Is healthcare a right?

That's the question the editor of Modern Healthcare poses in this editorial.

It's a key point as the GOP Congress, which takes office today, has vowed to undo the Affordable Care Act, aka Obamacare, as Act 1.

The editorial does a good job of tracking the modern history of government actions regarding the health of its citizens, starting with FDR's 1945 State of the Union speech, in which he outlined a "bill of rights for Americans" in the post World War II nation.

There followed Medicare and Medicaid in the mid-'60s (healthcare is a right for the poor and elderly), EMTALA in 1986 (emergency care and childbirth at hospitals that receive federal funds are rights) and CHIP in 1997 (healthcare coverage is a right for children).

Can you find these rights in the Constitution or the Bill of Rights? Not exactly. (There is that pesky and well-crafted line in the Declaration of Independence about "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" but that's fairly nebulous, and not a governing document).

Is healthcare a privilege? A business? A duty of the government on behalf of its populace, or a benefit for those who can afford it? The fundamental question, really, is: What sort of nation does America aspire to be? 

With healthcare spending at $3.2 trillion in 2015, and set to account for 20 cents of every dollar of GDP, it's just plain silly to argue that it's not a major undertaking of our government. So, does government care whether its citizens are sick or well? Does it have a vested interest in ensuring people stay healthy -- and get better? That research and wellness programs make America's quality of life enviable? I sure hope so.

In any advanced society, healthcare is a right. If America aspires to greatness (or, as many seem to seek, greatness again), we need to realize that.

Born to read

I've never been a huge Bruce Springsteen fan. I've always enjoyed his music, and bought or listened to almost all of it -- first in vinyl, then CDs, then MP3s and now on Spotify. Even created a playlist or two. But I've only been to one of The Boss's concerts, and even that was as part of a charity fund-raiser.

Yet, for some reason, I really wanted to read "Born to Run," his autobiography. I asked for it as a Christmas present and Santa (my wife) wrapped it and presented it under the tree.

I am very much enjoying a few days of vacation now and just started reading it.

"You know," I remarked to said Santa after reading all of nine pages, "this guy can really write."

She gave me a look that said, "Ya think?"

Right.

I'm sure there will be many moments like this through 508 pages, but this riff at the end of Chapter One had me cheer and read it out loud:

Here we live in the shadow of the steeple, where the holy rubber meets the road, all crookedly blessed in God's mercy, in the heart-stopping, pants-dropping, race-riot-creating, oddball-hating, soul-shaking, love-and-far-making, heartbreaking town of Freehold, New Jersey.

Let the service begin.

And let the people respond: Amen!

As 2017 dawns, a glimpse of journalism's future

Happy 2017!

I am not sure where the world is heading, but I think I am right now experiencing a glimpse into the future of journalism. And, let's face it, solid journalism is as important as ever.

I came across The New York Times' interactive year-in-review section.

The headline is, "The Year in Visual Stories and Graphics." It does not do justice to the work they have created and assembled here.

There is a "curated walk through the hallways of the newest Smithsonian museum," cellphone videos from a road trip in Syria, and the one that caught my eye on a not-too-groggy New Year's Day morning: "25 Songs that Tell Us Where Music is Going."

This is a fine example of how smart journalists can -- indeed, must -- integrate research, writing, visuals and audio in an attractive, intuitive package. It defines the overused expression, "immersive experience.

Like every newspaper, the venerable NYTimes has its challenges: declining circulation of what's now affectionately called the "legacy" (print) product,  slagging advertising revenue and a fickle digital subscribership.

They're working hard at audience development, a term some call "stickiness" -- a strategy that goes well beyond "chasing clicks."

It can't be easy, pulling together all this content (still a somewhat dirty word for traditional journalists) and creating an experience that is greater than the sum of its parts. For example, this piece on 25 songs caused me to rediscover Wilco after years. Then head back to the article to discover more. I'm still listening now.

That's all the content that's fit to share. Bravo, Times -- and happy New Year, old gray lady. I love your colorful dress.

Trouble never comes alone (Беда́ никогда́ не прихо́дит одна́)

For a long time, I thought it would be fun to learn Russian. It had some of the cool linguistic and social features I (thought I) liked: slightly unusual alphabet, interesting pronunciations, great literature, crazy history.

I never did get past buying a Russian-for-travelers paperback at a used bookstore. Why bother? The Cold War was over, the U.S.'s interests had turned to other evil empires -- and one, ISIS, that was especially scary because it is an idea and not a place. Better to learn Chinese, or Arabic.

I am wondering now if it's time to brush up on the Cyrillic alphabet. A new Cold War may be on the horizon.

U.S. intelligence agencies say Russian-backed cyberattacks interfered with our nation's tumultous presidential election. President Obama imposed a series of sanctions that, essentially, said Russian diplomats at two U.S. embassies were really no more than spies. President-Elect Trump sais we should just "get on with our lives," and called the Russian leader "very smart." Trump pledges to be more sympathetic to turning Russia from adversary to ally -- a pronouncement that has raised the eyebrows of even some Republicans and (wow) The Wall Street Journal (after an obligatory bashing of the current administration).

Is it time for a reprise of John LeCarre's character George Smiley?

If I ever do learn Russian (very doubtful), part of the joy will be learning some Russian expressions -- they are rich and wonderfully playful. With the looming presidency of Donald Trump in this dangerous world, I wonder if we will live through another Cold War. I wonder if we will survive it.

One of those great Russian expressions, sometimes loosely translated as "When it rains, it pours": Беда́ никогда́ не прихо́дит одна́. 

Literally: Trouble never comes alone.

News from Lake Wobegon

People talk about "NPR moments." I've had more than a few: delaying a weekend errand by a few minutes (or more) to hear the end of "Car Talk," playing along with "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me: The NPR News Quiz" rather than mowing the lawn or tackling my emails.

But nearly every week, for more than 25 years, I have had "NPR hours." That's when Garrison Keillor's  "A Prairie Home Companion" is on. Saturday nights at 6, or (when I miss it, or want to re-listen) Sundays at noon, there's a great hour of radio.

Turns out, I'm a newcomer, along with my wife, who's also a fan. (The kids, not so much. Their loss.)  This week, Keillor and Company celebrate an amazing 40 years on radio. Four decades of music -- everything from opera to blues, but mainly folk -- plus inventive skits, wonderful sound effects, incisive commentary and, of course, "The Week from Lake Wobegon."

For one hour each weekend, it's like visiting with an old friend. The minute you hear the opening chords of, "I hear that old piano from down the avenue ..." you have arrived. You know the back stories; you're aware of the quirks and the corny jokes. But each experience is enjoyable and, in its own way, enriching.

There are the ads for Powdermilk Biscuits ("Made from whole wheat raised in the rich bottomlands of the Lake Wobegon river valley by Norwegian bachelor farmers, so you know they're not only good for you, but also pure, mostly." "They give shy persons the strength to get up and do what needs to be done. Heavens, they're tasty -- and expeditious!") Visits to the Cafe Boeuf with its pretentious waiter and wonderful faux French. Ads for Bebop-A-Reebop Rhubarb Pie (and frozen pie filling). And on and on.

Keillor has created something special here. Over the years, I've come to care about the characters -- Rusty and Dusty from "Lives of the Cowboys"; Pastor Ingqvist and, more recently, Pastor Liz. I'd love to grab a cold one at The Sidetrack Tap.

Actually, I have. OK, the beer or other beverage is usually in my kitchen or on my deck, and the conversation at The Tap is coming over the radio. But once a week, I'm part of this wonderfully wacky, comfortably familiar, family.

Here's to 40 years, and many more, of quiet weeks in Lake Wobegon.

The declaration

What must it have been like, that summer of 1776, when the Declaration of Independence was being crafted? The thing was written by committee, after all, yet it reads -- 236 years later -- like the bold manifesto it was then. I get chills reading it. Or reading it out loud, although my audience is generally only being polite.

Not everyone is a fan of this kind of writing, of course. A blogger for The Economist notes that

"Everything in America has gotten bigger since 1776 but the sentences. Were Thomas Jefferson writing today, the baggy monsters with which he opens the Declaration of Independence would be hacked to bits by editors and spin doctors mindful of the need for quick sound bites."

But really, what's not to like? Go through it at a measured pace. Remember that nothing like this was ever written before, so the opening frames the document's purpose (it's time to dissolve "political bonds" with Great Britain) in grand fashion (within "the course of human events").

The stage set, the Declaration notes that this is a big deal. In fact, it would be far easier not to break off with Britain.

"Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed."

But, really, things have gotten so bad -- there has been such "a long train of abuses and usurpations" -- there is no other choice.

Now comes the best part. The authors set forth a list of  crimes and hardships they have suffered. But it's not just a list imposed by some power across the seas. The authors are not content to complain about a faceless "government." They name the perpetrator: "the present King of Great Britain."

This was mighty bold.

On and on it goes, with strong words: quartering, imposing, denying, cutting off, suspended, abdicated, plundered ... This is a list of wrongs like no other.

And then, the kicker:

"A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people." 

Take that, King George.

I grew up not more than a few miles from where one of the signers of The Declaration was born. Samuel Huntington and his colleagues were not just taking pen to paper that day; they were risking their lives. In fact, they knew it and said so:

"And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor."

Take a few minutes. Settle back and read it deliberately. Or watch this 10-minute video of famous actors reading The Declaration. The language is at times odd, but it's not impossible.

And it's really bold stuff.

Most Wired - The William W. Backus Hospital

Most Wired - The William W. Backus Hospital