Recalling Post-Communism, Romania 1996

BUCHAREST, September 18, 1996: The old Ilyushin 18 (YR-IMF) was built in 1964.  Its five-man crew from Tarom had been together a long time, including a year on contract to Cubana where the transatlantic crossing went Prague, Rekyavik, Gander, Havana. 

The crew strolled into the Timisoara airport lobby at dinnertime.  Waiting for the flight to Bucharest, I was delighted to learn that this would be our crew and the IL-18 the aircraft.  I had thought the flight to the capital was the newer BAC 11 twinjet on the tarmac.

One of the crew, a rotund man with two stripes on his sleeve, spoke English. He was pleased when I expressed enthusiasm about getting another ride in an 18 before they are retired.  He introduced me to the captain across the table who asked if I would be his guest in the cockpit during the flight to Arad and Bucharest.

My only time on an IL-18 had been with Interflug, the defunct East German carrier, from Budapest to Leipzig in mid-1982.  I remember the squishy seats that were so low that you had raise up to see out of the window.  Then there was the memorable fact that GDR passengers ignored the no-smoking sign despite the flight attendant’s command to follow instructions.  

As with the doors on other Soviet planes, the Tupolev 134 and 154, you have to duck when coming aboard.  Large lamps were spaced along the ceiling. The cabin had a big section in the middle and smaller ones fore and aft separated by the galley and lavatories. A lumpy red carpet rolled down the center aisle. The sturdy seatback tables had an uneven spackled metal surface. Unoccupied seats were folded completely forward. Thin plastic rims encased the circular windows. The overhead storage rack was a continuous narrow shelf that could accommodate coats and small briefcases. 

In the cockpit I felt I was in a John Wayne movie where he is a piloting a B-24 against the Japanese. There were white cloth covers over the floppy earphones worn by the pilots. The cockpit gauges and dials were primitive; nothing was digital.  The navigator sat squished behind the captain at a cramped table with a scope illuminated by a crane-necked lamp. The radio operator’s setup was identical behind the co-pilot, dozens of gauges were arrayed behind him. He clutched a primitive microphone in one hand. As we taxied, the throbbing and shaking from four engines made conversation difficult.

The flight engineer sat in a middle jump seat that had no back.  He seemed to be squatting on the floor as he pulled the center levers backwards and forward.  The silver-haired captain with halting English sat low to the floor and reached up to grasp the throttles as well as the yoke.  Sluggish dials got thumps from the back of his hand and once a healthy whack. A sliding window was half open as we prepared for take off.

When the brakes were released we surged forward, the engines groaning and metal vibrating as we gained speed. In the air the flying was smooth. I savored a rare experience, the thrill tempered from observing outdated technology.

During takeoff and landing I was surprised at the cackle of multiple voices from heads clustered in close proximity behind the captain.  I thought the cacophony was dangerous until I realized these were men who knew each other well and had performed these tasks hundreds of times.  Approaching Bucharest there were again several heads peering past the pilot’s shoulder. Positions and instructions were called out.

With the night sky clear it was exhilarating to cruise above the lights of the capital and then float down towards Bucharest’s domestic airport.

Having never been in the cockpit of a big plane during landing I was surprised how fast we descended. For me the lighted runway resembled the deck of an aircraft carrier.  I thought we were too high but a moment later we touched down. 

Parked at the gate, I asked the captain his impressions of the IL-18. He replied, “I like having four engines and a crew instead of a computer that does the flying. And the plane is strong and it is safe.”

It was a peak experience reminding me of the time not long ago in the States when  Eastern Airlines retired an American version of the IL-18, the Lockheed Electra, from the New York to Washington shuttle.   The full-page newspaper ads declared, “Farewell old prop.”  

Governors Sound Alarm on Pain Pill Epidemic

WHITE SULPHUR SPRINGS, WV: At last weekend’s summer meeting of the National Governors Association there was an unexpected bipartisan call to arms against drug abuse.

Oklahoma’s Republican governor Mary Fallin described the prescription drug epidemic as “the enemy within,” a threat to national security equal to Islamic terror.  Steve Beshear, Kentucky’s Democratic governor, stunned the audience with the statistic that more Americans are dying from drug overdoses than die on the nation’s highways.

As governors from up two-dozen states listened, Dr. Debra Houry from the Centers for Disease Control said drug overdoses caused 145,000 deaths over the past decade. It is an epidemic, she said, spreading at an alarming rate with “drug related deaths up by 400% since 1999.”

Despite appeals to hold back, she said physicians continue to overprescribe powerful painkillers, which in medical terms are opioids, addictive opium-related synthetic compounds whose excessive use impacts the brain like heroin. She said 260 million prescriptions for pain killers were written in 2012, “enough for every adult in the country to have his own bottle of pills.” Common painkillers are Oxycontin, Percocet and Vicodin.

Dr. Houry cited research showing that the recent upsurge in heroin use is connected to the overuse of painkillers. Pain pill abusers, she said, are 40 times more likely than others to move on to heroin. 

Connecticut’s Democratic governor Dannel Malloy said heroin use has exploded because it is cheaper than painkillers.  The heroin now on the streets, he said, is so pure that it is increasingly killing first time users, often young people between 17 and 26. This cohort, “ who think they’ll live forever,” typically become addicted by first snorting crushed pills.

Pointing to research that most abusers initially get pills from friends and relatives, Malloy called on doctors “to stop writing long-term prescriptions.” If painkillers are prescribed for only a brief period for dental extractions, he said, that should also be the case for those who have had knee or hip replacements.

Former California Republican congresswoman Mary Bono, whose son suffered from substance abuse, said if 100 dolphins washed up everyday on Florida beaches there would be a national outcry. Yet, she said, even more Americans—43,000—are dying annually from drug overdoses.

Governor Rick Snyder, Michigan Republican, agreed that the scope of the problem is huge. “When I recently asked sheriffs in rural Michigan what is their number one problem,” he said, “they replied prescription drug abuse.”

Lieutenant Patrick Glynn, a drug specialist at the Quincy, MA police department, emphasized treatment and said drug abuse is a disease and not a crime. But he said people “have too many pills in the medicine cabinet,” often the first target of addicts breaking into homes.

Glynn is a proponent of first responders carrying narcon (Naloxone), a quick response drug that reverses the effects of opioid poisoning which attack receptors in the brain, causing the user to stop breathing.

Health and Human Services secretary Sylvia Mathews Burwell told the governors the Obama administration wants to devote an additional $100 million to fight the drug addiction epidemic.

Former congresswoman Bono called the crisis an abuse of medicine, “a previously unknown silent killer,” that is impacting too many American families. 

(A version of this story appeared on marketwatch.com. See more of Barry's work at econbarry.com)

Remembering Mozambique Independence

My, how the world has changed. 

Mozambique independence in 1975 was a kind of high water mark of communism. Fresh from victory in Portugal’s 1974 military coup and its triumph in Vietnam, 'world revolution' arrived in southern Africa on June 25, 1975 with the People’s Republic of Mozambique.

In the days before the Portuguese handover, pundits in what was still Lourenco Marques wondered whether the Frelimo liberation movement would embrace Soviet communism or its rival Chinese variant. Newly arrived foreign correspondents counseled that clues would be revealed by where dignitaries were placed on the dais. Would the Russians or Chinese be seated closest to Samora Machel and Frelimo leadership?

Ian Smith in a Rhodesia, awkwardly perched between Mozambique and soon to be independent Angola, warned that the Kremlin’s objective was a belt of compliant states stretched across the subcontinent. In South Africa the Financial Mail worried that Frelimo would squeeze Smith economically by closing Mozambican ports to Rhodesian commerce.

It was in Mozambique that I observed my first revolution, if that’s the right term. In late 1974 and 1975 I made three trips to the country, always exhilarated by the ease with which blacks and whites interacted compared to the stifling constraint of apartheid. 

But the shortcomings of Portuguese rule were equally visible. Why were the cab drivers in a black majority city almost exclusively white? Why in 300 years had the Portuguese failed to build a highway between the capital and Beira, the second city 1200 km north?

Mozambique and Angola were rushed to independence because the coup plotters in Lisbon wanted a quick end to Portugal's African wars. For all of its bluster Frelimo had liberated very little Mozambican territory. By its own admission the liberation group was ill-prepared to assume power. Significantly the independence agreements for Mozambique and Angola made no reference to free elections or democracy. Mozambique was to be a one party state ruled by the vanguard party.

As independence approached Beira was curiously silent. The only activity was in the port. British frigates could be seen off shore. At the airport despondent settlers lined the tarmac awaiting refugee flights to Portugal.  On the train to Rhodesia I was one of only a dozen passengers.

Mozambique independence was my first assignment for NBC News. As the midnight hour approached for the celebratory hauling down of the Portuguese flag seasoned correspondents headed not to Machava Stadium but the suburban home of Fernando Fernandes, everybody’s L.M. stringer, to be in the queue for the telex machines that would get the story out.

Returning to Johannesburg it was strange to listen to Radio Beijing where the English program consisted of reading verbatim from Chairman Mao’s little red book. ANC broadcasts from Dar es Salaam voiced the empty rhetoric of imperialism’s retreat and the certainty of African revolution.  

Fast forward 40 years and 1975 is a time warp. Portugal rather quickly abandoned socialism and moved to democracy and eventual membership in the European Union.

Communism was repudiated by its main practioners, China and Russia.  A modernizing China moved towards a market economy in the late 70s while maintaining only the trapplngs of communism. Mikhail Gorbachev said the Russians had tried but failed to make communism work. In 1991 the Soviet Union imploded and fragmented into multiple states.

For its part Frelimo abandoned communism in 1990 and dropped ‘peoples republic’ from the country’s name. Property and enterprises that had been nationalized were privatized. With huge gas and coal deposits in the north, foreign investment is propelling rapid economic growth.

In the globalized world China has emerged as the biggest winner. Millions have been lifted  out of poverty not by communism but by free market capitalism.  China has risen to be the world's second biggest economy.

A visitor to Mozambique today witnesses a Chinese presence that is large and growing. The Chinese built Maputo’s modern airport. They are big investors in liquefied natural gas, minerals and agriculture.

One doesn’t have to see where they’re seated on the dais to know that the Chinese are winners. Hopefully, the Mozambicans are making up for lost time are becoming winners as well.

News Goes Mobile

WASHINGTON:  After years of decline, mainstream media is seeing signs of turnaround and it’s all on line, particularly mobile.  That’s a take-a-way from the World Media Congress that took place in Washington from June 1 to 3.

As any reporter still getting paid knows, the transition to digital has been brutal. In ten years the number of working journalists is down 20%, traditional media share prices fell 80% while ad revenue fell by two-thirds.

Washington Post executive editor Marty Baron says things are getting better.  New owner Jeff Bezos, says Baron, has brought, “questions, ideas, patience and money,” guiding the Post’s transition. With newly hired reporters joining veterans, Baron says its digital audience has grown dramatically to 47 million unique visitors per month, lifting the Post into the top ten digital news sites.

Larry Kramer, retiring publisher of USA Today, is similarly upbeat. He sees opportunities because “more people are reading content than ever before.” Gannett, he says, is having success integrating national and local coverage among its nearly 100 properties.

Online advertising executive, Sorosh Tavakoli sees “explosive growth” in mobile, which he believes will soon be dominant.  Video on mobile is huge, he adds, and bigger smart phone screens translate into longer views.

Dave Callaway, executive editor of USA Today, says mobile users want accurate news quickly and often. “What do we know right now?” Callaway says social is the key to mobile and “digital changes how we tell stories.”

From Brazil Marta Gleich of Zero Hora—with a string of newspapers and TV stations—emphasized productivity. Every newsroom, she said, is given a daily quota of stories and videos.  Journalists are judged on a skills map evaluating competence, story telling, facility with mobile and social, video shooting and editing,

Digital allows writers and editors to know the number of clicks and time spent on each story. The US edition of the UK’s Guardian, now among the top ten sites, uses a heat map ranking the popularity of each story on the home page. “Traffic,” says its US C.E.O Eamonn Store, “drives revenue,” and he expects the US edition to be profitable in three years.

 Journalists are encouraged to promote their stories and begin the conversation with readers.

As 1/3 of US adults consume news on mobile, it’s not a surprise that Facebook and Snapchat have launched partnerships opening their sites to content from publishers.

Facebook has a trial project with nine entities, including the New York Times, BBC, Atlantic and the German sites Spiegel and Bild.  Snapchat’s Discover is a partnership with 12 publishers, including CNN, Yahoo News, National Geographic, and ESPN.

The picture sharing site’s head of media Nick Bell describes Snapchat Discover as a continuous vertical scroll,  “a fun and easy way to explore the day’s stories.”  

Snapchat’s Nick Bell demonstrating the ‘continuous scroll’ of Discover

One presenter attribute the explosive growth of news on mobile to the 700 million iPhones Apple has sold in seven years, including 20 million iPhone 6s.

The World Media Congress drew 1,000 editors and publishers from 80 countries. 

Berkshire 2015: Notes from the Warren and Charlie Show

OMAHA: As usual the Warren Buffett and Charlie Munger show played to thousands of the faithful at Omaha’s main sports arena.  The day-long Saturday session was chock full of jokes and wisdom for investors.

This 50^th annual meeting (my fifth) was noteworthy for the principals pronouncements on the euro currency and China.

 The Young and Not So Young in Omaha

There have always been questions about the euro but this time both Charlie and Warren were more skeptical, arguing that changes are required for the system to be viable. Munger said the € has done well, but the flaws must be addressed.  “They created something that is unwise,” he said,  “they’ve got countries in there that shouldn’t be there.” Obviously referring to Greece, he said in his inimitable way,“you can’t do business with your drunken brother.”

He complained that Greece had submitted false statements (assisted by a US investment bank) to get into the system.  The Europeans, said Munger, have to face up to the system’s flaws. Surprisingly, Buffett chimed in saying, “in its present form it’s not going to work.”  Combined, this is a stronger critique than had been voiced at earlier meetings.

Munger was ecstatic about what China has achieved in boosting living standards. it’s “totally miraculous” what the country has done so far. “I would have not believed a country of that size could move so far, so fast.”

The 91-year-old Munger believes President Xi Jinping is consciously modeling the successes of Lee Kuan Yew’s Singapore, rooting out corruption, even putting some of his friends in jail. Munger sounded almost like a member of China’s politburo, saying “they’ve found a way to unlock the potential of their people.”

Buffett agreed, saying it is amazing what China has done. “It blows me away,” he said. “As Charlie says, China and the US are going to be the superpowers for as far as the eye can see.” He said despite inevitable conflicts China and the US have to find a way to work together.

There was, of course, the usual wit. They said,”we think that any company that employs an economist has one employee too many.”

Munger had this observation about Germany: “Germans work fewer hours than a lot of people and produce a lot more.”

Buffett corrected a questioner who asked about his giving away 90% of his enormous wealth. Actually, said Warren, “I’m giving away 99%.”  Most of those billions go to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Buffett quipped, “there’s no Forbes 400 in the graveyard.”

The weather was super, springtime in Omaha.  And the show goes on as neither Warren nor Charlie gave any hint of stepping down.

Beating the Mojave's Cycling Demons

PHOENIX:  Shortly after Pearl Harbor, General George S. Patton took charge of a swath of sand that stretched from Palm Springs almost to Phoenix.  Centered on the Mojave Desert and encompassing 18,000 square miles, it was here that Patton simulated tank warfare and toughened up recruits for Operation Torch, the November 1942 invasion of North Africa.

Eventually one million GIs passed through the Desert Training Center, for a time the world’s biggest military facility.  In temperatures that reached 100 degrees, soldiers with a rifle and full pack were required to run a mile in under ten-minutes.

 Patton’s headquarters, Camp Young, has long since been reclaimed by the desert. Today it is Chiriaco Summit, a pit stop breaking the monotonous drive on Interstate 10 between LA and Phoenix.  After filling up motorists can pay $5 and view memorabilia and old tanks at the General Patton Museum.  Eastbound travelers are cautioned that this is last gas for 67-miles.

Dust storm gathers behind General Patton statue

For an eastbound cyclist who had yet to begin the nine-mile, 7% climb to the approaches to Chiriaco Summit, the 90-miles of desert separating Indio and Blythe is a formidable challenge. This empty expanse has no place to stay and I am traveling without a tent or sleeping bag.  I average 45-miles a day and 90 miles in desert conditions is too much. I can’t leap this chasm in a single day and am stymied as what to do.

Until recently there had been one other possibility, but this too has vanished. There was a gas station and restaurant at Desert Center, an oasis 23-miles beyond Chiriaco. Long-distance cyclists used to appeal to their comrades to say hello to Doris, the friendly waitress at the café that boasted it hadn’t closed in 60-years. Unable to cover costs, it and everything else at Desert Center closed in July 2012, leaving behind a ghost town, or more accurately a derelict, empty rest stop.  The only activity at Desert Center now is the exchanging of east and westbound loads for Fedex and UPS and the occasional driver who pulls off the interstate to sleep.

Abandoned buildings at Desert Center

A  solution to my conundrum came in a dream while overnighting with friends in Palm Springs.  Could I rent a car and carry my bike to Blythe, leave it, drive back to Palm Springs, and then take a bus back to Blythe?  

In fact, this is what happened and the photos of the outpost at Desert Center were taken during a break as I drove back to Palm Springs.

Bus from Indio, near Palm Springs, to Blythe

Cycling in the Mojave is not for the feint-hearted. And it’s not just the heat and boredom.  As I pedaled into Palm Springs two days earlier the challenge was wind, and for several hours it was a dangerous menace.

Riding the 43-miles from Beaumont the wind became so strong that I stopped several times to avoid being blown over. There is a reason hundreds of giant windmills populate the desert floor west of Palm Springs.

Wind farm on highway 111 west of Palm Springs

Setting out from Blythe on the Colorado River at the California Arizona border I wasn't sure how far I would get. My first target was Quartzsite, a town on Interstate 10 20-miles past Blythe. Riding along the shoulder of the interstate I took the exit for Quartzsite to get information for what kind of accommodation was available farther on.  Stepping into the lobby of a Super 8 motel, I was surprised by this sign taped to the door.

"If you're walking outside the motel be aware that this is the season that snakes wake up and are coming out. If you see one on the motel property, DO NOT BOTHER IT, but report its whereabouts to management."

Riding on, the wind had dissipated and the threat of rain was gone.  I continued on the interstate and took the Adventure Cycling Association route that turned off at exit 31. From there it was five-miles northeast to Brenda, AZ where I spent the night. The day ended with six-hours of riding covering 45-miles. 

 On a map that reaches from Palm Springs to Phoenix, Brenda isn't shown but is a village 17-miles west of Hope.

It was a 55-mile ride from Brenda, Arizona to Aguila, my target for the next day. Stopping for lunch in Hope, I phoned ahead to the only motel in Aguila.  To my chagrin the owner reported he had no vacancy, every room was occupied by farm laborers. He suggested that I enquire at the RV village at the edge of town as they might have a camper that could be rented for the night.

 As the lonely ride dragged on, I realized my options were limited.  There was no way that I wished to continue to Wickenburg, 24-miles past Aguila.  Pulling into the lot of the RV village, a loud chorus from grackles in a lone tall tree may have been a warning.

The sign on the office door said 'Closed' and the rotund man who pulled out from the camp in a pickup truck said the owners were away and wouldn't return for several days.  The man in the Dodge Ram introduced himself as Willy. He asked what I was going to do and I replied I wasn't sure. Perhaps, I said, the motel would give me a blanket and allow a visitor to stretch out in the office overnight.  At that Willy said he would take me to Wickenburg for $100. He agreed to take $20. Minutes later the bike was in the back of Willy's truck and we trundled off to Wickenburg.

 Willy is a team roper, a cowboy who competes in a two-man team to determine who is most skilled in roping steers. Wickenburg, he assured me, is a center for the sport and Willy comes down for the season from his home in Elko, Nevada.  Willy, a Shoshone Indian, is 78 and says he is not the oldest of the several hundred ropers in the region.

Team roper Willy from Nevada

Wickenburg is a pleasant town 66-miles northwest of Phoenix. At this point I knew the biggest challenges were behind me.  It shouldn’t be hard work to reach the Arizona capital and the end point of my journey.

Phoenix exists because of irrigation and air-conditioning. It has grown to be 50-miles wide and cycling paths have been created adjacent to its several canals. It is jarring to have departed the desert sand and arrive in fashionable neighborhoods with watered lawns.

 Meeting in Scottsdale four heavily laden riders going in the opposite direction, I called out, "where are you headed?" The answer came from a petite woman in green, "San Diego," to which I replied, "I've come from L.A."  Riding on, I realized that five-second exchange would have meaning only to cyclists crossing a desert for adventure and, dare I say, enjoyment.

My ride ended in the university town of Tempe, close to the Phoenix airport. It had been a satisfying adventure in which I rode 347-miles, including 39-miles the final day. The journey was without incident, not even a flat tire. Physically things were equally good. No aches or infirmities.  

However, I know the result would have been different had I continued into the forbidding 90-mile stretch where General Patton’s tanks once roared across through the sand 70-years earlier.

 

My 347-mile ride from Long Beach to Riverside and the desert to Phoenix

Peoria to Tempe--Mission Accomplished

Tempe, AZ. It is a circuitous, enjoyable ride along the Arizona Canal Bike Path across the 50-mile wide expanse of metropolitan Phoenix.  To reach the canal from highway 60 a rider sees the dramatic transition from scrub desert sand to fashionable neighborhoods with irrigated lawns.

The trail is often hard to follow as signs and arrows are in short supply. It winds north past a new sports complex shared during spring training by the San Diego Padres and Seattle Mariners.

Eventually the trail passes the Wrigley Mansion and the Arizona Biltmore resort, both of which were constructed in 1929. Near the path is Camelback Mountain and beyond it Frank Lloyd Wright's Taliesin West.

My nine-day journey began and ended with rides on canals. While those in Long Beach, Santa Ana and Phoenix can't compare in beauty and efficiency with Washington's Capital Crescent Trail along the Potomac, they are wonderful for riders. 

In Scottsdale, meeting four riders who were clearly traveling for distance, I called out, "where are you headed?" An answer came from a petite woman in green, "San Diego." My reply: "I've come from L.A."  As I rode on, I thought often about this gratifying exchange between east and westbound riders that lasted all of five seconds. 

My ride ended in the university town of Tempe that is close to the Phoenix airport. It had been a satisfying adventure in which I rode 347-miles, including 39-miles the final day. The journey was without incident, not even a flat tire. Physically things were equally good. No aches or infirmities.  However, I'm certain the result would have been different had I continued into the wind that buffetted my approach to Palm Springs.  Similarly, the journey would have ended in failure and perhaps disaster had I attempted to cross the 90-mile stretch of desert from Indio to Blythe where there are no facilities.

What have I learned? I'm not sure beyond the obvious that ours is a big and diverse country inhabited by people who basically are friendly and seek to be helpful. Personally, I think I've added balance to my life and gained the confidence that comes from achieving at 71 something that is physically strenuous and challenging. 

I thank my readers for their interest and concern.