Fugitive deserves hard time
I think that it's absurd to even suggest that Susan LeFevre (AKA Marie Walsh or whatever else she called herself) should be allowed to go free after walking away from DeHoCo back in 1976, where she was serving 10-to-20 on a drug dealing conviction.
If fact, this recaptured fugitive's rationale for seeking freedom instead of finishing her sentence reminds me of the old story about the young man who killed both of his parents and then threw himself on the mercy of the court because he was an orphan.
If anything, LeFevre deserves to do a lot of hard time in some really dank Michigan prison, not some country club like the one she rode away from in her grandfather's car 32 years ago after she skipped out.
LeFevre, you understand, wasn't doing her stretch for some minor offense like holding a parade without a permit or spitting on the sidewalk. She was serving 10-to-20 years for selling $2,000 a week worth of heroin to who-knows-how-many kids.
She claims that at the time she was a 21-year-old junkie and she needed money to feed her habit. That's an excuse? Nonsense! The pertinent question here is, how many other kids did she corrupt? How many really innocent lives did she impair or ruin?
I happen to have two kids who were 23 and 21 in 1976. My son and daughter faced the same strains and stretches in their teen years that LeFevre faced in hers. There but for the grace of God, they could have been her customers.
I'll tell you this: If she had lured any of my kids or other family members into drugs by supplying their habit to pay for hers, she'd have welcomed three squares and a flop in DeHoCo compared what I'd have in store for her if I ever found her hanging out at some soccer moms' meeting in San Diego, clean or not.
"I'm beside myself," LeFevre is quoted in Saturday's Detroit News as saying, "to think that I might be locked in a room for something I did as a teen."
Shoulda thought about that a long time ago, lady.
A court convicted her of the drug charges, on evidence. Once in prison, she bolted. That's two offenses. She says she's sorry. Big deal. So are a lot of parents - who knows how many? - whose kids were doing her lines and snorting her powder.
According to LeFevre, on the day she went over the wall her granddaddy and another relative were waiting on the other side, saying the rosary. As Kwame might text-message to his squeeze-of-the-day, LOL!
Her husband of 23 years in her "other life" describes LeFevre as "a person of the highest integrity."
Proving only, I guess, that you really can fool some of the people, some of the time.
Blues sing the Blues
Cudos to Atty. Gen. Mike Cox for holding Blue Cross/Blue Shield CEO Dan Loepp's feet the the fire over the Blues' brazen attempt to use their special tax-free status as a so-called "not for profit" insurer to buy up yet another for-profit subsidiary.
It helps, of course, that Cox is a Republican testing the waters for a run at the term-limited Michigan governor's job two years from now and Loepp, a career political flack who landed the BC/BS job through his Lansing connections, spent a large part of his public life as chief of staff to former Michigan House Speaker, Democrat Curtis Hertel.
No love lost on either side there.
The Blues were formed originally in 1980 to be the "insurer of last resort" for folks who couldn't get other health care coverage for one reason or another. As part of the deal to take everybody, Lansing granted the Blues corporation an exemption from state taxes.
The Blues, of course, made a ton of profit anyway. But in order to keep their bottom line looking thin so they could retain their tax-free ride, in 1993 they worked out a deal to branch out into a for-profit sideline - the Accident Fund.
Now under Loepp, with the support of a Democrat-controlled Michigan House, they're at it again, pushing a piece of so-called "reform legislation" (over Cox's objections) that will let them branch out even further into another money-making venture while maintaining the BC/BS basic tax-free status to fund the purchase.
What's really galling Cox and others is that in order to steer pubic opinion support to their brash money grab, the Blues keep using their tax-free profits (the Blues admit to $2.4 billion in reserves) to fund a radio and TV ad blitz to brag about how the poor little Blues have been losing money insuring otherwise uninsurable Michiganians for dozens of years and aren't they just the nicest people?
No mention of the fact that they aren't doing it out of any sense of charity toward those unfortunate uninsurables. They have to insure them or end their free load and risk losing their posh executive salaries and perks.
TV raises remarks to new level
During a TV broadcast of the opening round of The Masters golf tournament in Augusta, Ga., last week, CBS announcer Bobby Clampett referred to pro golfer Liang Wen-Chong as "the Chinaman." The heavens opened, of course, and dumped a ton of verbal raw sewerage all over Clampett, forcing him to apologize publicly and be thoroughly tongue-lashed by critics.
Funny. I can remember when the first Asian pro made the PGA tour, Chen Ching Po. Arnold Palmer was just getting big in those days and he was hanging his name on all sorts of investment ventures, including a chain of laundries and dry cleaners.
Pro Doug Sanders, he of the habitually loose lips, was asked what he thought about Arnie venturing into the laundry business. To which he replied, "If I'm gonna send my shirts out to pro golfer, it's gonna be Chen Ching Po."
The remark was widely quoted, because it was made to a stable of sportswriters. And no one raised a beef.
Ah, the power of TV.
Politics sounds like Mickey Mouse stuff to me
Barak Obama hints in a speech that America's frustrated middle class is "bitter" and disenchanted with the sluggish economy and clings to its "guns and religion" like a security blanket.
Hillary Clinton calls him "elitist" and "out of touch."
Then Clinton sucks up to the Pennsylvania middle class that Obama has alienated by recounting how her granddaddy taught her to shoot a shotgun and how she once slaughtered a duck on a hunting foray.
Perhaps she mistook the duck for a terrorist.
Anyway, Obama then says Hillary's belated support of the Second Amendment that is zealously protected by the National Rifle Association (Guns don't kill people; people kill people) makes her sound like "Annie Oakley."
Now, I'm not sure how many folks are still alive and kicking who recognize the name of the famous old trick-shot artist. As for me, I'm way too young.
Then of course there's Detroit City Council Member Monica Conyers gettin' it on with Council President Ken Cockrel Jr., he of the shiny bald head.
When Cockrel tried to hush Ms. Conyers during one of her tirades last week during the questioning of one of Kwame Kilpatrick's lawyers, Conyers snapped: "You're not my daddy, Shrek!"
Politics? Government? Sounds like a Mickey Mouse operation to me.
Tax hike, rebate make no sense
If my sainted mother, Helen, was alive today she'd say it was crazy the way the Michigan Legislature made the average broke family send $300 more to Lansing on April 15 after raising the state income tax last December while the federal government, attempting to stimulate the economy, is sending the average family a check for $600.
The net gain: $300.
Talk about voodoo economics.
Poll on Dems needs more options
The AOL home page has a poll with two questions. First is, "Do you think the battle between Clinton and Obama will hurt the Democratic Party?"
Problem is, AOL pollster only asks readers to check "Yes" or "No." I think they should add a selection, "Who gives a damn?"
They also ask readers to log in on the question, "Which Democrat would have the better chance against John McCain? Clinton or Obama?" They ought to add a third choice: "None of the above."
Paradise Valley or bust
If Kwame Kilpatrick really intends to resurrect Detroit's fond memories of Paradise Valley, I hope he can find room for a monument (a bust probably would be fitting) to the late Freddy Guinyard.
In his rush to divert attention from his indictment for giving false testimony during a losing $9 million whistleblower lawsuit against the city he serves as mayor, Kwame this week announced that he plans to squander another $300 million that he doesn't have on several make-work projects in the fervent hope that Detroit's citizens will forget he's a crook and a liar.
A small portion of that $300 million, he says, is to be devoted to a conversion of the existing Harmonie Park area into an African-American business/entertainment complex to be known as "Paradise Valley."
Well, folks, there are still some of us around who remember the original Paradise Valley section of near-downtown Detroit, on the east side of Woodward along John R and Beaubien streets north of where Comerica Park stands today. And there is no similarity.
You may have read about the long-gone historic Gotham Hotel, in the '30s through the '50s era the only high class all-black hotel in town and the most prominent attraction of Paradise Valley. Some of you also may recall Sonny Wilson's all-night saloon and all the black-and-tan blind pigs that sprouted, wilted and sprouted again in Detroit's fertile 13th Police Precinct.
Freddy Guinyard's blind pig and brothel was the cream of that crop.
Freddy operated out of an ancient, three-story Victorian mansion on Orchestra Place, behind the Gotham. He was open all hours, but by invitation only.
Freddy bragged he had been Joe Louis' "traveling secretary" when the Brown Bomber was world heavyweight champ, and he kept a stable of hookers upstairs on the top two floors in a labrynith of rooms as a remembrance of those halcyon days.
The first floor was subdivided into parlors with huge oak-paneled sliding doors, where guests could come by for the entertainment of their choice - or just to have a drink and watch a ball game on TV. I saw my first Tigers' night game on color TV in Freddy's parlor.
Freddy had several rules. You always called ahead before coming so he'd be sure no other "guests" might be embarrassed by a chance meeting in a hallway. He catered, you see, to a diverse clientele; a plethora of judges, lawyers and assorted politicians of all races, religions and national origins.
He never charged for booze, because even the cops he had paid off couldn't help him if the liquor control gumshoes caught him selling alcohol without a tax stamp. So he gave it away.
There was always fresh watermelon in the fridge for Detroit News baseball writer Sam Greene, Doc Greene's father, who liked to stop in for a shot of bourbon and a snack in the wee hours after covering a Tigers' night game.
Freddy was an entrepeneur, to be sure. I always thought his business card told his story quite well. It read, simply, "Fred Guinyard. Light and Heavy Hauling."
Because he was such a great source for stories and news tips, I paid for or mooched many a sports ticket to get him into games and boxing matches. In exchange, he got me into locker rooms with some athletes I'd never have been able to interview.
Freddy may not have been the straightest guy in Paradise Valley, but he never forgot a friend.
Yep, a bronze bust of Freddy in the rejuvenated Harmonie Park would be a nice touch. A lot of his old customers would catch the symbolism even if no one else did.
Tether and yon
Talk about what goes around, comes around.
Apparently, that 36th District Court magistrate who ordered Kwame Kilptrick's erstwhile squeeze, Christine Beatty, to wear an electronic tether and not to leave the state is like those cops who got tongue lashed by her when they stopped her for speeding a while back.
He doesn't know "who the ..." Ms. Beatty is and furthermore he didn't "give a ... " when he directed herto buy her own new ankle bracelet and stick close to home.
Which leads one to the obvious conclusion that if Ms. Beatty and the Big Guy had been ordered to wear some electronic tracking devices, say, a couple of years ago, they might not be in the mess they're in today.
Historic Hermus set the pace
As lottery winners go, David Sneath can't hold a candle to Hermus Millsaps.
Oh, Sneath, of Livonia, won a ton more money than old Hermus when he hit the Maga Millions jackpot earlier this week. Like, $135 million more than Hermus' paltry $1 million. But Hermus holds a spot in Michigan history that no one will ever match: He won the first $1 million Michigan Lottery prize ever given and he did it with a 50 cent investment and the help of a chartreuse rabbit's foot.
It was February 1972 and the state lottery had just been approved by Gov. Bill Milliken. Well, "allowed" is probably a better word than approved. The strait-laced Milliken didn't like anything about state-sponsored gambling except the money it would raise to help balance his budget.
The guv finally gave in to the legislature, however, and signed Public Act 239 that established the legalized game and gave the state's illegal numbers operators fits.
To make sure the state-sponsored game was properly run, Milliken elevated likeable Gus Harrison from head of the Michigan Department of Corrections to Lottery Commissioner. He probably figured that if anybody could spot a crook, Gus could. He'd been around them long enough.
So it came to pass that on a snowy night in early February of 1972, a handful of 50 cent winners were invited to Lansing for a public drawing to see who would take home the first $1 million prize. Milliken, of course, didn't show up.
I can't remember the venue, but the hall had a stage and the five or six finalists were lined up to draw lots. The first one got $50,000 and the rest got progressively more until there were only two contestants left to go for the $1 million top prize - some lady whose name I can't recall and Hermus Millsaps.
You had to have been there to believe this whole scenario.
There were two numbers left in the box, right? Well, the lady draws first and it's $150,000 or some smaller amount. That, of course, means Hermus is the $1 million winner. But he just stands there. Not a peep. Nothing.
Hermus thinks he has to pull the last ticket to win the million!
Anyway, the cheers break out and people rush to congratulate him. But he just stands there in disbelief. Finally, when things calm down, I ask Millsaps if he doesn't want to at least yelp or holler or something.
"No," he answers, "what I do when I'm happy is imitate a train whistle." So I ask him if he's happy and, sure enough, he lets out a howl that sounds more like a wolf baying at the moon than a train whistle. But it sufficed.
So, exactly who was Hermus Millsaps, of Taylor, Mich.? When he finished telling his story, folks, I accused Gus Harrison's PR guys of having invented him.
You see, Hermus had a low-paying factory job. When he was notified to appear for the drawing, he didn't know what to do. He was broke. The tires on his car wouldn't make the trip from Taylor to Lansing. Once there, he and his wife (who later divorced him) had no money for a room.
So they did what broke folks do. They packed a large lunch and hopped a bus to Lansing. But because of scheduling, they arrived in mid-afternoon for the evening drawing. So they went for a walk.
Hermus wasn't feeling particularly lucky (understandably), so while he and the missus were killing time in a novelty store, he spotted a rabbit's foot charm. The only color available was ... chartreuse.
"I thought, 'That's it!' " Hermus told me later that night. "I love chartreuse!"
Alas, the rest is history. During our post-ceremony discussion I cautioned Hermus to cut off his telephone, don't answer the door and tell all his friends and relatives that he was out of town until things cooled down. In those days they were paying the $1 million prize at $50,000 a year for 20 years. Lump some payoffs came later.
Still, a lot of money.
Later, Hermus, broke as he was, accepted an invitation for him and his wife to dinner with Gary Schuster, then the chief of The Detroit News Lansing Bureau.
"He didn't have money for food or for a room," Schuster told me the next day. "I had to loan him a few bucks and drive him and his wife to a motel."
The perfect first winner. Ad guys couldn't have made him up. I told Gus Harrison later that I'd been pulling for one of the Detroit Mafia dons to win that first million. What a story that would have been.
Wouldn't Bill Milliken have loved it?
Michigan's going to pot
Ganja's in and the movement for a part-time legislature is out.
That's the word from a panel of Lansing press corps hacks who entertained delegates to the Michigan Municipal League's annual springtime capitol frolic Wednesday by fielding provoking questions from veteran radio and TV commentator Tim Skubick.
Also, when the trio of political experts were asked which state politicians they thought would be lining up to run for governor when Jenny Granholm bites the dust because of term limits, they pretty much agreed that so far the leading Democrats are Wayne County Exec Bob Ficano, Lt. Gov. John Cherry and former Detroit Mayor Dennis Archer.
As for the Republicans, there was agreement that Attorney General Mike Cox wants to run so bad he can taste it, that U.S. Rep. Candice Miller may just come home from D.C. and give it a shot and, unless he totally has run out of money (which is unlikely), Dick DeVos could make an encore performance.
This panel of veteran observers, incidentally, was composed of Bill Ballenger, editor of the Inside Michigan Politics newsletter; Associated Press Bureau Chief Kathy Barks Hoffman and Free Press Lansing Bureau Chief Chris Christoff. Not too shabby.
It was kinda surprising to me how quickly and easily they all agreed that the move to legalize medicinal marijuana that is headed for the November ballot is sure to be approved. But they were adamant in the belief that there is just too much popular support for legalization to keep Mary Jane from making it to the Big Dance.
Now don't rush out and buy a seedling tray and heat lamp and think you can save the mortgage by harvesting a cash crop on the ping pong table in the basement. There'll be lots of legal limitations on growing and mowing this kind of grass.
Like it or not, it does appear to be a shoo-in to be legalized for people with medical problems. I can live with that. Listen, if you can get a contact high at a rock concert, folks with debilitating or terminal diseases ought to be able to toke and smoke while they await the latest miracle of modern medicine.
There was a bit of disagreement on the possibility of the legislature choosing to float their own part-time work proposal. But when push came to shove, the panel agreed that even the most powerful and divine plan to trim Lansing lawmakers' hours, perks and income is destined to end up folded, stapled, spindled and mutilated.
Will Hillary and Barack kiss, make up and draw cards or something to see who's No. 1 and who's No. 2? No. If Hillary prevails, wins the presidency and calls Two Men and a Truck to haul Bill's photo collection back to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., will Mz. Jenny become, say, head of Management and the Budget? Granholm says no and I certainly hope not!
Come to think of it, telling you that the state's going to pot isn't exactly man-bites-dog news, is it?
