voted last week to send the bill to the Senate.