Anne Frank and Why her Diary is so Important Today

Screen Shot 2014-01-24 at 10.18.32 AM


One of the more horrific examples of “normalcy bias” is the Holocaust.

Barton Briggs, in his book, Wealth, Wisdom and War, wrote, “By the end of 1935,  100,000 Jews had left Germany, but 450,000 still remained. Wealthy Jewish families kept thinking and hoping that the worst was over, many of the German Jews, brilliant, cultured and cosmopolitan as they were, were too complacent. They had been in Germany so long and were so well established they simply could not believe there was going to be a crisis that would endanger them. They believed the Nazi’s anti-Semitism was an episodic event and that Hitler’s bark was worse than his bite. They reacted sluggishly to the rise of Hitler for completely understandable but tragically erroneous reasons. Events moved much faster than they could imagine. Jews were arrested, beaten, taxed, robbed and jailed for no reason other than the fact that they practiced a particular religion. As a result, they were shipped off to concentration camps, their houses and businesses seized.  Author Biggs reiterates, “This is one of the most tragic examples of the ‘normalcy bias’ the world has ever seen.”

Anne Frank is the face of the Holocaust, the face that most identify with when trying to grasp the horrors of Hitler’s Germany.  “Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl, “ offers poignant words that fill the readers soul with overwhelming empathy, compassion and deep rooted sadness.

Anne’s carefree life quickly changed after May 1940. Anti-Jewish decrees followed each other in quick succession. Jews must wear a yellow five pointed star, hand in their bicycles, were banned from riding the tram, forbidden to drive, could only shop in Jewish stores between the hours of three to five pm and had to be in their homes by eight o’clock at night. They were forbidden to visit theatre’s, cinema’s and other places of entertainment. Jews could not take part in public sports; swimming, tennis, and field hockey were all prohibited. Jews had to go to Jewish schools and not associate with Christians. “It is as if the entire world had turned upside down,” Anne lamented.

It was Sunday, June 14, 1942, Anne’s 13th birthday when she received a red plaid diary as a gift. She quickly named her diary “Kitty” and began to confide in Kitty as if her diary were her best friend. In Anne’s words “I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart.”

When Hitler began his oppression against Jews, Otto Frank, Anne’s father, moved his family from Frankfurt, Germany to Amsterdam, Holland. There he had an office and business that sold pectin, the powdered fruit extract used to make jam. When the SS sent the Frank’s a notice that Anne’s sister Margot was being “called up” the family quickly made plans to go into hiding. Anne packed a small satchel for her new life at the “Secret Annex”.  “I began to pack some of my most vital belongings.” Her diary was the first to get packed, “But I am not sorry, memories mean more to me than dresses.”  Then, as if she were going to the North Pole, Anne donned several layers of clothing that would become her modest wardrobe in her new life.

The “Secret Annex” was comprised of a section of rooms on the upper floors behind Otto’s warehouse.  With the help of his Christian co-workers, the Franks along with their friends the Van Daans who had a son named Peter, and Mr Dussel, a Dentist, eight in all, were to spend the next 25 months in hiding. Anne described what it felt like to disappear as “being on vacation in a boarding house.” In order to conceal their hideout, the group could not make any noise during business hours. They were forced to tread in stocking feet during daylight hours and not run any water. At night, they lived in fear of the neighbors discovering they were there, so primitive curtains were hastily made and hung into place. A cupboard was constructed to conceal the entrance to the Secret Annex and when unbolted, during very restrictive hours, the eight could utilize the rooms below, which included a kitchen.

For Anne, the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months and the months into years. Her life was strictly regimented; a time to use the hot water, a time to use a desk,  a time to learn, a time to cook or clean.  Fortunately, the office below had a radio and was one of the daily rituals that allowed the eight to remain connected to the outside world. Trainloads of boys leaving daily, men, woman and children forced to sleep together, Jews being gassed, Gestapo loaded cattle trucks slowly rambling down the tracks to Westerbok, with no food or water for the passengers. “Sometimes I believe that God wants to try me,” but Anne promised Kitty she would persevere,  “that I shall persevere in spite of everything, swallow my tears.” Then after the tears came hope. Winston Churchill came on the radio and declared it “was the end of the beginning.”

Anne began thinking about returning to school, about the new shoes and clothes she would purchase after the war. Profound guilt followed these thoughts, the guilt that could not forget the gassing of her friends. Then came the fear, the terrifying Air raids and machine gun fire that accompanied Anne to bed each night. Dark circles began to form under her eyes from lack of sleep, as her dreams were interrupted by visions of the Gestapo taking the eight away at gunpoint. Her description of herself at that time was “like a songbird whose wings had been clipped…and who is hurling himself in utter darkness against the bars of his cage. The stillness and fear were at time overwhelming and suffocating.”

Anne’s faith grew in spite of it all. “People who have religion should be glad for not everyone has the gift of believing in heavenly things.” “ Religion keeps me on the right path. It isn’t the path of God but the upholding of one’s own honor and conscience. How noble and good everyone’ life could be if every evening before falling asleep, they were to recall to their minds the events of the whole day and consider what has been good and bad. Then, without realizing it, you try to improve yourself at the start of each day.”

“I simply cannot build up my hopes based on confusion misery and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end and that peace and tranquility will return again. In the meantime, I must uphold my ideals for perhaps the time will come when I can carry them out.”

Anne achieved balance in her life by aligning herself with God and the beauty in her enclosed world. She found beauty in nature, the single oak tree that stood outside her attic window, and in literature and music. Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nacht Musik was her favorite.

When listening to this important work of Mozart, you can visualize Anne twirling around in her homemade ballerina skirt, feel the brush of her skirt against your leg, see the sparkle of hope in her eyes, sense the freedom and love she felt in her rare, carefree moment in time.

August 4, 1944. The Gestapo knocked on the cupboard door and penetrated the Secret Annex. On September 3rd, these eight were on the very last shipment of Jews to leave Holland. Anne died from Typhoid fever at a concentration camp.

Today, hundreds of thousands of Christians are being persecuted for their religious beliefs and Christians and Jews alike are considered “infidels” who must perish. What have we learned as a society since Anne’s mature words of wisdom and desire for world peace? The horrors of war and loss of freedom should continue to be taught to our children through the diary of Anne Frank and every American must continue to fight so their own children will never have to suffer the same fate as Anne.

May my best friend Anne continue to inspire the angels in heaven with her beautiful words of inspiration and bring comfort to the six million Jews who are there with her. Thank you Anne for your significant contribution to mankind.     Yours, Kitty.


The War Against the Military and American Spirit…and the Solution


Screen Shot 2014-01-20 at 1.55.51 PM

In the aftermath of our Government’s repeated attempts to disgrace and dishonor our military and veterans, I thought perhaps it was time to define the American spirit, the spirit that made America exceptional, the spirit that the vast majority of politicians seem to lack and prefer to recognize as right wing terrorism, the spirit that “We the People” will continue to defend and safeguard and that our troops are fighting for.

How does one accurately portray the American spirit, define a patriot’s very breath? It is best to go back in history to be able to fully understand the birth of the American spirit, that indefatigable yearning for liberty, freedom and independence from tyranny, the spirit that brought George Washington to his knees while praying for Divine Providence and protection. It was a deep seated craving; an intense longing and victorious resolve that refused to accept failure. It was a virtuous spirit that was nonpartisan, a united determination to form a Republic and Constitution for “We the People,” where citizens could enjoy natural and inalienable rights, granted by God.

Since our early beginnings, our ancestors have fought on the battle field, lives sacrificed so that future generations of children would be able to live under the protection of freedom, able to pursue a life full of hope, dreams and endless opportunity. The American spirit knows that freedom fuels ambition and provides the passion to excel and attain unlimited achievement. The American spirit unleashes a creative inventiveness that can only spring from a gut where the seeds of imagination have been allowed to germinate, unencumbered by restrictions of thought. This entrepreneurial proclivity has the ability to attain incomprehensible heights of financial and philanthropic achievement, the American Dream. The American spirit appreciates its blessings and strives to give back to the same country that has given them such tremendous opportunity. The American spirit is the most charitable in the world.

The American soldier understands better than anyone that the American spirit is a priceless national treasure worth fighting for; know first hand the putrefying tactics of brutal dictatorships whose aim is to decompose the soul. Our soldiers have crawled in bug infested jungles, marched in scorching deserts, been tossed around in rough seas and shot down from the sky while witnessing countless, godless acts of murder, heinous attacks on the religious, the shameful neglect of the poor, the tragic desperation of a demoralized populace deprived of spirit and hope. The American soldier weeps for the children of the world who are the innocent tragic victims of war, the political pawns whose dreams are filled with nightmares of death. The American soldier embarks on daring, dangerous missions so that America’s children will never have to suffer the same fate. The American soldier knows they may never see their families again and hear the word they cherish the most, Daddy.

The bald eagle was chosen June 20, 1782 as the emblem of the United States because of its long life, great strength, majestic looks and also because it was believed to only exist on the American continent. The eagle represents freedom. He lives on the mountain tops, able to fly to the valley’s below, or soar upward to the boundless spaces above. The American soldier is the wind beneath the eagle’s wings and the American spirit, as so eloquently expressed by Roger Whitakker in his rendition of  Wind Beneath My Wings

Actions speak louder than words and the actions of our top leaders in Washington D.C. is like a show and tell of the exploitation of power and complete disregard of the American spirit and the American soldier. The blatant berating and disregard of our military by our government is beyond description and borders on treason.

But, what difference does it make that President Barack Obama used the lame excuse of a sequester to disallow eighty year old veterans in wheel chairs admittance to the World War II Memorial built in their honor, commemorating their brave service to America so that communism did not spread to our shores. What does it matter that our Commander-in-Chief is rushing to unload senior officers at the Pentagon who disagree with his anti-American ideology, at the rate of one senior military officer every 8.8 days, an amount that is close to 200 officers dismissed since he took charge of our military. What does it matter that during the Obama years, Special Operations Forces has seen a 123% increase in the number of countries of deployment, secret missions being conducted far away from prying eyes, media scrutiny or any other type of outside oversight, a special ops globalization. Retired Army Colonel Andrew Bacevich, professor of history and international relations at Boston University has noted, the utilization of Special Operations Forces during the Obama years has decreased military accountability, strengthened the “imperial presidency,” and set the stage for a war without end. In short, Bacevich wrote on TomDispatch, “handing war to the special operators severs an already too tenuous link between war and politics; it becomes war for its own sake.” Without a clear picture of where the military’s covert forces are operating and what they are doing, Americans may not recognize the consequences of and blowback from our ever expanding secret wars as they develop all over the world.

What difference does it make that Vice-president Joe Biden leaked top secret, classified information to the media that the Navy Seals were responsible for Bin Laden’s death, putting SEAL Team 6  in harms way, with a target on their backs. What does it matter that retired Secretary of State Hillary Clinton neglected to properly beef up security at the mission in Benghazi, after repeated requests to do so, resulting in a massacre that she refused to take any responsibility for, instead telling Congress “What difference does it make?” What does it matter that fifteen Libyans who were cooperating with the FBI to get to the bottom of the Benghazi lies are now dead? What does it matter that General Martin Dempsey, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, failed to respond to the attack on Benghazi. What does it matter that the Director of the CIA, John Brennan, a convert to Islam, refused to take his oath of office on a Bible? What does it matter that Secretary of State John Kerry’s pompous foreign policy gaffes have led to hiring a chief spokesperson, Jen Psaki, to speak for him. What does it matter that Kerry once ran around with Jane Fonda giving aid and comfort to the enemy while openly slandering our Vietnam Veterans. What does it matter that our Secretary of Defense, Chuck Hagel, has throughout his career sought to protect Iran from U.S sanctions and diplomatic pressure.  What does it matter that Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid killed an amendment that would have restored the military pensions that were cut in a budget deal, but is willing to extend unemployment benefits. What does it matter that House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi watched as veterans were turned away from their sacred memorials, but attended and gave a speech at the “Camino Americano,” or “American Road” amnesty rally that was allowed access and clearance on the National mall, just a short walk from the barricaded World War II memorial. What does it matter that the Pentagon continues to purge God and believes the biggest threat to our national security are those who believe that Jesus Christ will return to Jerusalem to rule the world?

When Winston Churchill and Franklin Roosevelt met in 1941 on the battleship HMS Prince of Wales to agree to the Atlantic Charter, a church service was held for which Prime Minister Churchill chose the hymns. He chose “Onward Christian Soldiers” and afterwards made a radio broadcast explaining his choice: “We sang “Onward, Christian Soldiers” indeed, and I felt that this was no vain presumption, but that we had the right to feel that we were serving a cause for the sake of which a trumpet has sounded from on high. When I looked upon that densely packed congregation of fighting men of the same language, of the same faith, of the same fundamental laws, of the same ideals … it swept across me that here was the only hope, but also the sure hope, of saving the world from measureless degradation.”

We are witnessing the radical secularization and extermination of America’s belief system and spirit, the very ideals that made us great. The most dangerous war right now is being waged on American soil, on the American people. Ephesians 6:10-20 explains that our foe is Satan, not men. Character and coming together in hope and purpose will win the current battle in America because our genuine and righteous Commander-in-Chief is the eternal, omnipotent Christ, whose kingdom cannot fail.

Onward Christian Soldiers


Community Organizers, the Bullies of the Neighborhood

Screen Shot 2014-01-13 at 5.28.30 PM


The old familiar door creaked a bit every time it was opened, a sign of it’s use and age. It was the entry to a brown clapboard neighborhood grocery store, Paul’s Market, that had flourished for half a century, even though almost hidden and nondescript between the brown clapboard middle class homes that surrounded it. At one time it was called Frank’s Market, but then Paul bought it and his name was not Frank, so it was renamed Paul’s. The neighbors did not need a neon sign or elaborately decorated window to know that it sold all the foodstuff they would need to satisfy their daily meal planning. Upon entering the compact store, my mother would be standing at a small steel cash register, her sparkling blue eyes ready to greet everyone who entered with a warm smile and hello. She would then wipe the flour sack apron that was tied around her waist and suggest that some chuck roast had just been ground and two pounds would make enough Swedish meatballs to feed and delight their entire family. The customer would perk up, happy their meal worries were over and say that sounded great! My mother, proud of her salesmanship abilities, would then proceed to write down the recipe for them onto a brown paper bag…the one that would soon hold two pounds of ground chuck. Then, with a wink, my mother would suggest that a can of corn, mashed potato and fresh green beans would go very nicely with it.

As the customer got to the very back of the store, Paul, my father, would suddenly poke his head out the open doorway, beckoning them to the fresh meat and seafood department, a  narrow back room that consisted of a walk-in refrigerator and a three inch thick butcher block table that spanned the entire length of the wall. Perched on the end of the table was a large stainless steel meat grinder and tucked underneath the counter was a small stool, so that when asked, I could help grind up some hamburg for that day. I loved putting a hunk of meat into the funnel shaped opening at the top and watch as the meat came out the bottom chute, like big blood red strands of wiggling spaghetti. It was much more fun than my other job, restocking the shelves. Extra cans of everything were in the basement below, down a set of rickety stairs, and the dark gloominess seemed a mile away from the cheery atmosphere above.

My favorite job at Paul’s, was delivering groceries. The surrounding neighborhood was a beehive of humanity and Paul’s was the cohesive honeycomb, the sweetest spot in town, where everyone gathered and shared the day’s news, at a time when the internet did not exist and communication was still done the old fashioned way, by word of mouth. I listened in on many a conversation and learned that what was being whispered was not said in a gossipy way, but rather in a helpful way to quickly learn of the latest “goings on” in town. Paul’s became a place to mourn someone’s death, celebrate a birth or even just have some friendly chatter when feeling alone and out of sorts. My goodhearted parents were great listeners and always there when someone was sick and needed help. They would be the first to call old Mrs. So and So who had just fallen to see if she might need some groceries hand delivered to her front door step. That is when my ears would perk up because I knew that hand delivering meant I would soon be out the door armed with bulging brown paper bags filled with food items that were desperately needed right away. I was used to walking everywhere; school, church, the library and the doctor, never needing to worry about gaining weight from mom’s Swedish meatballs with mashed potatoes, and enjoyed the walk almost as much as the greeting I would receive once arriving at the recipients house. They were considerate deliveries and my errands would always be rewarded with grateful hugs. While walking back to the store, I always felt happy that I had been able to help, in my own special way, a person in need. That feeling of contentment lingered for the rest of the day and prompted a smile on my lips at the most unexpected times. Perhaps that was my first brush with learning that unselfish deeds were so selfishly rewarding and that caring neighbors offered the palpable love that kept our town’s heart ticking, alive and well.

In stark contrast to community caring and love, Saul Alinsky, a Marxist from Chicago, created a much different model for community life, a concept he coined “community organizing” a clever euphemism for community communism.  Alinsky, who wrote “Rules for Radicals,” and dedicated his book to his favorite radical, the devil, did not focus on transfusing good back into the community, but rather focused on sucking it dry of all its underlying goodness, hope and promising future, a future called the “American Dream.”  His communist model instead relished the “redistribution of wealth” or in layman’s terms, the taking of wealth from the hardworking middle class and giving it to the lazy, government dependent, underclass. He became the master puppeteer who trained his community operatives  how to pull the strings of jealousy, race, and class warfare in order to obtain his nefarious quest for power. Barack Obama, who was hustled back and forth from Africa to America during his childhood, was never part of a functional family or community. His high school days in Hawaii were spent experimenting with drugs, not neighborly love, therefore, the Marxist, Alinsky model played right into his greedy hands; to him, community organizing was fair game in an America that he had never bonded with and the fast track tool to help him achieve his political ambitions.

Are America’s neighborhood’s any better off now under Obama’s, agnostic “social justice” programs and community organizing? That question can only be answered in truth by our neighbors. My neighbors are moving after losing their homes, trying to find low rental apartments or moving in with family; my neighbors are buying whatever is on sale at the supermarket and making their short grocery list last a week; my neighbors are no longer going on weekend getaways or vacations because they can no longer afford the gas; my neighbors are losing their health insurance and good doctor’s, wondering how they will be able to afford the new insurance tax being levied upon them; my neighbors are losing their full time jobs because their employers cannot afford the new “affordable” Obamacare; my neighbors are being audited by the IRS because they are active conservatives; my neighbors are veterans who proudly served our country and are now watching as their benefits are being diminished and used as political bait; my neighbors now have to think twice before hanging the American flag or displaying a cross in front of their own homes for fear of reprisal and fines; my neighbors are watching as America’s sovereignty is slowly slipping away and being handed to the United Nations; my neighbors are being spied upon at every street corner and traffic light; my neighbors are stocking up on supplies, waiting for the next false flag event or manufactured “crisis”; my neighbors are buying guns and ammunition because they no longer trust our tyrannical government.

Who will get us out of this mess? Can we trust and depend on bullying community organizers or slumlord-like bureaucrats who are blind to the needs of “We The People?”  The answer can be found in our neighborhoods. My neighbors are tithing their very sparse spending money at their local churches so as to help the most needy among us. My neighbors are making sure that the family whose home burned down last week has a place to live. My neighbors are volunteering to work in the food banks and soup kitchen’s to feed an ever increasing poor population. My neighbors are busy knitting scarves and hats for those who cannot afford the basic necessities of a cold winter. My neighbors are risking their lives and serving in the military to help keep us free, in spite of a Commander-in-Chief who has injected the Pentagon with the enemy. My neighbors are standing in front of Planned Parenthood clinics, praying that our government puts an end to its purging of God and the abortive murder and stealing of America’s future.

2014 will be a banner year for the righteous transformation of America and my good neighbors are the heroes who will make that happen.

“Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a disgrace to any people” Proverbs 14:34








It’s a Wonderful Life

Screen Shot 2014-01-03 at 12.31.39 PM

One of the greatest pleasures of the Christmas season is to watch the classic Christmas movies of yesteryear that portray fictional examples of an American culture that embraced community spirit and human kindness. White Christmas, Miracle on 34th Street and It’s a Wonderful Life all depict tales of American citizen’s concerned with the simplicity and goodness of life.

In “It’s a Wonderful Life,” George Bailey, played by Jimmy Stewart, is a hometown boy from Bedford Fall’s who gives up his dreams of travel and big pay check to carry on his father’s local banking business, the Bailey Building and Loan Association, vital to the well-being of the townspeople. George feels a tremendous responsibility to help his community and one of the ways to accomplish that was to supply the funds to help build Bailey Park, an affordable housing project. Meanwhile, George’s greedy slumlord and Board member, Henry Potter, aggressively tries to shut down the bank in order to take control of the town for the sake of his own wealth, power and personal advancement. Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, George is faced with financial ruin and the faulty accusation of bank fraud. George becomes suicidal, but is saved by his guardian angel who demonstrates to George all the good he has done for the people of Bedford Falls and how all his beneficial acts affected their lives in a positive way. George joyously runs home to where the authorities are waiting to arrest him, but where he is instead met by a flood of townspeople who bring enough donations to save George and the Building and Loan. George is toasted as “the richest man in town” and realizes that he truly has a wonderful life.

The George Bailey story is one of a man who worked hard to get ahead, not at the expense of others misfortune, but instead by performing charitable deeds that would help enrich his neighbor’s lives. There were no blanket monetary giveaways meant to buy the townspeople’s admiration and respect. George treated the community like family, knowing firsthand that one’s dignity and self-worth are the keys to a wonderful life. The story is one that played out time and time again in America, when leaders were born and brought up in small town, rural America, leaders who worked alongside their neighbors, felt their pain, watched their children grow, buried their soldiers, had tears in their eyes at the Fourth of July parade. These simple human stories of compassion and integrity were what made America great.

A recent article “Rural Banks Know Something Big Banks Don’t” written by Brendan Greeley for Bloomberg Businessweek, reveals that community banks thrive in an otherwise depressed, over regulated banking environment. Commonsense business plans prevail at these community banks who use $1 billion in assets as a cutoff for their definition of being a community bank. In rural counties, community banks still hold 70 percent of deposits and do a better job at what banks were initially set up to do, underwrite home mortgages and loans to farms and small businesses.  According to the FDIC, in every five-year period since 1991, a lower percentage of loans from community banks has gone bad. Richard Brown, the FDIC’s chief economist says small banks have a competitive advantage with “nonquantitative” information (think George Bailey) of their customers and local economy.

Ken Hale is chief executive officer and 40 percent owner of the Bank of Montgomery, chartered in 1903 in Great Parish, La, by a group of men that included his great-grandfather and Hale had been quoted as saying, “there is no price worth me selling the bank,” “I would live with the guilt for the rest of my life.” Like most community banks, Bank of Montgomery, with $190 million in assets, came through the financial crisis unscathed. Hale points to what economists call social capital where small, tight-knit communities provide controls on banks. “You can’t be greedy,” Hale says. “You can’t be devious. Because I gotta go home everyday and see my two neighbors.” Both have mortgages with his bank; all three families attend the same Catholic church and school. “If I take advantage of them with some subprime loan, I gotta sit next to them,” he says. Two of his banks branches are in towns with fewer than 500 people. Treat a customer poorly, he says, “and there aren’t a lot more people to choose from.”

Hales’s banking story is in stark contrast to what started the egregious domino affect of America’s current financial meltdown: Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. Loans to minorities and borrowers with weak credit histories was relentless, while Congress neglectfully added to the delinquency by passing the Community Reinvestment Act, empowering regulators to punish banks that failed to “meet the credit needs of low-income, minority and distressed neighborhoods.” Lenders responded by loosening their underwriting standards and making shoddy loans. In 2003, Barney Frank was the ranking Democrat on the House Financial Services Committee, which oversees the entire financial services industry, including the securities, insurance, banking and housing authorities, and his porky fingers were all over the financial fiasco. When the Bush administration warned of “systematic risk for our financial system” unless the mortgage giants were curbed, Barney Frank complained that the Bush team was more concerned about financial safety than about housing. Frank went on to say, “I do not want the same kind of focus on safety and soundness (in the regulation of Fannie and Freddie) that we have in the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency and the Office of Thrift Supervision. I want to roll the dice a little bit more in this situation toward subsidized housing.”

Frank, blessed with an education from Harvard, a school that seems to offer lessons in gambling rather than in common sense and good moral judgement, was a recipient of more than $40,000 in campaign donations from Fannie and was once romantically involved with Herb Moses, Fannie Mae’s assistant director for product initiatives, who, while earning a six-figure salary, helped develop many of Fannie Mae’s affordable housing lending programs. The lack of media attention and Congressional oversight to Frank’s bedding down with Herb and its inherent conflict of interest is both deplorable and disgraceful. This show of political correctness, so as not to appear to be homophobic because Frank is gay, is the quintessential double standard. Meanwhile, Frank’s porky finger will forever be known as pointing into the polluted political atmosphere while saying, “the private sector got us into this mess.”

America, now more than ever, needs unselfish, morally responsible leaders willing to set aside their own personal advancement, for the good of the people; folks from Main Street America who were brought up to know and help their neighbors, who understand that a small town business model and ethic, rather than a behemoth government catchall of onerous regulations, is the only way our nation will begin to heal, get healthy, and stay healthy. May the George Bailey’s among us win the 2014 elections, Americans who truly know what a wonderful life is all about.