View From The Middle

By Charles Rogers

In light of what has been going on in Washington because of the disastrous financial crisis, few of the current administration's leaders have looked beyond their own noses to find a solution. We know that speed is of the essence at this time; that if Congress and the administration don't iron it out completely — to most people's satisfaction — havoc will be wreaked and we'll see Great Depression #2 upon us, with daddy standing in a torn coat on a street corner selling apples and mommy stirring a kettle of wash she'd taken in to make ends meet.

Heaven forbid anything would get that bad, but the naysayers warned us about it and, as a result, earlier this week the $700 billion bailout was turned down in the House, despite those overnight (almost) meetings last weekend. Some of the holdouts were expected, of course, with the Democrats blaming the Republicans and the Republicans blaming the Dems. Isn't if funny that, all of a sudden, the Democratic-controlled Congress is not responsible when things don't go their way.

Meanwhile (to get to my point), they might as well have avoided the whole show if they had asked for a little help from at least a couple of private parties, either by advice or by their out-and-out active participation, namely two billionaires by the name of Warren Buffet and Michael Bloomberg.

First of all, Buffet has already ameliorated part of the disaster by simply investing $5 billion of his own money into the investment bank Goldman Sachs Group, thus setting an example never followed by the big guys in Washington. No wonder the group called him, "arguably the world's most admired and successful banker." He takes chances, but knows when to stop. Whereas the banks and investment firms that got us into this mess took chances — but had no idea when to stop because of their out-and-out greed. They should have known enough to stick to a plan that would bring them a little bit of valued interest, instead of bilking the "little man" into thinking he could pay back such a big mortgage on that house in no time at all.

Then....how about that call to Mr. Bloomberg?

"Hey, Mike. We could use a little help, y'know? Remember those plans you put into place where you made prospective homebuyers show precisely how they'd be able to pay back the loans on their homes? Remember how you said buyers couldn't put in more than 30 percent of their monthly income to the mortgage payment — otherwise they wouldn't be granted the mortgage? You also said you wouldn't work with anything other than a fixed-rate mortgage. There were some other prerequisites, but it all turned out that only a tiny percentage of the mortgages granted last year were declared in default. Pretty good record, Mike."

So why hasn't anyone sought out Warren and Mike for, at worst, advice?

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Y'know how, when you're walking down the street and you see someone you know, but you just can't place him, how embarrassing it is? You don't know what to do as far as acknowledging the person. Do you stop and say, "I know you. I can place the face, I can't recall the name, ha, ha." Do you almost ignore the person? Do you look the other way, pretending not to see him?

Here's what brings about this dilemma: Many years ago while I was working in Manhattan I would work all kinds of hours. In the 24-hour news biz it could be 2 a.m. but one would think it was high noon because of the personnel on hand. The only exception would be the cleanup crew on hand and the lack of the usual office people: secretaries, clerks, etc.

One quiet weekend night I was secluded behind the assignment desk down this long hallway from the film editing department at NBC News. Each time I would leave my office on the ninth floor, I would walk down this hall and past one of the editing rooms where I would see this familiar man wearing a corduroy jacket, "smoking " an unlit pipe and working on a script with a film editor. Each time I passed the room, the guy would look up and he'd ask, "How are ya?" I'd acknowledge him and say something unusually original, like, "Hey. How ya doin'?" and we'd go about our business. I could have sworn I knew the man, but, for the life of me, I couldn't remember where I'd met him or in conjunction with what occasion.

I saw him again under the same circumstances, oh, about three times that evening and then, the next night too. Each time, I became more annoyed with myself for not having remembered this man. Could it have been an old college friend? How about an acquaintance from the good old U.S. Air Force?

Finally, I admitted to myself that I was the one who had the faulty memory and I walked down the hall just as the man stepped out of the editing room and we came face to face.

"Listen," I said. "I'm really sorry about my memory, but we've met before and I can't remember when or where. I know I know you. My name's Chuck. What's yours?"

"Hi," He said. "I'm glad to meet you. My name's Paul Newman."

We had coffee.