Good evening, 919 Gang.
JONI HALPERN writes:
Some of you from the 919 Gang have asked me to write about my work. I will try.
To give a little background, I practice administrative law — the law of agencies. I was reminded recently by a graduate of Yale Law School who had been employed by a notable firm that I do not come from “Big Law.” I guess that assumption was reinforced when I asked what “big law” is. Apparently, it involves a larger firm with many lawyers, nicer digs (often in tall buildings with large windows and a conference table as big as a loading dock), and people who make copies for you.
“Big law” has never been my habitat. In the hierarchy of law, I have always worked in the littlest of law. For years I worked in a nonprofit serving mostly single women who were very poor. Today, I work as a consulting attorney for a nonprofit organization that does its best to help refugees, asylees, and other low-income immigrants become full and successful participants in the economic, social and civic life of our community. This goal requires monumental efforts by everyone in an immigrant family, even with the help they receive from government-assisted programs implemented by public agencies or refugee resettlement agencies. But the goal can become impossible when policies or practices of agencies, businesses or individuals create obstacles to people already exhausted from a massive transition.
My job is to mitigate or correct those errors for my clients so they can get on with their new lives.
An example: A young refugee, disabled as an innocent victim of crime, was helped to apply successfully for means-tested federal disability benefits known as Supplemental Security Income (SSI). He thought everything was going fine; he worked as a part-time Uber driver, reporting his income whenever he was asked about it. Many months later, he received a notice saying he owed thousands of dollars in an overpayment caused by not having reported income.
He came into my office (it’s not really an office, but an empty desk I use when I am there). He had a big smile and a very bad limp. He had trouble finding a comfortable position in the chair.
“How you doing today?” he said in English, sounding well-rehearsed.
I answered him with an affable reply of a couple of sentences that he apparently had not been expecting, for his brow wrinkled and his eyes grew intense.
“My English not good,” he said. “I not expect you say so much.”
With the help of our translators – who are all fellow immigrants from one country or another – I discovered the poor guy had no idea of how SSA wanted his income reported. He thought his obligation was to honestly disclose in his annual recertification how much he made during the year as a part-time taxi driver. He brought his income tax forms, and answered all questions from the caseworker at each recertification. He had no idea he should have reported income more regularly.
Because of a 1975 Supreme Court decision written by a man whom Dwight Eisenhower said he regretted ever having placed on the Court, agencies that provide benefits like SSI or welfare, food stamps, etc., must provide some method for appeal of agency decisions. Good thing, too, for caseworkers with enormous caseloads and lots of stress often make errors. The appeals of agency decisions take place in what are called administrative, or “fair hearings,” which are less formal than Superior Court proceedings but certainly dependent on legal theory and practice.
Theoretically, anyone can advocate for a person in a fair hearing. But it certainly helps to know the law and to prepare a treatment of issues that can later become the foundation for higher review. If the stakes are high enough, as when a widespread policy or practice affecting many people is at issue, even “Big Law” will sometimes take the case when a fair hearing decision needs to be challenged.
Representing this young man in an administrative hearing made us friends. He shares a coffee break with me now and again and talks about the new world he is trying to master. He brings in letters he does not understand.
“Why the government and the business always writing to me letters?” he asks. “In my country, when government want you, they come to your door. No one like government come to door, but anyway no letters.”
From time to time, he texts me. “Hi jony how you doing?”
I am careful now to answer briefly. “Fine. How you?”
“Good.”
That’s the end of our written discourse. I can see why he hates letters.
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WALT BARANGER writes:
Pete Rose’s death today of course immediately brought to mind a Pete Rose memory (every National League baseball fan has one):
It was a late-season night game around 1980 or ’81 at the Murph and Rose was playing left field for the Phillies. That is to say, two teams going nowhere were wrapping up disappointing seasons.
The umpire on third base was Eric Gregg, prior to his major weight loss.
A hapless Padre — I can’t remember who — hit a solid line drive down the third base line, and Charlie Hustle ran like it was the Olympics, headlong toward the projected landing area. Simultaneously, Gregg was waddling out from third base, but was still a ZIP code away when Rose clearly arrived airborne too late to catch the ball on the fly. He trapped it and then stood up and waved like he caught it.
Gregg, gasping for air but still in a different voting precinct, raised his thumb and called the poor batter out.
The fans went nuts. Rose turned to the left field seats and cast a brief but unmistakably sheepish grin, then restored his game face. Gregg rightfully took the brunt of the taunts for the rest of the game.
Vintage Pete Rose.
I’ve always had two thoughts about Rose, who I think deserves special recognition but not a plaque in the Hall of Fame:
Pete Rose — the guy who always gave fans their money’s worth — was a Cincinnati kid playing most of his career live in front of friends and family. For a man with a pathological need to be best, that must have additionally fed his desire to always hustle. That’s an honorable trait in an honest athlete, if it isn't mentally or physically destructive.
Pete Rose — the guy who bet on baseball — had to know, especially after he started managing, that betting was warping his baseball judgment. The long view held by the best managers (“this is just one of 162 games”) takes a back seat to the shortsighted “I’ve got to do anything to win my $1,000 bet, even if it hurts us in the long run.”
I am one of many people with a genuine Pete Rose autographed baseball, inscribed thus: “I’m really, really sorry I bet on baseball. Pete Rose.”
If only.
ED PHILLIPS writes:
I found it ironic that I heard the news of Pete Rose’s death while I was watching the telecast of a sporting event sponsored by online betting outfits.
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DAVID ELIOTT writes;
Preston Turegano nudged me on 919 to say something about Maggie Smith, who departed at age 90. So, briefly:
In her late prime, the Dame Maggie years, Smith flourished fabulously in grand franchise ensembles such as Harry Potter and Downton Abbey, but she was doing deft domination much earlier. She was the young, stand-out surprise in the Dick & Liz vanity picnic The VIPs. In Hot Millions, she inserted herself like a fine wedge of Stilton cheese between the funny ham slices of Peter Ustinov, Robert Morley and Cesar Romero. Meanwhile, on stage, then film, she was a splendid Desdemona to Olivier's controversial, blackface Othello.
My favorite Smith role is her poignantly affected spinster in The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne, a movie of greater depth than her Oscar-winning, crowd-pleasing California Suite. From her later prime, I choose Countess Trentham in Robert Altman's Gosford Park, where her acerbic darts blithely snap the necks of exposed egos. Her brilliance inspired that movie's writer, Julian Fellowes, to create another countess for her, Lady Violet Crawley in Downton Abbey. Violet: "Principles are like prayers. Noble, of course. But awkward at a party."
I must add another great actor, Donald Sutherland, who died in June, age 88. He, like Smith, was first judged as lacking the glam sex appeal that makes stardom. Each showed that intelligence is great compensation, and they even began looking better with age.
Sutherland's small role as the tongue-tied loner Homer in The Day of the Locust is almost as acutely powerful as Smith's Judith Hearne. He became a wonderfully sensitive detective (Klute), sly spy (Eye of the Needle), cold seducer (Fellini's Casanova), moving fathers (Ordinary People, Pride & Prejudice, Don't Look Now), track coach (Without Limits) and three of the best military goofballs (MASH, Kelly's Heroes, The Dirty Dozen). And, like Smith, much more. How lucky we are, to have enjoyed their long arcs of excellence.
REBER: I’ve heard it said that celebrities die in threes. In rapid succession we have lost Smith, Rose and Kris Kristofferson.
Kristofferson was a remarkable individual. In addition to being a singer and song writer, he was a Rhodes scholar, U.S. Army veteran, rugby player, pilot, Golden Gloves boxer and Golden Globe Award-winning actor.
He packed a lot into his 88 years. His music, of course, had the greatest impact. Bob Dylan was quoted as saying, “You can look at Nashville pre-Kris and post-Kris, because he changed everything."
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BRIAN CLARK writes:
I'm filing from Buenos Aires, where I'm visiting my youngest son, who's spending a college semester here. But I'm writing about a recent trip across Lake Michigan to check out a 27-foot Nor'Sea sailboat, which is pictured in these shots. It was attractive, but was too cramped and had more than a few "issues." In any case, the highlight of the trip was traveling on the 410-foot-long SS Badger car ferry, which sails from May to October between Manitowoc, Wisconsin, and Ludington, Michigan. A sturdy ship, it was built to carry not only autos and trucks, but railroad cars across the big lake. The trip takes about four hours to cover 60 miles. Because I'm writing a story, I got to visit the pilot house and even skipper the big boat (for about 10 minutes) under the watchful eye of the captain. Ah, the things we get to do as reporters. After helming the SS Badger, you might ask "who needs a sailboat?" Well, I do. So the hunt continues...
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REBER: We kick off October by wishing Ruby Layson a Happy Birthday on Oct. 1.
