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Every man is a collection of his experiences. Sometimes they move him forward. Sometimes they hold him back.
Among the more promising candidates nominated Monday for President-elect Barack Obama’s Cabinet was Arizona Gov. Janet Napolitano, who was named for secretary of Homeland Security. She was a good choice, not only for her wisdom as a border state leader but also because she seems to get that an educated work force is the key to economic strength.
Nothing was subtle about the makeover endured by my friend, then a newbie to broadcast journalism. We were paired up several years ago; her as the newly minted MU journalism graduate, me as the more senior reporter. Our matchup was through a national program to place experienced reporters at the disposal of new ones, from their last year of college through the first several years of their professional lives.
Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s condo we go. That is the route Charlie Brown and his pals took during the annual broadcast of their Thanksgiving special.
Since Ayman al-Zawahri, the poster boy of Islamic terrorism, has brought the subject up, it’s worth considering how Islam transformed the person we know as Malcolm X, and what that may have to do with the man we will know as the 44th president of the United States.
Missouri, news accounts are proclaiming, must be stripped of its bellwether standing. This presidential election, the state did not choose the winner. If this hasn’t been pounded into your head enough lately, Missouri has tipped toward the winner of every presidential election since 1900, with the exception of 1956. And now 2008.
The burning question of the recent presidential campaign, as cynics put it, was this: “Is the U.S. more sexist or racist?”
Kerry Magana died Thursday morning, her life a testament to the difference a stranger can make. The 15-year-old had been ill with leukemia for two years. In September, she received a bone marrow transplant. But the disease and the treatments had ravaged her body, causing problems with her liver and lungs.
Green with envy I was, upon receiving the text message a friend sent me from an exclusive reserved section during Barack Obama’s post-election gathering at Chicago’s Grant Park.
When the giving is good, the greedy get needy. This aspect of human nature deserves addressing as the Salvation Army red kettles are set out, the United Way closes out its annual donation drive, Project Warmth begins and lists for “Adopt a Family” are posted on office bulletin boards.
The Kauffman Scholars program, the legacy of Project Choice, has run into one of the stickiest areas of the country’s immigration quandaries — how to treat children whose parents brought them here illegally.
A movie scene keeps playing in my head. Jimmy Stewart is delivering lines from the Christmas classic, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
The intent is to revive an art form that Prohibition nearly killed: Mixology, practiced in a small, out-of the way clubs where ambiance and the quality of the cocktail’s ingredients are fully appreciated, like a fine meal.
As her daughter lies in a medically induced coma, Claudia Cabrera continues to insist: “I’ve never lost my faith because God keeps giving me angels.”
Come Nov. 5, John McCain supporters might just rue the day they made all those wisecracks about community organizers.
Frank Harvey absently picks a speck of lint from the forehead of his childhood friend. A parting gesture for yet another familiar corpse.
Their images share the haunting starkness of prints from the Great Depression. Captured in black and white, the faces of the braceros appear weary with the burdens of their day: dusty landscapes of endless fields of cotton and sugar beets to tend, orchards of oranges to pick, and lines to stand in awaiting a meager midday meal.
If Jenesis Magana could cure cancer, she most surely would. She’d take her background as a Kauffman scholar, her fascination with biology, her dedication to the robotics squad and figure out a thing or two. For now, though, she’s marching her tiny frame through the curvy corridors of Children’s Mercy Hospital.
Give me three Latino principals for one Latino school board member any day. Or 10 teachers as role models within the Kansas City School District, now nearly 25 percent Latino.
In the great search for somebody to blame for the nation’s economic meltdown, an easy scapegoat is emerging.
For today’s eighth-graders, barely in their teens and years away from casting a ballot, this presidential election probably won’t be the most important of their lifetimes.
To appreciate the wisdom of the man who labeled himself Gen. David H. Petraeus’ “potted plant,” the bleating sides of the country’s culture wars will need to simmer down.
So Michelle Obama came to Kansas City's 18th and Vine district, legendary for its role in African-American culture. Her speech was significant because of something she conspicuously neglected to acknowledge: She is on the cusp of becoming the nation’s first black first lady.
Alice Cousineau was the teenager parents hope for. She listened and obeyed. She didn’t talk on the cell phone while driving, much less text. She didn’t speed. She drove slowly, carefully, as Mom and Dad advised.
In years past, people would say economic times like these called for “buckling down.” That is, facing difficult responsibilities. Making sacrifices, with the faith that doing so would get us through a tough spot.
The lieutenant colonel is having trouble swallowing his spit. The careful enunciation that punctuated his every word when the conversation began is waning. Fatigued, he garbles his words and he knows it.
To understand the culture of the FBI, study the lives of agents after they leave the bureau. Without access to crime labs, the most detailed databases, and no longer “being able to leap tall buildings,” as one former agent joked this week, means becoming more like a regular Joe or Jane Doe.
The crux of our political derailment is that old devil, identity politics: voting for people because they seem “like us.” Otherwise sane people seem to be succumbing to it.
The financial troubles of Newhouse, the area’s oldest and largest women’s shelter, appeared to conclude this month with a happy flourish. An angel donor saved the day, contributing enough to reopen the shelter and rehire staff.
Football was irrelevant to the questions running through Eddie Kennison’s mind, at least for this moment.
