WHY NOT ME? – WHY YOU NEED TO HELP TO TURN OUT THE WORKING MIDDLE-CLASS VOTE
Let me explain in terms that most working Middle-Class voters can understand, by telling you a true story . . .
I am feeling like the smashed insides of a wicked sandwich that is designed to obliterate whatever is between the top bread and the bottom bread. It is imperative that the working Middle-Class in our nation vote in unprecedented numbers. Let me explain in terms that most working Middle-Class voters can understand, by telling you a true story . . .
Immediately after Katrina, the entire family was motivated to cook and serve meals to those Katrina victims who were stranded in the gymnasium of a huge church one of our relatives attends. We gave to the Red Cross. I was on the edge of retirement, and donated half of my closet to the local Salvation Army, which had a full house of the natural disaster victims who were looking for work and housing. The point is that we were in over-drive mode for giving charity after the natural disaster named Katrina. I got the bright idea of calling the counselors at the Astro-Arena to see if they had a wheel chair bound person who would like to stay in our home until something permanent could be worked out. We had a wheel chair accessible home, and a spare room with a new single bed we had just purchased for this purpose. In short order we received a call from a counselor to please come and get an older woman who indeed was confined to her wheel chair and would truly appreciate getting out of the Astro-Arena.
When we arrived at the Astro-Arena we were mortified at what we saw outside the Arena. It was dark outside and the parking lot was active with everything from heavy drinking to risqué and risky behavior. We hurried inside and met the counselor where we were told to go. She told us that the lady who was confined to a wheel chair had changed her mind, but she had a middle-aged woman who was scared of the environment she was in, and could we please take her instead. We will give this woman the fictitious name of Ms. Poor while I tell you what happened the next seventeen hours.
Ms. Poor loaded up the entire backend of our SUV with personal belongings she had acquired since coming to Houston. Ms. Poor was ten years younger than me, and when she hopped into the SUV, she clearly stated, “Oooooo weeeeee, you’s my new Mommy and Daddy.” Ms. Poor also seemed to be somewhat intoxicated. We should have stopped the SUV and had some serious conversation with Ms. Poor upon this declaration. But my husband drove on. On the way home we stopped at a major supermarket to purchase lunch items for Ms. Poor for the next day while my husband and I were at work. Ms. Poor hopped out of the SUV and bought a 24 pack of beer. I explained to Ms. Poor that we are not much for drinking, except for special occasions. Ms. Poor assured me that she would not be drinking a lot, but liked to have a beer at night. I let it drop since I was thinking about how she must feel, being displaced from her home town.
On the drive home Ms. Poor made the declaration of all the places I needed to take her over the next few days. The top three out of a list of about ten places was to the Social Security office to change her address for her Social Security checks (declaring that the purchase of a new television was her top priority); to the food stamp place to change her address for her food stamps; and to another government building to check on her re-location of her Section 8 Housing . . . she explained to me that she has had a 3 bedroom brick home for a very long time, and the people at the Astro-Hall assured her they were going to locate a 3 bedroom brick home in the Houston area for her as soon as possible.
I was deep in thought as to how I was going to take off work to take her to all of these places. At this point, Ms. Poor breaks my train of thought by asking me about my health, “Ms. Juanita, you look as if you are really hurtin’ badly when you walk. How long you been walking with that cane?” I explained that the hard floors in the parking lot and in the Astro-Hall were extremely hard on me and I was in more pain than usual. To this, Ms. Poor stated, “I sho’ am happy I have my good health! I am very healthy, yes Mam, I am.” My mind started doing cartwheels as to why a healthy woman of prime working age would have been receiving so much government charity for at least the last twenty years (based on what she told me).
At this point Ms. Poor changed the subject, and asked me if my neighbors were friendly. I told her that most of them were friendly. She said she was glad about that because she and her neighbors in New Orleans barbecued and played dominoes or cards, and listened to music most every day and on into the night. She said she hoped my neighbors were like that. I explained to her that all of my neighbors worked during the day.
When we got home that night, it was past bed-time, so we got her settled down for the night. The next morning she was asleep when we left for work. During the day, something in my mind told me to go home, and so I did. When I arrived home at about one o’clock, Ms. Poor was watching television and had already consumed about half of the 24 pack of beer. Ms. Poor said that there was nothing she was used to doing going on in my neighborhood, and she seemed very unhappy.
I had to tell Ms. Poor that I had called a Limo-Taxi service (the only taxi I could find that would take her all the way back into Houston for under a hundred dollars) to take her back to the Astro-Arena. I was honest with her and told her how I felt about someone as healthy as her not working to make her own way in life. She was very nice about it and said that she totally understood how I felt. She was fairly sure that her Section 8 Housing re-location would happen within a few weeks anyway, and there were a lot of people at the Astro-Hall for her to have fun with.
I asked her why she wanted to leave the Astro-Arena the night before. She said that she had taken her thousand dollars that the government was giving all of them, and had spent two hundred on her pretty hair braids, and she had bought clothes with the rest of it. She stated that someone had stolen her new clothes and the ones she had came from the charity tables, and she didn’t like them. She was mad about that when she asked the counselor lady to get her out of there.
I have told you that true story, because it had a sick irony to it that caused me to wonder just what country I was living in. At that particular time my husband and I were in the middle of making the decision to sell our home in order to pay the medical bills we owed. We were approaching big changes in our life because we were suddenly living beyond our means, and we knew we had to do something about it. Learning first hand that there are healthy people, who are able to work, in this country who live in three bedroom brick homes on my tax dime was very hard for me to understand. My husband and I worked like crazy, in spite of our medical problems, in order to pay our way in life. We were doing a very good job of it until we both developed seriously expensive permanent medical disabilities.
I had not thought about all that in a few years, until I read from several sources last week that our government is now using the same avenue of government subsidized housing for the poor to assist buyers in New York to purchase $1+ Million dollar condos via the Federal Housing Authority. These buyers of million dollar condos are receiving mortgages for a few points under 100% funding.
I perceive this to mean that we of the middle class are not only subsidizing housing for the poor who will not work, but also the rich and the near-rich who are eager to put my tax dollars on the ever expanding government subsidized mortgage block. There is a high probability that many of those million dollar loans are risky because they are for people living beyond their means.
How much more unwarranted government subsidizing and risk can our government pile on us from the bottom, and the top, to crush the working middle class? Our government is out of control in redistributing the wealth in a government charity system that is not only being distributed in gross error to the able-poor, but is now being distributed to the able-wealthy.
The only peaceful solution is for the working middle-class to show up at the voting booth in unprecedented numbers to vote in people from among us who will work to change this travesty. You, in the working middle-class must ask yourself – Why Not Me? – and educate as many voters as you can every day until enough election days have occurred to replace every Socialist / Elitist in our local, state and federal governments. You may be the working Middle-Class statesman who should be asking themselves – Why Not Me? – And put your capable hat into the ring to run for office.
Juanita has forty five years experience as an Accountant. During her last twenty eight years she specialized in the start up phase and / or the recovery phase of businesses from two million in revenue per year, to fifteen million per year. Her sphere of successful influence ranges from accounting, to operations, to the backroom marketing effort. Streamlining and organizing out of control businesses is serious fun for her.
The art of raising a family while working was of supreme importance to her; and she chose a route of self-education coupled with some college. Her endeavors in self-education range from philosophy and history, to Christian studies outside of mainstream religious organizations. Much of her college dollar was spent on enhancing natural management skills and writing skills.
Although Juanita has lived in many regions of the country, she is settled near the Gulf coast in her home state of Texas.
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