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I hear an awful lot about greenhouse this and greenhouse that.  Global warming is upon us (or just around the corner)!  Our atmosphere is being polluted by all the emissions from manufacturing and autos!  With all the noise about these areas, you might think that Chicken Little was afoot with his “The sky is falling” message.  We hear we must reduce CO2 emissions and how these badly these emissions hurt the atmosphere.  Car manufacturers are even mandated by law to reduce emissions.  Other laws affect manufacturing plants that exhaust their byproducts into the atmosphere.  Of course, if the amount of pollutants you exhaust into the atmosphere is excessive, you can buy “credits” from those entities that are below the mandated limits.  Like a band-aid on a festering wound, “credits” kinda make everything A-OK.  (Really?  No! Not really!)  Already, we have seen cars required to have catalytic converters installed in them and continual pressure from the Congress to make manufacturers produce more fuel efficient and “cleaner” cars and other manufacturing entities reduce emissions.  “Going Green” is a phrase that is gaining in popularity, if not institutional action, as more and more companies reposition themselves to say that they are “Green”.  If nothing else: (a) they have an idea that “Green is Good”; and (b) it looks good in the ads and the corporate reports.

Scientists have come up with dire predictions about  “Global Warming”, and how the resultant shift in temperature will melt the polar ice cap and this will result in flooding of the coastal areas and, well, the next thing you know, Iowa will have beachfront property on the Atlantic ocean–or some prediction like that.  In some cities, the air can be a health hazard, Los Angeles is a good example today, Pittsburg, PA was in the past, especially for those with compromised immune systems.  Clean water is a thing of the past.  Rivers and streams are so poluted with pesticides and waste that bottled water is now a booming business.  Can portable oxygen be next?

Let’s assume for the sake of discussion that the doomsayer’s predictions are valid and these catastrophic events will happen if we don’t take heed and take action.  Let’s also realize that slowly but surely and day by day, every city and county in America is slowly but surely choking on its waste matter, be it solid or liquid.

Is there a relation between the environment and waste disposal?  Emphatically YES!  Unfortunately, it is not intuitively obvious.  Most of what cities and counties do to process their waste is neither efficient, effective, or economical.  Some cities expel their waste matter directly into the ocean, with no treatment whatsoever.  Others discharge an “effluent” that, apparently, meets the governmental minimum standards.  Most landfills are eyesores, which is bad enough, but we, as a country, are rapidly running out of space in which to put our waste.  Some cities are loading their solid waste onto ships and sending it overseas!  How economical is that?  And when it arrives it its new landfill, are the  pollution problems solved?  Not unless your live on a different planet!  Out of sight, out of mind doesn’t cut it!  It just takes a little longer for us to realize that we only exported the waste and not the problem.  And what is the byproduct of this decaying mass of solid matter (you may have to dig deep to find it in the solid waste landfills)?  Methane gas!  A combustible, and smelly, gas.  For a good whiff of the stuff, go to a facility that processes human waste.  But keep in mind that solid waste can, in most cases, be burned and methane gas is combustible.

Is there an answer?  I believe there is.  As I stated above, it is not intuitively obvious because we don’t logically connect something that smells bad (methane gas) with something that smells good (clean air).

It seems to me that we can harness the methane gas from these waste facilities and use the combustible methane gas to power out cities (or at least reduce the dependence solely on the present methods to power the electrical grid).  We know that the country is endlessly searching for new and renewable sources of energy.  Solar, wind, nuclear,–the list is endless.  And while these products seem exotic and sexy, they don’t work everywhere and they don’t always work.  Solar panels only work in the sunlight.  Great in El Paso, Texas, but not so great in Washington state.  Nor does the wind blow all the time everywhere.  Well, we have in methane gas a renewable source of energy that is PROVEN and WORKS ALL THE TIME, AND IS WORKING AS YOU READ THIS.

We may run out of space to put our trash in, but don’t bet that we will run out of trash (which can be burned).  As for waste matter and garbage, even greater producers of methane gas, let’s build the necessary facilities to incorporate this potential power generating source into our energy grid.  A city in the northeast did years back and not only powered the city, but became an ENERGY EXPORTER.  The Tennessee Valley Authority uses methane gas with coal and saves 20,000 tons of coal a year (a great cost saving in and of itself!), as well as helping the atmosphere free of the potential harmful effects of the methane gas that might be released , had it not been incorporated it into their system.  Did we tell you that methane gas released into the atmosphere is 21 times more toxic (my word) to the atmosphere than CO2? If you understand that, you know that we have the emphasis on the wrong syllable when talking about achieving “clean air”, reducing global warming, and othere attendant problems.

Now, if we could get every locale, big or small, to incorporate this kind of thinking and planning into their future, think of the impact this would have upon the world’s atmosphere.  Also, let’s think on a world wide scale.  Developing countries could incorporate this in their plans because developing countries always have the ingredients necessary to make this a reality–landfills and (usually) poor waste and garbage treatment.  If it could be shown that there was economic, as well as social, value in using this methane gas, think how much better the world’s atmosphere would be!

As with anything, there are some problems associated with using methane gas.  The first we mentioned is the smell.  Admittedly, it’s not too nice.  That is, to say the least, solvable with some sophisticated engineering and the long-range benefits certainly outweigh the alternative of doing nothing.  Additionally, methane gas is not “sexy” like solar energy or wind power, so there is a selling job to do, even though this is proven technology.  As we’ve said, it is not an intuitively obvious connection between clean air, global warming, and methane gas.

If we must die from these dire predictions, let’s die trying to do SOMETHING.  Let’s start talking about something that WORKS, AND WORKS NOW! No need to study the problem in hopes of finding a workable solution, just go to the places where it is working now and find out how they do it, and copy it!  Let’s energize those groups that maintain they are interested in preserving our quality of life by enlightening them as to a win-win solution to this problem.  Let’s lobby our elected officials as to the benefits of this plan.  Let’s talk to anyone who will listen.  Let’s educate and engage everyone we know as to the viability of this idea.

Who wants to talk about waste products or landfills?  Well, anybody that might want to help solve the energy crisis, the global warming crisis,  the clean air crisis, and the clean water crisis at the same time, as well as other problems, such as where to put all the future waste products we will produce.

Seems to me its time to think outside the box, …or we’ll wind up in one sooner than we want to!

If you were to visit his home at Christmas today, you would immediately gain the impression that this is a very special occasion for Fr Bill personally as well as spiritually.  The tree has a bulb or light in every conceivable nook or cranny.  It is, to use an overworked word, magnificent.  It takes two people three hours minimum to put away all of the decorations on the tree.  Each picture has a bright red velvet ribbon around it or a string of holly with a red velvet bow in the center.  Christmas is, and always has been, very special to Fr Bill.

We go back now, some 38 years and a young Fr Bill is attending a Christmas eve get-together for all the priests given by the Archbishop of Washington.  Midway through the festivities, the Archbishop literally pulls Fr Bill into a corner and says, “Bill, I want you to do me a favor.”

Now, when the general says to the sergeant that he wants something, the answer is always “yes”.

“What do you need me to do, Your Excellency?”

“Bill, I need you to go down to old St Mary’s and take over and advise me what we should do with that place.”

“When do you want me to go, Your Excellency?”

“Right away, Bill, we need a decision as soon as possible”

“Yes, Your Excellency”, I’ll be there tonight”

His heart sank.  His first assignment as pastor.  It should be a joyous event for any young priest.  But oLd St Mary’s.  If there ever was a gulag in the Archdiocese of Washington, it was old St Mary’s.  It was built in the early 1800’s to serve the influx of German immigrants into the Washington area.  Long since abandoned because of the commercialization of the surrounding neighborhood, the majority of the faithful had long since moved to other neighborhoods.  With their departure, the school closed its doors and the teaching nuns closed the convent and departed for other areas.  In short, once proud old St Mary’s had ceased to serve as a national parish.  Only a few faithful remained, and they were mostly the poor and the aged.  To make matters worse, the church had a staggering debt to pay off.

Fr Bill arrived at old St Mary’s late Christmas eve and went to the rectory.  Inventory of the kitchen was quick and simple.  There was nothing there.  No food in the cupboards and nothing in the icebox.  Discouraged, he left the rectory and went to the church.  It was dark on the alter, except for a thin, pencil beam of light.  As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw two poinsettias that looked like they had been dumped there.  Merry Christmas!  Well, not the ones he had known.

The discouragement he felt before intensified.

He knelt to pray.

Suddenly, he heard what sounded like a cough.  No, just his imagination being in a new place.  Back to prayer.

There it was again. It was a cough. No mistake now!  Someone else is in here!

He  rose and walked slowly to the back of the church.  His eyes straining in the dark.  There seated in the back of the church, he slowly made out the form of a small, elderly woman.

“I’m Fr Bill”, he said, “I’m the new pastor here.”

“I’m Miss Hattie, Father, and I’s 83 years old.”

“Well, shouldn’t you be spending Christmas with your relatives?”

“I’s 83 years old, Father, and they all gone.”

“Well, surely you have some friends you can share Christmas with?”

“I only got one friend.  I gets $56 in social security, Father, and with that I pay $35 rent and with what’s left over I buys a can of dog food and I eats half and gives the other half to my friend and the next day she buys a can of dog food and eats half and gives the other half to me.”

Stunned, he stood there in the darkness trying to fathom what he just heard.  Dog food!  People don’t eat dog food–dogs eat dog food!  It took a long while to compute.  It was like he had suddenly been transported to another world.  In a million years, in his world, he never would have thought someone would say anything like that to him.  But this was another world.  One he had never seen.  Welcome to old St Mary’s, Fr Bill!

Gathering his composure, he said, “Please come with me.” and took Miss Hattie to the rectory.  He remembered there was no food in the rectory.  He had her wait for him while he ran out the door to try to find a store that was open on Christmas eve.  Plenty of stores, none of them open.  Then, as he rounded the corner, he spied, of all things, a Chinese delicatessen. He hurried in and bought some things he knew he could cook and hurried back to the rectory.

He glanced at his watch as he and Miss Hattie sat down to eat.  It was a little after midnight.  It was Christmas.  It was a wonderful Christmas dinner and it Christmas dinner never tasted better, even if it was only beans and franks!

That evening he told Miss Hattie, “From now on you are to share all holiday dinners with me.”  It was a promise he was to keep for the next 13 years he served as pastor of old St Mary’s Church.

Old St Mary’s became a center for serving the poor.  Food, clothing, and housing became a church priority.  The school became a soup kitchen and a homeless shelter and the convent became a shelter for battered  woman.  He worked tirelessly and unendingly to serve the poor.  Nevertheless, he says they were some of the happiest years of his life.

His message: “I look back on that Christmas Day as a special gift from God.  Miss Hattie taught me that the best Christmas is to know that God loves us, and no matter how simple our circumstances, to share that love with others.”

Fr Bill subsequently was elevated to the rank of Bishop; but, to this day, still signs his Christmas cards, “Fr Bill”, a title he still cherishes.

I was walking up to the George Mason University Aquatic Center to go to the Patriot Team Master’s Swim Team class and there is a large glass front on one side of the building with a lot of exercise equipment, such as treadmills, fitness bikes, recumbent bikes and what have you.  Just then, a cute little coed (I still have an eye for a ‘well turned ankle’, as they used to say) ran by me, jogging merrily on her way.  In the fitness center, there were a number of men and women exercising.  While this is not a strange site in this day and age, I remember when…

Women who played sports could swim and play tennis.  Maybe field hockey was okay, but I never saw it so I really can’t say yea or nay.  Any other sports were “unladylike”.  Play basketball?  NEVER!  Go to the “gym”.  that was for guys only.  Run?!?  Nobody ran.  I was on the boxing team and I would only run if the (heavyweight and the light-heavyweight ran with me.  People would call you names from passing vehicles, and occasionally throw something at you, such as an old beer can or a coke bottle.

Then the running craze hit.  It swept the country like nothing else since.  Bill Bowerman (Nike) dropped some rubber in the waffle iron and came out with the “waffle” sole on his shoes. They were a hit.  We learned what “pronation” was and became acquainted with foot doctors.  You had to have new gear to run; sweat pants were out, they were for the gym.  Interestingly enough, it was okay to wear shorts to run in.  If you had been caught on the street wearing shorts before this, you were surrounded by a group of your “peers” and derided as a “sissy”.  Now you know why I learned to box–I loved to play tennis…and wore shorts.

Biking became popular, it was not just for “little kids” anymore; and, you had to have new gear for that,too–including new shoes, sleek new lightweight bikes with names we never heard of before, and, of course, tight fitting leotards (for want of a better word), and a helmet.  Before this, if you caught a guy in leotards, he was definitely gay or a ballet dancer and thought to be gay anyway.

Women still shunned the “gym”, and gradually, this male bastion became the “fitness center”.  The ladies liked that name and in they came.  Out went the gray sweat shirt and pants that looked bad and smelled worse (hey, nobody bothered to wash them until their buddies teared up and told them to wash them or get out).  Of course, you had to have new gear to go to the “fitness center”.  Bright colored Nike gear replaced the old sweats, and flashy Nike, et al, “cross trainers” replaced your old faithful Keds.  Gyms were noisy and smelly, with guys kidding each other about everything.  If you set a record you could let everyone in the place know about it whether they wanted to know or not.  Language could get colorful in the gym.  Fitness centers are operated with a whole lot more restraint and decorum.  No more “four letter words” if you missed on a weight you knew you could do.  In the gym, if you finished a set of curls to increase your meager biceps, you could stand in front of the mirror and flex (but not too much).  Not so in the fitness center.  Maybe a casual “sneak peek”, but that’s about it. Gyms had free weights; fitness centers had machines.  It was like night and day.

Title 10, of course, changed the whole face of exercise and sports.  “Why, yes, sweetie, you can lift weights…er…do resistance exercises”.  Women would never admit that they lifted weights.  Of course, the old misconceptions died hard.  Woman were too frail, for example, to run a marathon.  I still remember the gal who registered for the Boston Marathon and they didn’t realize she was a woman until she showed up.  The head of the marathon actually chased her down to keep her out of the race.  I don’t recall if he succeeded, but he tried like the dickens.

The same thing misconceptions occurred with tall men.  They couldn’t play basketball, because they had an “enlarged heart”, so it was not good for them to engage in such a strenuous sport.  The “tall” basketball player was no more than 6′3″ or 6′5″.  It wasn’t until a college student named Bevo Francis shattered that myth and George Mikan did it in the pros.  The race was on to find big men! (forget that enlarged heart stuff, send that tall sucker in here!). The age of the big man in basketball had arrived.

All of a sudden, there were a whole lot of people who were “certified” in this or that.  It didn’t matter if they knew anything except a bunch of “concepts”, THEY WERE CERTIFIED!  Now, three things I know about “certified” (and you can throw in “accredited”, too).  1. It begins with a “C”.  2. You don’t give it to yourself. and 3. It’s perceived as a good thing.  Outside of that, it’s a fistfight.  A whole new wold opened up.  It didn’t matter what you athletic achievemsts were, it only mattered if you were “certified”.  I have to admit that I have had more than one argument with someone who was “certified”.  Things that we had done in our training that we thought were beneficial for our sport, and ourselves therefore, were derided as being incorrect and the not-too-veiled implication that we were a couple of bricks shy of a load.  One was the notion that you never do a squat and allow your upper leg to go any lower than parallel to the floor.  It was “bad” for your knees, or whatever.  Well, I did a squat with 300 pounds all the way down where my backside touched my ankles and my knees were just fine.  But, that’s the way we used to do it before we “knew better”.  Education is a wonderful thing!  Then, so is experience.  Their experience was in the classroom and mine was in the gym with some Olympic and world-class athletes (and a lot of ordinary people) and we never had anybody’s knee bust.  So, take your pick, hard knocks or hard bound books.  But we digress.

Women also ventured into that definitive bastion of the male, the engineering school.  Women could be nurses or teachers.  Those were “woman’s domains”.  Even in the military, woman were nurses or administrative personnel.  A woman flying a plane!  ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?!  Yet, they do today.  Interestingly, woman pilots ferried many of the fighter planes over to the combat areas.  They received little or no recognition for their roles, but, then again, it was a (white) man’s world.  Some things have changed for the better.  I remember when our school enrolled their first woman in the architecture department.  Everyone wanted to go see her to see what she looked like.  Gee, she couldn’t be very pretty if she wanted to be an engineer, huh?  Now we have lots of them.  And some of them are pretty!

In retrospect, I have often wondered why women let themselves be bound by such societal constraints.  Why they didn’t demand more equality sooner.  Maybe someday, we’ll have a roundtable discussion on that.

In the meantime, if you have any experiences similar to those above, add your comments at ken@MortgagePayoffMasters.com.

Next time, we’ll talk about the old neighborhood.

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