Lapdog Journalism

Lapdog Lewis Lauds City Solicitor

Frank Lewis of the  Daily Times wrote a column on July 25th (“Solicitor’s Speech Reminds Us to See the Good Things”) that is one of that journalistic lapdog’s most shameless, hand-licking performances  In it, he flatters the  businessmen whose advertising dollars are helping keep the sinking Daily Times afloat along with his own job.  “We have business people such as Jeff Albrecht, Andy Glockner, Chris Lute, Rick Morgan, and numerous others, working selflessly,” Lewis fawningly wrote,  Selflessley? When he isn’t trying to fix an auction in Athens, Jeff Albrecht is trying desperately to get the Municipal Building torn down and replaced by something  that  will help him pay for the new Holiday Inn he built on the site of his previous downtown mistake,  the  Ramada Inn, the “Queen of the Rust Belt,” as one traveler dubbed it. Were the Glockners acting “selflessly” when they moved their automobile dealership from downtown Portsmouth several miles out on Route 23? Was Chris Lute acting selflessly when he did the same thing just a few years ago with Lute Plumbing? Glockner and Lute were  not acting selflessly; they were acting shrewdly, as businessmen must in the competitive commercial world. They were thinking of their profits, not of downtown Portsmouth’s wellbeing. All the empty buildings and lots that Lute left behind act as a further drag on the chronically depressed downtown economy. Moving was the sensible thing for Glockners and Lutes to do, but don’t be a poodle and lick their  “selfless” fingers.

At least the Lutes and Glockners and other businessmen whom ladog Lewis praises are successful, but Mike Jones is in the tradition of the failures and bankrupts who gravitate to public office in Portsmouth, such former and present city officials as Greg Bauer, Jim Kalb, John Haas, and David Malone. Although you are not likely ever to read Lewis writing about it,  Kalb, Haas, and Malone handled their personal finances so badly that they ending up declaring bankruptcy. The only question now is whether Mike Jones will be soon joining them. In 2007, Jones paid a whopping $325,000 for the  down-at-the-heels Crispie Creme donut shop on the corner of Waller and Gallia Streets, a property the County Auditor had valued at $107,990. Paying $325,000 for Crispie Creme, a three hundred percent increase over the value the auditor placed on it, is even more inflated than the $2,000,000 of taxpayer money Bauer, Kalb, et al, illegally drew on to pay for the Marting building.Where did Jones get the money to throw away on a dying industry like donuts? When it comes to diet, according to a nutritionist at the New York Obesity Research Center, the only healthy thing about a donut is the hole. Like almost all public officials in Portsmouth, Jones was a puppet of the dishonest,  now disgraced and defunct Southern Ohio Growth Partnership, from which he borrowed $147,000. Where did Jones get the rest of the money for his financially suicidal purchase? The American Savings Bank obliged him with a $182,000 mortgage.

        The donut shop was badly mismanaged under Jones, but it  probably would have failed anyway, with the heavy mortgage it was weighed down with. If only Crispie Creme had as many customers as it had cockroaches, it might have stayed in business. In an earlier posting on Crispie Creme, I asked, “Why did Jones and his partner pay $325,000 for a walking-dead donut shop?” Now that the business has gone belly up, as the For Sale in front of it crookedly proclaims, that question is even more pressing. If only there was an investigative reporter on the Daily Times, instead of a lapdog, we might get the answer.

The SOGP was Portsmouth’s shadow government, wheeling and dealing while playing with federal taxpayer dollars, doling out millions of dollars with little oversight. The American Savings Bank was not much better. In 2005, in a move that made it possible to avoid the kind of paper work and scrutiny that goes with being a publicly held company, ASB went private, buying out its shareholders. Since then, as a private company, its financial operations have become somewhat inscrutable, like they were at AIG, Bear Stearns, and Lehman Brothers. Why in the world would ASB grant a $187,000 mortgage to a business that time has proved  had absolutely nothing going for it? In 2005, ASB had granted a mortgage for a house at 2828 Willow Way for which Jones paid $192,000. The auditor had it valued at $142,820. That mortgage was apparently farmed out to CoreLogic, formerly First American, in Westlake, Texas, about which I will have more to say in another post. Jones has got to be the most highly leveraged person in Portsmouth city government. The question at the moment is will he join those other shady members of city government, Kalb, Haas, and Malone, in filing for bankruptcy? That is not a question the lapdog will answer.

Crispie Creme has gone belly-up as the crooked For Sale sign proclaims

Big Brother

Chapter 6: Big Brother

“As a lay person you would not be able to understand the science of my experiments at Harvard,” the doctor began his explanation to Madelyn.

“What experiments?

“They involved Heck. That’s all I want to say.”

“Like a guinea pig?” she asked.

“Yes, you could say that, although Heck wouldn’t like the analogy. Would you, Heck?” The doctor looked at the rat, who tilted his head, like a curious cat, squinting up at the doctor while rubbing his nose with his paws. “Fruit flies are very useful for experiments and so are guinea pigs,” the doctor continued. “But for my purposes only Rattus norvegicus, would do. Not as cute as the guinea pig, perhaps . . .” Heck made a tiny squeaking noise. “Have I hurt your feelings? I’m sorry, Heck,” the doctor said.

“He understands you?” she asked. Up to now she had thought of the doctor as being eccentric. Now she wasn’t sure what to think.

“He understands me, of course,” the doctor said proudly. Then he added, in a show of bitter humor. “He’s got an IQ well above the average Democrat.”

 “But why did you bring him to the office?”

“I received a warning that the authorities might be paying a visit to the clinic today.”

“Today?” She couldn’t believe he had waited until now to tell her. She had felt nervous when she had arrived at the office that morning because of renewed rumors circulating in the town about an imminent crackdown on the so-called pill mills.

“That’s right. Today.”

“Then why did you bring the rat here.”   

“Because I’m sure they want me to think they’re coming to the clinic when what they really plan to do is to go to my home.”

“But how would they get in?”

“My landlady would let them in. She’s easily intimidated.”

“She’d let them in?”

“With alacrity.”

“With who?”

“In a heartbeat.”

 “But what would they be looking for? What records we have are in my computer.”

“They’re not after records.”

“Then what?”

“Why, Heck, of course.”

“What would they want with Heck?” Puzzled, she looked from the doctor to the rat and back at the doctor.

“The ‘rat’ as you like to call him is the key to everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s the answer.”

“To what.”

“To the single greatest threat to freedom in the world.”

“What threat?”

“Big Brother.”

“Big Brother?”

 “Precisely,” he said.

“Who’s  Big Brother?”

“You’ve never heard of Big Brother?”

“I don’t think so.”

Shaking his head and turning to the rat, the doctor said,   “What do you think of that, Heck? She’s never heard of  Big Brother.” As he continued shaking his head slowly,  Heck tilted his head and peered up at him curiously while the kittens looked down on what was happening with the  look of total incomprehension.

“Haven’t you read this pamphlet?” he asked her, picking up  one from the little pile he kept on his desk. “I distinctly remember giving you one, and one for your daughter.” The doctor opened it to one of the illustrations, showing a menacing Big Brother figure. He held it up to show her, then he laid it down on the desk, leaving it open to the same page, which the rat edged over to and looked down at, as if it  could read or at least appreciate pictures. Madelyn felt stupid. Was it possible the rat had not only heard of Big Brother but had also read about him? It couldn’t be, she told herself. She had a tee shirt, which she had worn  only once, to a Fourth of July fireworks display.  REDNECK AND PROUD OF IT! But she never could have imagined encountering a rat smarter than she was, a  show-off, smart-ass rodent which, if it had a tee shirt, would probably read SMARTER THAN A REDNECK!

“But what does the rat have to do with Big Brother?” she asked.

“Heck and I made a remarkable discovery.”

“About what?”

 “About Oxycontin,” he said.

“What about it?”

“Oxycontin is the diabolical means by which the American government is attempting to enslave us.”

“Enslave us?”

“Yes, by eliminating all resistance to Big Brother.”

 “But why are you prescribing it if it’s diabiblical?”

“Diabolical,” he corrected her. “Because the ends justify the means.”

Talk about ends and means always passed over her head, as it did now. She didn’t want to show her ignorance by asking him what he meant. She just looked at him blankly.

“I’ve discovered how to turn  Oxycontin into  Anti-Contin,” he explained.

“Anti-Contin?”

“Yes, an antidote to Statism.”

“Statism?” Statism was not something she had heard of before.

“What the Democrats believe in. ‘That government is best which governs most.’”

“That’s statism?”

“That’s right. But it won’t be much longer before I have enough money to   manufacture it in Mexico.”

“Mexico?”

“Yes. I plan to open a clinic there.”

“But you’re  not  prescribing patients Anti-Contin now?”

“No, not yet.”

“What’s so special about it?”

“It’s derived from  Heck’s urine.”

“Heck’s urine? Hoy shit!” she exclaimed.

Madelyn looked at the rat on the desk, at the kittens on top of the file cabinet, at her own fun-house reflection in the doctor’s thick Coke bottle glasses, asking herself whether this was a bad dream or, worse still, a drug induced hallucination. At the moment, she believed she possessed the ability to feel the agony of the people outside in the line, most of them, like herself, who didn’t understand means and ends or statism from Adam.

 “A rat’s urine! That sounds disgusting,” she said. 

“That’s what you all say.”

“All?”

“All who are under the influence of Big Brother.”

 “A rat’s urine! Yuck!”

“Not a rat’s urine. Heck’s urine.”

“What makes Heck’s urine so special?” she asked sarcastically.

“You could never guess,” he said, looking  up at the photo of Hayek on the wall before pronouncing solemnly: “Heck now shares the DNA of the greatest mind of the twentieth century.”

 “Up to now, I must have been blind as well as addicted.”

“What?” the doctor asked in disbelief. “You addicted, too?”

 “What about the DNA business?” she asked.

 “I obtained a lock of the Great One’s hair through extraordinary luck. If I wasn’t a man of science, I would say that providence had a hand in all this, even if it’s only the invisible hand.”

“The invisible hand?”

“The the invisible hand of the free market.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And neither did Oxy and Contin, who were mewing and walking in circles on top of the file cabinet.  The doctor looked at his watch. “Madelyn, we have patients outside  in the throes of Statism. They’re waiting for us.”  

“I’m very much aware of them, Doctor,” she said, feeling  very attuned to them as this moment.

Are you a Democrat?” he asked.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Excuse the non sequitur,” he apologized.

“ I’m not into politics,” she said.

“Whom did you vote for in the last presidential election?”

“Which presidential election?

“You didn’t happen to vote for the Black Big Brother, did you?”

“I don’t remember voting,” she said.

“You see, Heck, it’s the familiar vicious circle. One addiction leads to another, and people end up voting for  Big Brother.”

There was the sound of loud male voices with unfamiliar accents in the outer office. Huck flicked his tail nervously and the  kittens became even more agitated.

“Who’s out there?” the doctor shouted, bringing his little fist down hard on the desk. Panicked, the rat jumped off the desk and scrambled for a place to hide. Oxy overcame his fear of heights and jumped from the file cabinet  and Contin instinctively followed him. A cat may always land on its feet but the kittens tumbled over when they painfully hit the floor.

Suspecting it was a robbery, the doctor shouted, “I demand to know who’s out there?” A tense looking man in a gray suit and a striped necktie appeared suddenly in the door to the office. Behind him, looking over his shoulder, stood  a a square faced state trooper.

“Doctor Gudenoff?” the man in the suit asked.

“Yes, I am Dr. Gudenoff,” he answered defiantly. 

“I’m Special Agent Smith with the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency.” He opened a wallet and flashed his DEA badge.

“Your Big Brother badge doesn’t impress me Special Agent Smith, do you understand?”

“This is Captain Porter of the State Police,” Smith said. “We have a warrant to search your clinic.”

“Oh, you, do you?” the doctor said contemptuously.

 “Doctor, do you have a key to the  closet in the outer office?” the trooper asked.

“No,” the doctor said sharply. “You’ll have to ask my office manager.”

Madelyn reached into her blouse pocket and took out the key. It was only then that she remembered where her purse with the Oycontin was. She kept a pair of galoshes in the locked closet. Last night she had heard about an imminent crackdown on the pain clinics. After she opened the clinic that morning, she had put her purse in the right galosh of the fur-lined pair she kept in the closet. What she was thinking as she handed the key to the trooper was that she might lose custody of Barbie when they discovered she had forged prescriptions. They would probably lock the doctor up  for a long time. She had heard that it was the case with doctors that, with the complicity  of their colleagues, who are eager to maintain the priestly status or their profession, that they got away with malpractice, if not murder. But she doubted the doctor would get away with his promiscuous  prescribing of Oxycontin. In the time she had worked for him he must have prescribed as many pills as the McDonald’s sign said it had sold hamburgers. But what would they do to her for having forged prescriptions? At that moment of uncertainty, she would have given anything for an Oxycontin and so would Oxy and Contin, cowering in a corner, as would also the doctor and his pet rat, who were as hopelessly hooked on the drug as anyone in the town. The rest of the country was about to learn  that it was ground zero of Oxycontin addiction in America.

When the doctor and Madelyn were ushered into the outer office by state troopers, Oxy saw his chance of escape. The front door was half open and he scooted for it, with Contin right on his tail and Heck not far behind. 

“Your Big Brother badge doesn’t impress me Special Agent Smith, do you understand?”

Previous chapters

1 http://rivervices.blogspot.com/2010/12/new-years-tale.html

2 http://rivervices.blogspot.com/2011/01/oxy-contin-in-line-at-pain-clinic.html

3 http://rivervices.blogspot.com/2011/03/oxy-contin-meet-barbie.html

4 http://rivervices.blogspot.com/2011/04/4-oxy-and-contin-in-doctors-office.html

5 http://rivervices.blogspot.com/2011/05/from-zanesville-to-zanzibar.html

Devil Shredders

Paper Shredders at work at the Marting Building


The Devil Shredders

“The Devil is running Scioto County.” Governor John Kasich

The devil’s not in hell,

 He’s alive and well

And has been for quite a spell

In our drug-ridden county.

Right now we’re dreading

The devil’s been shredding

Not socks, smocks, and bedding

But documents evidentiary.

Free of all impediments,

The devil’s shredding documents

In all the various departments

Of Marting’s, a virtual mortuary.

“Sensitive documents” galore,

They’re stored on every floor

Of the former department store

That stands now in infamy. 

Finally they found a use

For that poor architectural excuse,

For that useless, decrepit moose

That crooks foisted off on the city. 

That’s were they hid the evidence

That belies their claims of innocence

The notorious ladies and gents

Whose only language is perjury:

Bauer, Baughman, Kalb, Malone—

Clay, Neal, Julia, Carol—the sly flyblown

Souls, the devil’s very own—

Birds of a feather in hell’s aviary. 

Beneath the leaking Marting roof,

The devil’s shredding the proof—

The crooked Foundation head, aloof,

The clerk who goofs off at the grocery,

The shyster-meister of  petty crime,

All slithering in political slime

All groveling in the dregs of time,

The devil shredders of immorality.

                   Robert Forrey

Public Employee Unions: the Democrats’ Achilles’ Heel?

Masthead of the International Association of Firefighters, of which the Portsmouth Fire Dept. is Local 512

Governor Scott Walker’s win in the Wisconsin recall election on  June 5th reflects the serious problem  public sector unions pose for Democrats and for private sector unions as well. Walker announced a year ago that he would attempt to reduce Wisconsin’s $137 million deficit by, along with other measures, denying collective bargaining rights to  public employees and requiring them to pay more for their health insurance and pensions, because the cost of those contributed heavily to the deficit. I’m not an  authority on the budget crisis in Wisconsin,  but I do know something about the budget crisis in Portsmouth. I venture to say that  the financial crisis in our fair city is partly  the result of who the public sector unions negotiate contracts with: namely, the politicians, the elected public officials who know they  will not be reelected if they alienate  public employees by hard-nosed bargaining with their unions. The biggest incentive Portsmouth politicians have is saving  their own skin rather than the taxpayers’ money. They want above all to get reelected and put off competing in the private sector where most of them have  failed miserably.  Three of the current holders of public office—the unelected mayor David Malone, the president of city council, John Haas, whom the charter designates as next in line to be mayor, and councilman Jim Kalb, a former mayor—all three of these jokers mishandled their personal finances so badly that they ended up declaring  bankruptcy (click here). These bankrupts mishandled their finances as badly as Rick Duncan does the city’s waste water. They claim to know how to negotiate with public employee unions on behalf of the taxpayers. Heaven help us!

Firefighter Anonymous

The public sector union representing the Portsmouth Fire Department has been especially adept at taking advantage of Portsmouth’s incompetent and dimwitted politicians. Late in 2011, the firefighter’s union, Local 512 of the International Association of Fire Fighters (IAFF), was rumored to be asking for a 12.5 percent increase over the life of the next contract, and asking for that increase in spite the city and the country being in  greatest financial crisis  since the Great Depression. There are those who say the Portsmouth Daily Times has changed its spots, that it is no longer the mouthpiece of the corrupt clique that controls Portsmouth economically and politically. But on 11 November 2011 the PDT played its familiar game of pretending to be impartial when in reality it was doing its usual dirty work. I refer to Frank Lewis allowing a member of the Fire Department to anonymously express his biased views on the contract negotiations between Local 512 and the city. Just as the PDT now allows anyone, like the ubiquitous crackpot “A Citizen,”  to post comments anonymously in response to stories in the PDT, this Anonymous Firefighter was allowed to present to PDT’s dwindling readership, without challenges or questions, Local 512’s case for the extravagant 12.5 percent pay increase they were seeking.   What the Anonymous Firefighter argued was that a 12.5 percent increase was chicken feed and could hardly make up for the financial sacrifices the firefighters had made and were still willing to continue making in the contract being negotiated.  “Our [pay]checks were actually going backwards with the 12.5 percent increase,” the Anonymous Firefighter told Lewis. The Anonymous Firefighter implied Local 512 would have had to ask for a lot more than 12.5 percent to make up for the financial sacrifices the firefighters had already made, such as foregoing the cash payments they received for unused sick days and accepting less of an annual allowance for clothing, which if I recall correctly they previously were able also take a cash payment for if they didn’t purchase new clothing. 

Mayor un-elect Malone

The firefighters didn’t get the 12.5 percent increase. They got instead the so-called Safety Levy (i.e., tax increase), the income from which was specifically designated to shore up the finances of the Portsmouth Fire and Police Departments. The Anonymous Firefighter complained about Mayor Malone’s unpredictable role in the contract negotiations. Malone “flat-out said yes in one meeting. And the very next meeting said no,” the Anonymous Firefighter told Lewis. It is true that  Malone,in the tradition of Portsmouth mayoral dunces such as Bauer and Kalb, often does not know what he’s doing,  but in the end you can count on him to figure out which side his bread is buttered on. Malone knew he could not afford to lose the support of the public employees,  the police and fire departments especially, which is why he made a personal contribution of $1000 dollars to the committee that was campaigning for the passage of the so-called Safety Levy on behalf of police and fire department employees. Why would a mayor spend a thousand dollars of his own money to support a tax increase for his constituents? Because he knows he has more to fear from public employees than from the public, and from the police and particularly the  fire department, which blatantly exploited the “safety issue” among senior voters in the Safety Levy campaign, especially at places like the Hill View Retirement Center, where firefighter Timothy Alger, now Lieutenant Alger, was reportedly among those firefighters seeing that scare-tactic anonymous flyers (click here)were put, possibly illegally,  into the mail slots of Hill View residents. In a letter to the PDT (5 Dec. 2011), Alger expressed his strong opposition to  city councilman who asked  if there should be a change in the city charter, which currently states the  number of firefighters can not fall below 44, a restrictive condition for any city charter to have, but especially a city in fiscal crisis whose population has been steadily sinking for half a century and is now less than half of what it once was.

Future Portsmouth mayor and chief contract negotiator Rev. Malone, with shades and bible, 
preaching  on steps of Municipal Building 2007 (click here)

The financial “hardships” that the Anonymous Firefighter claims Portsmouth firefighters have had to endure are of the kind that can infuriate unemployed workers in the private sector, who lost in the Great Recession of the past six years not part of their clothing allowance but their livelihood itself, and if anything like these “hardships” of Portsmouth firefighters took place with public employees in Wisconsin, it is not hard to understand why some Democratic union members voted against recalling Governor Walker last week, and it will not be hard to understand if some Democratic private sector union members do the same thing and vote Republican rather than Democratic in next November’s presidential election.  On 8 June, 2012, the International Association of Fire Fighters, the parent union of Portsmouth  firefighters, endorsed the reelection of Obama. The endorsement by a public employee union is a two-edge sword which probably will cut opposite ways in the November elections. Public employee unions may be able to negotiate contracts very effectively with mayors and city councils,  but the disparities in job security and  pensions and benefits between public and private employees is so glaring (though not in the case of public school teachers: click here) that public employee unions may be the Achilles Heel that will cost the Democrats the White House in November.

Dr. Albrecht’s Miracle Magic Snake Oil Fifth-Third Elixir

“Fifth-Third Building Remains Option for City Hall.” Front page headline in Portsmouth Daily Times (Click here).

    “Hey, look what I got here, folks, Dr. Albrecht’s Miracle Magic  Fifth-Third Snake Oil Elixir, guaranteed to cure the Municipal Building Blues and the Marting Blahs so the building would have   value so you pay them based on the value of that lease so you turn around and rent the rest of the building to the city and included in the rent is maintaining the HVAC and the roof repairs and maintenance because that way the city doesn’t come up with any cash and the Marting’s Foundation would then tear down the Marting’s building which the city owns and build a large public parking lot on that property because   Fifth-Third   likes the idea of having a big parking lot across the street from them and then selling the existing city building property on Second Street  to whoever wants to buy it can buy it so they would sell it for whatever they can get for it at an auction to a private developer because the governor  wants to help us by coming up with 3-, 4-, 70-, 80-, 100-people companies and bring them down here and do something quick because Shawnee State is getting this marvelous deed to the Internet super-highway for a  lot of software companies there’s insurance companies there’s banks there’s people that use the Internet that would like to have sites to tap into this Internet so what happens if we tear down the city building and build a nice new building on that property and put in three or four floors of office space and tie into that Internet then the governor would call up a software company and tell them we have a university where we can train your people and we’ve got a hundred gigabyte Internet and we’ve got office space that is probably 30 percent cheaper than what it is where you are and area business leaders are working to try to make the plan become a reality because it is important to me and the others involved that we  keep the public misinformed and out of the loop during every step of the process and  all you have to do is take a few spoonfuls of my Miracle   Magic Fifth-Third   Snake Oil Elixir before bedtime and one fine morning you’ll wake up and Marting’s will be a parking lot and the city offices will be in the   Fifth-Third  Building and on the site of the Municipal Building will be a nice new building that will go to the highest bidder in an auction like the one I rigged in Athens because the governor promised me he would come up with 3-, 4-, 70-, 80-, 100-people companies because the   Fifth-Third   Bank likes the idea and included in the rent is maintaining the same bullshit over and over again since Shawnee State’s got a hundred gigabyte Internet every step of the process and if you’re still with me you’re a bigger chuckle-headed, double-talked to fool that I thought you were and have Indian Rocks in your head.

Now, who’d like a bottle of Fifth-Third Snake Oil Elixir before we begin the rigged bidding on the Municipal Building?”

What the Fifth-Third Building looks like after a few swigs of Dr. Albrecht’s Miracle Magic Snake Oil Elixir.

Survey of Men About Town

"Dubya," Rob "Porkman," and "the Baggage."

Does  Rob Portman have too much Bush baggage to be Romney's running mate?

"There's no way Portman is going to get the bikers' vote. He has no balls. The guy's a closet kayaker." 

"Not only is Portman not going to get the bikers' vote, he's not going to get the accountants' either. The guy has no head for figures. Look what he did when he was Bush's budget adviser."

"I say homosexuality is an abomination but adultery is no sin and carrying someone else's baggage isn't either. I've been carrying Neal Hatcher's for years and I wouldn't be mayor if I didn't. Have you seen my Go for it, Lord! bumper sticker?"

"I wouldn't vote for anyone who's not a FOK, or haven't you seen my Friend of Kevin's bumper sticker?"

"I subscribe to the proverb. which is on the bumper of my seventeen sports cars,  Never marry a virgin or vote for a politician who has not been bankrupt at least once."

"With my bumper sticker, Designated Bumptious Stinker, I would say Portman's nice guy reputation would be a definite hindrance for him as vice president. What he should do is open a bar and offer drinks at half price to all independent voters."

La Cucaracha

Late night infrared photo of a bipedal fiendishly grinning half-human/half-roach La Cucaracha, who is stalking the Crispie Creme Donut Shop.

An online report (click here) in the Daily Times (24-4-12) suggests  that City Solicitor Mike Jones has been getting away with health violations at his Crispie Creme Donut Shop on the corner of Gallia and Waller Streets in Portsmouth. It looks like  Jones has been shown favoritism by the Portsmouth City Health Department. He claims the only issue with his donut shop is infrastructure problems, like the ceiling. Do I understand right? A ceiling falling on you is not a health risk? A dirty floor is not a health risk? But the report in the PDT makes clear infrastructure is not the only problem. The PDT says infestation by “insects” has been persistent. Is insect a euphemism for something?  What are we talking about? Ants, or praying mantises, or what? I doubt it’s ants. A study done at San Jose State College in 1992 determined that ants know better than to eat in donut shops—they know it’s bad for their health. When’s the last time you saw an obese ant? Ants apparently have a much higher DIQ (Donut Intelligence Quotient) than roaches, who get addicted at the drop of a jelly donut. Roaches are apparently “unmentionables” at the Health Department, and even the PDT story didn’t break the taboo by mentioning them.

And we know how desperate donut-addicted roaches  are. In 1939, in Squareton, Indiana, a donut shop owner Walter Jones (no relation to Mike) was reportedly tied up and tortured  by swarming  roaches who had become infuriated when Jones placed Roach Motels (roach traps) throughout his  donut shop. How they tortured him is too gruesome to detail but it involves all those feelers. As hard as that story is to believe, how about the rumor that, because conditions are  so terribly unhealthy at Crispie Creme, a roach mutated  into a huge donut gorging half-roach/half-human creature, La Cucaracha,  that stalks unaccompanied overweight females who buy donuts late at night to bring back to the dorms in Hatcherville. If ants know  what’s good for them, shouldn’t Shawnee State students, especially liberal arts majors?

Is City Solicitor Jones getting away with health violations?

And what has Jones done about cleaning up his shop? Very little judging by the story in the PDT. He is apparently no better as a donut dealer than he is as city solicitor. He gives the phrase out to lunch  new meaning.

You can help fight Portsmouth’s obesity epidemic and roach infestation by not patronizing Crispie Creme, especially if you are an overweight female with a late night yen for donuts.

 Remember the motto of Crispie Creme: Keep your eye upon the donut and not upon the roaches.

For an earlier posting on Crispie Creme, click here.

The Marting Foundation

The Marting Foundation: The Scamarting of Portsmouth

Statement of purpose of the Marting Foundation on its first filing with the IRS for the year 2002

The death of the crooked SOGP (the Southern Ohio Growth Partnership) is a blessed event  in the history of Portsmouth, just as May 29th, 2002, the day the Marting Scam was perpetrated, was “a day that should  live in infamy,” as Andrew Feight put it in “‘Follow the Money’: A History of the Marting’s Scandal.” The SOGP is dead, but its partner-in-crime, the philanthropic front entity known as the Marting Foundation, continues to feebly live on, further tarnishing the once respected, even beloved, Marting name. According to official documents filed with the Internal Revenue Service, the Foundation was established as a charitable organization: “For the purpose of promoting and advancing economic betterment in Portsmouth and Scioto County on a not for profit basis.” That’s what the official statement says, but I believe the Foundation was established  for the economic betterment of the corrupt clique that controls the city on a for-profit basis. I believe the  Foundation was established by the nearly bankrupt Marting Brothers Company with the aim of  liquidating that company and paying  off its local stockholders, especially the largest shareholder (26%), Richard D. Marting, by laundering  the $2 million dollars the company acquired in 2002 from  its  illegal sale to the city of the decrepit and scandalously over-appraised Marting department store building.

The Foundation worked closely with the Marting Company  to deceive the public. Working closely was not hard to do since the trustees of the Foundation were also the trustees of the Marting Company, and for all we know they were also trustees of the short-lived front, the Marting Brothers Acquisition Company, also created in 1996. The overall scheme was so incredibly complicated and convoluted it  was like a distorting mirror in a fun house. It was not just a conflict of interest; it was shameless collusion. From 1996, when the Foundation was created,  to 2010,  Wisnieswski, Johnson, Arnett, Jenkins, and Payne  were also trustees of the SOGP, making it a trifecta: The Marting Company, the Marting Foundation, and the SOGP.   Julia S. Wisniewski, the chairperson of the Foundation, is the owner of Smith’s Drugs, in downtown Portsmouth. Randal M. Arnett is the CEO of the Southern Ohio Medical Center (SOMC). Gerald R. Jenkins is the former president and member of the board of the American Savings Bank. Roy Payne, now deceased, was the first dean of the College of Business at Shawnee State U. Clayton Johnson, was the lawyer who represented the Marting Company and masterminded the  sale of the Marting building to the city. Together, Julia Smith, as Chairperson and Johnson, as ringleader, were the Bonnie and Clyde of the Foundation, only they didn’t rob banks: they borrowed money from them, which was not hard since Johnson was on the board of directors of two of the banks involved: Bank One and the Oak Hill Bank.

The money that the Foundation dispensed from 2002 to 2010 went principally to two organizations. (1)The primary recipient, the Portsmouth city government,  received a $200,000 “kickback,” as Feight called it. Those who follow the machinations of the city council more closely than I do tell me that exactly where and to whom in the city government the $200,000 went is something of a mystery. When asked in a city council meeting, neither Mayor Kalb nor City Auditor Williams could say just where the money went or how it was used. (2)The next highest amount granted was a total of $65,000 to the  Southern Ohio Museum, a pet project of Johnson’s wife, who was its executive director. The Foundation’s 2003  filing with the I.R.S. (below) shows the first down payments, of $100,000 and $5,000, to these favored recipients. Note that the highlighted second column asks if the recipient of a grant is an individual, has he or she any relationship to  any manager of the foundation. The museum is an organization, of course, not an individual, so “NONE” is listed, but it still appears to be a conflict of interest, if not nepotism.

  

What gets publicized are the smaller grants the Foundation makes to other groups and organizations, such as those that make shelter available to homeless pets and people. The Foundation’s more public-relations-minded, smaller grants get publicized while the much larger grants to the pet organization of Johnson’s wife and to the crooks in city government are not considered front page news. Conceived in scandal, dedicated to the laundering of the illegal money from the sale of the Marting building, the Marting Foundation should give back the money it robbed back to the city and dissolve so the Marting scandle can finally be put behind us. The Marting name is now mud and Wisniewski and the others will be too as long they are associated with the Foundation.

Julia Wisniewski ( right) giving Marting Foundation check to Sierra Haven Animal Rescue Center, in 2011.

To read Andrew Feight's outstanding article on the Marting Scam, "Follow the Money," visit his Lower Scioto Valley website : click here

To read Clayton Johnson's testimony before Bureau of Criminal Identification and Investigation on Teresa Mollette's terrific website, click here

Front Street: Unsafe at Any Speed

Front Street: Unsafe at any Speed

Council member Kevin Johnson is trying to get the city to do something about a dangerous intersection. He should  also make an issue of Front Street, in his ward, where Portsmouth’s traffic problems literally begin. Because of its mixed and incompatible uses, and its lack of a traffic light; and with only one stop sign, which happens to be hazardous; and above all because of the speeding,   Front Street functions as the Portsmouth Raceway Annex. As they enter Portsmouth on the West Side, on Route 104, drivers coming over the  Scioto River continue at harebrained speeds on to Second Street, without being slowed down by the posted 35 mile hour speed limit. Maybe the presence of the Speedway, which they pass as they enter the city, makes  them feel like they’re in the last lap of the Indianapolis 500.  The wild ones entering Portsmouth on Route 104 know that there’s an even faster way to speed through Portsmouth than Second Street. Just dogleg right on to Front Street, and you’ve got only one stop sign to bother with. That’s it. There’s not another stop sign on Front  Street from Scioto Street to Shawnee State. 

Mural watchers, two in wheelchairs, one in stroller, maneuvering around two of the  ugly fifteen planters on Front Street

What follows is a list of users on Front Street

·   There is first the mural traffic, which is naturally slow with frequent stops and starts.

·   Then there is the morning late-for-work and afternoon early-getaway-traffic, which pays no attention to the 25 mile per hour speed limit, partly because the only speed limit sign is at the other end of Front Street facing traffic coming west.

·  Next there are the motorcyclists who are attracted by the marvelous motorcycle mural, which is a magnet, the single most visited and photographed  mural on the floodwall. 

·   In addition to the vehicular traffic, there are the pedestrians, most of whom walk on the sidewalk on the northern side of Front Street. But some pedestrians, often especially those accompanied by children, prefer to view the murals by walking along the eleven-foot-wide strolling area next to the flood wall. Those in motorized wheelchairs also prefer to view the murals by traveling along this strip, as do classes of school children. One morning recently  I saw  preschoolers being shepherded along the strip by two adults, with cars speeding by a few feet away on the road.  

·  In addition to all the pedestrian traffic, joggers have in the last couple of years become a conspicuous part of the passing parade on Front Street. Many of the joggers are Shawnee State students, sometimes as many as twenty  in a phys-ed  class or  in clusters of four or five jogging to stay fit.  Joggers run on  both the road itself and the eleven foot wide strip next to the wall. Several organizations sponsor races that use Front Street as part of the course.

Joggers on Front Street running past moveable staging used to clean and touch up murals.

From the beginning, the 11-foot-wide strip had five large planters, holding  plants and flowers. One of the  original purposes of the big planters may have been  to serve as obstructions to any driver who might dare to pass a pokey tourist. No impatient driver would want to tangle with a heavy duty planter. Several years ago some group  placed a  dozen or so smaller planters on the strip with the aim of beautifying Front Street, as if the murals were not beautiful enough. Perhaps the plants and flowers are appreciated but the planters are not:  they are unattractive hazards and  obstacles for pedestrians and joggers, as well as for the two employees on movable staging who touch up and clean the murals year round.  The planters are made of a relatively light synthetic simulated  stone material that the wind and vandals occasionally knock over. There might be a proper place for the planters, in the cemetery perhaps, but not on a street that is as crowded as Front Street.

     Something has got to be done or there could be a serious accident, in which children or disabled people might be injured or killed. Now that J. Edgar Horner is history, maybe the Traffic Committee can be more constructive and less obstructive. But I doubt it. I am told anyone who doesn’t comply with the do-nothing policy of the traffic committee is removed by one means or another. 

 Suggestions for the Traffic Committee 

·   Insist that the police enforce the 25 mile speed limit. Police cruisers frequently go well over  the 25 mile limit in driving from the Municipal Building at one end of Front Street to the police clubhouse near the other end, so they will have to turn over a new leaf before they begin enforcing the limit for others. Now that Horner is no longer chief of police, maybe officers will  not be quite so eager to get away from the police station.

·  Put several stop signs along Front Street. The one sign that now exists at the end of the floodwall is obviously not enough.

·   Consider lowering  the speed limit from 25 to 20 or even 15 miles an hour. When Front Street reaches Shawnee State University, the posted limited becomes 10 miles an hour, and speed bumps help remind drivers to observe the limit. I am told speed bumps were tried on Front Street back when Frank Gerlach was mayor, but  trucks going too fast over the bumps caused dishes in the Biggs House to rattle. Of course nothing will help—not speed bumps or stop signs—if speed limits are not displayed and enforced.

·  Request that whatever group put them there find a  safer, more appropriate place than Front Street for  their simulated stone planters.

·   Repaint the faded traffic lines on Front Street, which are now almost invisible.

·  Repaint the now invisible yellow line along the edge of the  eleven foot strip to make it clear cars and motorcycles should not park or drive on it.

One or more of these suggestions might be worth following. The more popular the murals and the heavier the traffic becomes, the greater the chances of serious injury. Drivers should be discouraged from thinking they are on the Portsmouth Speedway, where there are no speed limits, and  made to understand they are on Front Street, where there are limits that are strictly enforced.

The one stop sign on Front Street is a hazard because it stops only vehicles going east. The other side of the sign is blank, so those driving west do not have to stop, even though just ten yards ahead is a hidden opening where vehicles exit to Front Street from the river side of the flood wall.

Let the city stand on notice that an accident at this spot could cost taxpayers much more than putting another  stop sign on the blank side would.

In summary: Not only is drug trafficking a serious problem in Portsmouth, so is traffic per se. Between the potholes, the faded lane markers, the eliminated traffic lights, and the wannabe Marlon Brandos, driving in Portsmouth is unsafe at any speed. People tend to drive as they live. People who flout laws regarding money, and go bankrupt, as  Kalb, Malone, and Haas have done, also tend to flout laws regarding driving. They don’t observe speed limits because those limits are not enforced as much as they should be. I think people who can’t get ahead in life, want to get ahead on roads and highways by ignoring posted speed limits. I’ve never lived in a town that observes speed limits less than Portsmouth. Maybe the lawlessness of Portsmouth can not begin to be turned around until traffic laws are enforced, and a good place to start enforcing them would be on Front Street, where the police frequently speed between the police station and their clubhouse. Instead of setting a bad example, they should be ticketing.

The Wild Ones

 Jim Kalb is a prime example of a wannabe Brando. He’s been breaking traffic laws since he was knee high to a pill popper. He rides two wheelers but doesn’t have the brains of a three wheeler. As mayor he  crusaded to reduce the number of traffic lights in the city.  We are still living with the consequences of his traffic light foolishness. And how about the  wild wannabe,  city auditor Trent Williams, on his motorcycle?  And don’t forget our serial speeder, councilman Saddler. I suppose city council president Haas is willing to pay much more for high powered foreign cars than he is for child support because he can pass everyone on the highway.  I’ve never lived in a town that observes speed limits less than Portsmouth. Maybe the lawlessness of Portsmouth will not be turned around until, as a first step,  traffic laws are taken more seriously and all the wannabe Brandos stop speeding on Front Street.