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How to Pronounce The Law of the Bureaucrat is simple: “The Bureaucrat is the smartest person in the room.” This Law has a huge impact on everyday life and, if fully understood, will make it clear that we must clean out all the Federal bureaucracies. Further, it demonstrates why Anthony Fauci felt free to pursue gain of function research in collaboration with the Wuhan Institute of Virology. And finally, it explains why he feels free to completely dismiss any criticism of his actions. Let’s break it down. Congress passes lots of laws. But Congress has no interest in actually dealing with the details. Congresspeople love to paint with a broad brush and say they’ve “helped you” by passing a multi-thousand-page act with a wonderful-sounding title. How to implement it is too much trouble for such important people. Instead, they hand it off to a bureaucratic agency. Or, if they are “faced with a problem, be it real or imagined, that stirs voters, politicians propose new programs to solve the problem.” Congress (and this applies at many lower levels as well) simply isn’t smart enough to give bureaucrats adequate direction. “Formulating rules now often requires bureaucrats specializing in finance, economics, statistics, and numerous fields of science.” Imagine Alexandria Airhead Cortez explaining to the CDC how it should “control” diseases. Of course, diseases cannot be “controlled.” Whatever doctors do simply helps your God-given mechanisms do the work.
How to Pronounce "Guess what?" the fat controller asked excitedly. "What?" asked the engines together. "They all agreed!" he announced and that made the engines blew their whistles and cheered loudly. "I can't believe my legendary brother is living with us." said Gordon and quickly closed his eyes. The fat controller and the red engine got into a fit of giggles together. "That means no wheeshing, okay? This is an extremely special occasion." he asked the red engine. "Yes, sir." said the red engine happily. James blew his whistle loud and long for everyone to hear. He blushed afterwards. "That's okay, you were just getting ready." the fat controller said kindly. Gordon opened his eyes and smiled at Henry. They knew this would be perfect for them. "Taro came from the mainline during 1981 and living with us when he comes." Henry explained. "Was he build in Crewe like you are now?" asked Percy. "Yeah, and it was pretty nice giving some of my Welsh coal before I came here." Henry replied. "He has special coal too?" Toby asked. "Of course since we were fine Crewe members." Henry replied. "That must have been wonderful." said Duck, who had just arrived after shunting tar wagons. "It is, and I know he will love it here." Henry answered. Everyone was getting excited as the day went on with their day off. "I sure hope there will be nice diesels." James said quietly. "You know," added Henry, "If you were a carnival game, I think you have a lucky day with the children." "Oh, be quiet," retorted James, "You should of know that Thomas helped me with I had that dream." "And my dream," added Gordon, "You should of known that, Henry, by now." Henry's face went red and looked at his buffers. "You don't have to feel silly, Henry," said Gordon, "We all should remember some things by now or sooner." "Yeah, so I think is it offcially okay." replied James. "Oh, good." said Henry happily. The fat controller laughed and said to meet them at the biggest station. "Can we come too?" asked Alfie. "Of course you can come." the fat controller replied and jumped into James's cab. After a few minutes, everyone took their places. "Everyone, let's start with the tanks first. Our railway needs some tanks to cover their miltary group." the fat controller announced. Some of the engines groaned, even Daisy. "Let's meet the first tank: Stella!" the fat controller announced. Everyone blew their whistles. Stella blushed and her red lips shown in the sunshine. "Next has an unflambe voice and is painted gold. Meet: Heabrtt!" the fat controller announced. "Quite." said the golden tank. "Before we continue, please give a huge welcome to our friend: Edward." the fat controller said. Everyone blew their whistles as Edward gave them a huge hello on his whistle. "James!" cried Edward, "It's so nice to see you." But James didn't have any time to reply to him. The party went on. "Before we say hello to these tanks, please welcome a Crewe built engine: Taro." the fat controller announced. Taro's coat gleamed in the sun as he chuffed into view. He smiled when he saw Henry. "I'm so glad to be on Sodor." said Taro to Henry. Henry sniffed loudly. "Me too." he replied. The tanks smiled and Stella's lips shone brightly. "Let's not forgot our Japenese engine who was found by Thomas: Hiro!" the fat controller said as Hiro chuffed into view. "Thank you, thank you. I'm finally glad to stay off that nasty japanese railway." Hiro chuffed loudly. "Now let's meet two other tanks who will be joining the miltary group: Mart and Doncast." the fat controller shouted. "Hello." said Doncast loud enough for everyone to hear. "Hel 'o." said Mart. Stepney closed his eyes and wished for another Bluebell engine and then opened them back up. "Now let's meet a Bluebell Railway engine: Carlese!" the fat controller called and grabbed his megaphone. "Hello, my classics." said Carlese as his orange paint gleamed and chuffed into view. "Meet another Crewe built engine who was Taro's old partner: Hills!" the fat controller said. Hill's purple coat sparkled as he puffed into view. He spoke in a accent nobody heard before. "Quite the honor to be your member before my manager never said I could." he said. The other engines cheered loudly until James laughed. "Everyone, please welcome the two diesels: BoCo and Bear!" the fat controller announced. "Hello." said Bear happily. "Nice to be back." sighed BoCo. End of part one.
How to Pronounce First, I love learning about different industries and commodities, how they developed over time, often over millennia, shaping world markets and modern political economies (e.g. cotton, gold, salt, cod, petroleum). “The Fish” provides a fascinating introduction to the world of bananas, a fruit that every American today knows and most of whom love on their breakfast cereal or as a mid-day, nutritious snack. Only, as I learned, bananas aren’t actually a fruit and little more than a century ago they were far from common, but rather quite exotic, a true luxury, displayed at the 1876 Centennial Exposition to crowds of gawking onlookers as if it came from another planet. Indeed, according to the author, a banana in 1900 was as unusual to the average American as an African cucumber is today. There’s a lot about the very familiar banana that I never knew. For instance, Cohen explains that the banana tree is actually the world’s largest herb, and thus its offspring, the banana, are technically berries. Even more fascinating, bananas grow from rhizomes, not seeds. In other words, cut appendages continue to grow, replicating the original. As Cohen describes it: “When you look at a banana, you’re looking at every banana, an infinite regression. There are no mutts, only the first fruit of a particular species and billions of copies. Every banana is a clone, in other words, a replica of an ur-banana that weighed on its stalk the first morning of man.” Believe it or not, the story of the banana gets even crazier. If you’ve ever wondered why old black-and-white films joked about slipping on a banana peel even though the banana peel that you’ve long known doesn’t feel particularly slippery, that’s because we have completely different bananas today. In the early nineteenth century, Americans were introduced to the “Big Mike,” a variety of banana that went extinct in 1965. It was bigger, tastier and more robust than the bananas we have today, according to Cohen, and their peels were far more slippery. The bananas we eat today are known as “Cavendish,” their primary benefit being immunity to the Panama disease that wiped out the Big Mike. Again, because bananas are all exact genetic copies, they are highly susceptible to rapid eradication from disease. Second, I’m a sucker for a great rags-to-riches story. The tale of Samuel Zemurray delivers that in spades. He arrived in America in 1891, a penniless Jew from what today is Moldova, and settled in the Deep South. (It may surprise many Americans but the South was far more hospitable to Jews for most our history. For instance, Jefferson Davis had two Jews in his Cabinet; Lincoln had none.) While still in his teens Zemurray recognized a business opportunity where other only saw trash: the ripe bananas that Boston Fruit discarded along the rail line in Mobile, Alabama before shipping off to Chicago and other northern metropolitan destinations. Zemurray was a natural entrepreneur; he had no particular affinity for bananas, it was just the opportunity at hand. “If he had settled in Chicago,” Cohen writes, “it would have been beef; if Pittsburgh, steel; if L.A., movies.” Zemurray quickly turned one man’s trash into cash, renting a boxcar to carry the castoff bananas along the slow rail route through the South, selling his cargo to local merchants at each Podunk rail stop until either his inventory ran out or spoiled. From such humble beginnings did a great international trading company eventually take root, Cuyamel Fruit, named after the river separating Honduras and Guatemala, the heartland of banana growing. By 1925, Cuyamel Fruit Company, the creation of an upstart Jewish immigrant banana jobber, had emerged as a serious threat to United Fruit, the undisputed king of the industry, a company that was led by Boston’s best, the sons of Brahmins. The threat was not because of Cuyamel’s size. In most ways United Fruit still dominated its aggressive rival (i.e. United Fruit was harvesting 40 million bunches a year with 150,000 employees and working capital of $27m, compared to Cuyamel’s 8 million bunches, 10,000 employees and $3m in working capital). The threat was that Cuyamel was a better run business and more innovative, leading the way with selective pruning, drainage, silting, staking and overhead irrigation. “U.F. was a conglomerate, a collection of firms bought up and slapped together,” Cohen writes. Cuyamel, by contrast, was a well-oiled machine, vertically integrated and led from the front by Zemurray, the ultimate owner-manager-worker. Cuyamel’s success was certainly no accident. It was the product of hard work, an obsessed owner-operator who understood his business at a visceral level, a skill earned over decades of hard, unglamorous work. Zemurray adhered to his own, classically American immigrant code of conduct: “get up first, work harder, get your hands in the dirt and the blood in your eyes.” Cohen describes his commitment and ultimate advantage this way: “Zemurray worked in the fields beside his engineers, planters, and machete men. He was deep in the muck, sweat covered, swinging a blade. He helped map the plantations, plant the rhizomes, clear the weeds, lay the track…unlike most of his competitors, he understood every part of the business, from the executive suite where the stock was manipulated to the ripening room where the green fruit turned yellow…By the time he was forty, he had served in every position from fruit jobber to boss. He worked on the docks, on the ships and railroads, in the fields and warehouses. He had ridden the mules. He had managed the fruit and money, the mercenaries and government men. He understood the meaning of every change in the weather, the significance of every date on the calendar.” Indeed, dedicated immigrants like Sam Zemurray have made America great. There’s nothing wrong with doing grunt work. In fact, it’s essential. United Fruit bought out Cuyamel in the early days of the stock market crash of 1929, when the former had a market share of 54% to the latter’s 14%. United Fruit’s profit was some $45m and its stock price $108. By 1932, profit was down to $6m and the stock languished at $10.25. “The company was caught in a death spiral,” according to Cohen. By January 1933, Zemurray used his massive stake and proxy votes to take over the company, claiming “I realized that the greatest mistake the United Fruit management had made was to assume it could run its activities in many tropical countries from an office on the 10th floor of a Boston office building.” The immigrant with dirt under his nails and a rumbled jacket knew the business better than the Ivy Leaguers with manicures and pinstriped suits. Indeed, the fish (Cuyamel Fruit) was swallowing the whale (United Fruit). Zemurray would run the company until 1951, arguably the most successful years of its history. In 1950, the company cleared $66m in profit. By 1960, profits would fall to just $2m. United Fruit collapsed, eventually restructuring and reinventing itself as Chiquita Brands, based in Cincinnati. When Zemurray started in the industry at the turn of the century, bananas were curiosities, a sidebar trade, something for the rich. By the time he retired, bananas were part of the daily American fabric, the interests of the industry consistent with that of political leadership in Washington. Indeed, some of the most illustrious and powerful men in government had close connections to United Fruit during the Zemurray era: CIA director Allen Dulles (member of the board of directors), secretary of state John Foster Dulles (U.F. legal counsel at Sullivan & Cromwell), New Deal fixer Tom Corcoran (paid lobbyist), UN Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge (large shareholder), among others. By the 1950s, Cohen writes, “it was hard to tell where the government ended and the company began.” At its height, Cohen says, United Fruit was “as ubiquitous as Google and as feared as Halliburton.” For anyone interested in business history, American politics in Central America or the development of the global fruit industry, “The Fish that Ate the Whale” is a book to own and savor. Read less