Thank you, Howard. I could have listened right through lunch. And I want to thank all of you, and after that kind of a welcome, I don't see how I can possibly get by with less than 42 minutes. [Laughter]
No, I'm delighted we're all able to be here today. In our jobs we work together day in and day out, but it's too seldom we get a chance to relax for a moment together like this.
Permit me to begin by giving every man and woman in this room my heartfelt thanks. For 3 years now, you've been giving me just what I needed—advice at critical moments and support during some tough times and balanced judgment all the time. Howard and Dick and Ted and Paul and-well, I'd better stop naming names, because I'll go on—Bob Michel and Guy, Trent Lott—all of you are among the most skilled legislators that I have ever known. And George, I believe that—very firmly—you're the best Vice President in our history.
I once said sometime after my marriage that Nancy's mother had ruled out, as far as I was concerned, had made it impossible to tell any mother-in-law stories. And I feel the same way about Vice President stories after watching him work for 3 years. [Laughter]
But, as Howard said, they told us 3 years ago, it couldn't be done and that Members of the Congress would never again work together to produce a program that would benefit not the special interests, but the American people. And we all remember the mess the country was in—the soaring inflation, the high interest rates, the weakened defenses, and the loss of respect for our nation abroad. Just after the inauguration, I came across a quotation that summed it all up. "When we got into office," President Kennedy once said, "the thing that surprised me most was to find that things were just as bad as we'd been saying they were." [Laughter]
Well, I think in these 3 short years there has been a great deal accomplished here. Just before I came over here this morning, I was meeting with someone—the title of Ambassador, but who serves in one of our-the international organizations overseas, and on his way back to that particular assignment. And he told me how one—I won't name the country, but one of his colleagues there from another country came up to him when he was newly appointed and just asked him whether he thought things were going to be different now. And our Ambassador said, "Yes, they are." "Well," he said, "in what way?" He said, "When you kick us in the shins, we're not going to say 'thank you' anymore." [Laughter]
But we still have our work cut out for us. We must use our restored strength to put world peace on a more secure footing. And soon I will forward a plan based on the recommendations of the National Bipartisan Commission on Central America, just one example of how we can promote democracy in these troubled regions. And here at home we must attack the deficits and simplify the tax code and make constitutional changes like the line-item veto and the balanced budget amendment. I think these are the Republican goals for 1984 and beyond.
And now let's take a moment to consider the Democrats. Tip O'Neill always complains about the way we cut taxes. But if the Democrats had been in charge, there wouldn't have been any tax cut—none at all. They opposed the very idea of a tax cut again and again throughout the 1980 campaign. But if you look back over the years, the American people—and maybe this campaign is a good time to remind them—look back over the years, and you will find they aren't tax cutters at all. The tax cutting that has been done back through the years has been done by the Republican Party.
If they had been running the show, American families would still be suffering sky-high inflation and interest rates. The stock market wouldn't have set new records. The gross national product wouldn't have started growing again. And the American workers' real wages wouldn't have started climbing.
With them in control, our defenses would still be growing weaker while the Soviets grew bolder. Troops would have landed on Grenada, that's for sure. They just wouldn't have been American troops. And the Grenadians wouldn't have been applauding.
So, let's approach this election year with the high spirits and the sense of challenge that's such an important part of American politics. We can tell the people that, yes, America is back, but we're not satisfied with that. We're not resting on our laurels. Our challenge is to take freedom's next step, and this nation's future is at stake.
If we keep the Senate and the White House and remain strong in or even with the House, then America will go on to a new birth of freedom and prosperity, and all the world will benefit. If we lose, then all that we've worked so hard to accomplish will be undone.
We all know the elections will be hardfought and close. Since a campaign flounders without ideas or intensity, let's make certain that we take the offensive. We must challenge our opponents on the line-item veto, push them on the balanced budget amendment, and challenge them on tax simplification. We must force them to stop gathering special interest endorsements and go to the American people. And we must make it clear that they don't want to cut spending; they want to raise taxes.
I promise to do all I can to see to it that we keep the Senate and gain strength in the House. And for the sake of our cause, let's all pledge to work together in a spirit of firm unity. For the good of the country, we must win. And I'm convinced that working together, we will.
Thank you, and God bless you. And now the words you've been waiting to hear from me: Let's eat
среда, 4 июня 2008 г.
should their love be legal?
Avery Steele has known since she was 10 that there was something different about her. Growing up in Davis, California, she hung out with her girlfriends and talked about boys just like they did--but inside, it felt false. In high school, she dated guys, but she wasn't really into it. "I was attracted to them, but when it came to holding hands or hugging or anything, I'd be like, 'No! Go away!'" says Avery, now 18. "I was chicken." But it was more than typical teenage nervousness: Avery liked girls.
Avery never told anyone her secret. Then, when she started her freshman year at California State University, Fullerton, in September 2003, she decided to attend a Lesbian Gay Bisexual Association meeting on campus. But when she got there, she freaked. She stood outside the door for 20 minutes until finally, she entered the room. first love
Avery left the meeting feeling good about herself--she'd finally been around people who had the same feelings she did, and she didn't feel so different anymore. She didn't meet anyone special at the meeting, but that wasn't what she was looking for anyway. Over the next two weeks, Avery kept running into this one girl she'd met--Nikki Wu, a freshman from Fountain Valley, California. Finally, one day on campus, Nikki asked Avery for her phone number. They met for lunch a few days later and got into a serious political discussion. They knew at that moment that they liked each other. "She was smart," Avery recalls. "I was so happy."
They made plans to go to lunch again the very next day, and the day after that, they had dinner. When Avery dropped Nikki off at her dorm after that third date, Nikki leaned over and said, "I really want to kiss you." Avery wasn't sure she was ready for that, but Nikki sensed that part of her really did want to--so she kissed her. And Avery tenderly kissed her back.
Over the next few months, they saw each other a lot, and in December, Nikki moved out of her campus dorm and into Avery's off-campus apartment. They became inseparable, and when they'd go to work--Avery at Disneyland, Nikki at Kinko's--they'd miss each other intensely. "When we'd get home, it was like, 'Finally--that took forever!'" says Avery. By February, Nikki was totally in love. "I just knew this was going to be really long-term," she says. She was so sure about her feelings that on February 12, when news started spreading that San Francisco was issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples, she immediately suggested they head north to tie the knot. Avery was hesitant. She didn't want to rush things--after all, they were only 18. But she also didn't want to miss out on the opportunity. "We didn't want to be engaged for 10 years waiting for this to come around again," Avery explains. So a week later, they booked a flight to San Francisco. race against time
Four hundred miles away, people were already lining up at San Francisco City Hall. Mayor Gavin Newsom had begun allowing same-sex marriages. "We have an obligation under the equal protection clause of the Constitution to do what's right--treat people fairly with dignity on an equal basis regardless of their sexual orientation," he argued. More than 4,000 couples from 46 states and 8 countries flocked to the city to take advantage of his liberating decision.
Although Avery's mom had been supportive of her relationship with Nikki, Avery knew she'd say they were too young, so she didn't tell her about their plans to get married. And Nikki's parents were mostly out of the picture--after she came out to them at age 13, they became abusive, and Nikki moved into a group home. But they did tell their friends about their marriage plans. While most of them were supportive, one friend of Avery's tried to change her mind. "You're being absolutely ridiculous!" she said. "You're only 18, and you hardly even know her."
But Nikki and Avery were determined. On February 23, after they bought their plane tickets, they went online to make an appointment at City Hall. But to their surprise, the calendar was full for the next two months. They checked the Web site every day--and on March 5, they finally found an opening. "Oh my God!" Nikki screamed. "There's a spot open on March 17!" They snagged it--and went out to buy matching wedding bands with "Lucky Me" etched inside, in honor of St. Patrick's Day. They cleared their schedules and packed their bags.
On March 11, just four days before their flight, Avery saw a newspaper headline that said that the California State Supreme Court had ordered Mayor Newsom to stop the ceremonies. "I bought the paper thinking maybe there was more to the story," she recalls. But when she read the article, she realized it was true. "She was really upset," Nikki remembers. "I told her this just meant it wasn't the right time."
The window closed on Avery and Nikki's nuptials because many people--including groups like the Alliance Defense Fund and the Family Research Council--believe that marriage is meant to be only between a man and a woman. They called Mayor Newsom's actions radical--and the controversy got so bad that the California State Supreme Court ordered Mayor Newsom to stop allowing same-sex marriages until it reviewed the law. If the court decides that same-sex marriage is against state law, those 4,000-plus weddings could be ruled invalid--and all those couples won't be considered married in the eyes of the law.
But Nikki and Avery still have hope that at some point they'll be legally recognized as a couple. The day they found out that the city was ordered to discontinue issuing marriage licenses, Nikki decided to show Avery that she believed they'd eventually be married. "I got down on one knee and said, 'Will you marry me?'" recalls Nikki. Avery said yes--then proposed back. While the government is deciding their fate, they're wearing the rings they bought as wedding bands as engagement rings instead. mrs. and mrs. austin
Jami Antwan and Angle Austin, both 20, got the precious marriage license, but it still might not do them any good. The two met in high school in Daly City, California, just south of San Francisco, and quickly became best friends. They both had boyfriends--but when they talked to each other about their relationships, they'd get jealous. "It felt strange," says Angle. "You're always supposed to be happy for your best friend." Then one day in class junior year, their true feelings came out. "We were passing flirty little notes," says Angle. "Then I wrote this note that said 'What is this exactly? Do we want it to continue?'" Jami says she was confused by the note--but in a good way.
Both Jami and Angle say the relationship just evolved naturally after that. They never really discussed the note or talked about "what they were"--they just fell in love. They don't like to discuss how it happened because they shy away from labeling themselves--as lesbians or anything else. "We've never been able to define ourselves," explains Angle. "We fell in love with each other as people, not sexes. She could have been a purple alien, and I would have loved her anyway."
When they graduated from high school in 2002, Jami and Angle moved in together and started attending classes at City College of San Francisco. And in February, when Angle read in the newspaper that same-sex couples were getting marriage licenses, she decided to propose. "I told her I loved her and couldn't live without her," Angle says. Then she popped the question. Recalls Jami: "I said, 'Sure.' And I smiled."
The next day, February 14, they went to City Hall and jumped in line with hundreds of other same-sex couples eager to marry. "It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," Angle says of the scene. People of all ages--some of them with their kids--stood in the line, which wrapped all the way around the building. Since neither Angle nor Jami is close to her family, they only had each other--but they enjoyed it being such a private moment. "It was a cool thing to do," says Jami, who has changed her last name to Austin. "To be a part of something--a part of history." Unlike Nikki and Avery, they were able to get married before the ban--but now they worry about their union remaining valid. No matter what happens, though, they'll always have a scrap-box filled with souvenirs from the day they said their vows and heard the words "I now pronounce you partners for life." And they take comfort in the fact that no one can change the past. "We'll always have the paper," says Angle. "No matter what people say, we're married." powerful piece of paper
But Angle worries about not having the benefits that come with marriage. There are over 1,000 federal laws affected by marital status, including Social Security benefits, adoption, immigration, and medical insurance. That's why gay-marriage advocates say that denying same-sex couples the right to marry is unfair. Right now, it's up to each state to decide--and so far, only Massachusetts has declared same-sex marriage legal (at press time, legislators were considering amending the state constitution to change that). But many cities have been testing state law: In February, New Paltz, New York, mayor Jason West began issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples, just as Mayor Newsom had. Officials in Multnomah County, Oregon, followed in March. But like California, New York and Oregon are now reviewing the validity of those marriages. And while the definition of marriage is up in the air, Benton County, Oregon, is making its point by not issuing marriage licenses to anyone--even straight couples.
Many politicians, including President George W. Bush, want to amend the Constitution to ban gay marriage nationally--but many who want this ban, including President Bush, support "civil unions" with some benefits, but not the term marriage. Civil unions are currently legal in the state of Vermont. my two moms
While the debate rages on, Marina Gatto, 15, sits at home in San Carlos, California, worried that she might lose her family. Marina's father was never really in her life--it was just her and her mom, Ramona. Then one day when Marina was 9, her mom said, "I'm going on a date--with a girl." Ramona had raised her daughter to be open-minded, so Marina wasn't fazed. And when she saw her mom with Arzu Akkus, she knew it was right: "My mom was so happy with her--the pieces of a puzzle just fit."
Six years later, on February 13, 2004, at 5:30 a.m., Marina sat on the steps of San Francisco City Hall with her two moms, unable to believe that their love was finally going to be recognized legally. "As my moms recited their vows, the three of us began to cry," Marina says. "It was one of the most wonderful, unforgettable moments of my life."
A problem remains: Arzu, a criminal justice student, isn't a U.S. citizen. In August, her visa is up for renewal. If she were in love with a man, she could marry him--and as the wife of a U.S. citizen, she'd be allowed to stay. But she fell in love with a woman, so her future is uncertain. That's why when the Gatto family heard about Mayor Newsom's decision, they rushed to be first in line. But if the California Supreme Court rules their marriage invalid, Arzu might have to go back to Germany.
Marina has been through too much to see her family destroyed. Growing up, she faced a lot of hatred--especially in her Catholic middle school. "The priests spoke about how homosexuality was wrong and told me that my mom was going to hell," Marina says. And during a family tree project in seventh grade, the teacher made her choose only one mom and make up an imaginary father. Some of her friends have been hurtful too, saying things like "Is your mom going to hit on me?" But Marina quickly learned how to deal with that sort of thing. "Well, if I went over to your house, would your dad hit on me?" she'd reply.
Marina tries to use these opportunities to explain to people that her family is not that different (and that her moms won't "turn" her gay). And she hopes the courts will see how their decision will affect kids like her. "Marriage is so important to me--without it, my family could be torn apart," she says. And that just doesn't make sense to Marina. "I don't think genes make a parent at all," she says. "Love makes a family."
Avery never told anyone her secret. Then, when she started her freshman year at California State University, Fullerton, in September 2003, she decided to attend a Lesbian Gay Bisexual Association meeting on campus. But when she got there, she freaked. She stood outside the door for 20 minutes until finally, she entered the room. first love
Avery left the meeting feeling good about herself--she'd finally been around people who had the same feelings she did, and she didn't feel so different anymore. She didn't meet anyone special at the meeting, but that wasn't what she was looking for anyway. Over the next two weeks, Avery kept running into this one girl she'd met--Nikki Wu, a freshman from Fountain Valley, California. Finally, one day on campus, Nikki asked Avery for her phone number. They met for lunch a few days later and got into a serious political discussion. They knew at that moment that they liked each other. "She was smart," Avery recalls. "I was so happy."
They made plans to go to lunch again the very next day, and the day after that, they had dinner. When Avery dropped Nikki off at her dorm after that third date, Nikki leaned over and said, "I really want to kiss you." Avery wasn't sure she was ready for that, but Nikki sensed that part of her really did want to--so she kissed her. And Avery tenderly kissed her back.
Over the next few months, they saw each other a lot, and in December, Nikki moved out of her campus dorm and into Avery's off-campus apartment. They became inseparable, and when they'd go to work--Avery at Disneyland, Nikki at Kinko's--they'd miss each other intensely. "When we'd get home, it was like, 'Finally--that took forever!'" says Avery. By February, Nikki was totally in love. "I just knew this was going to be really long-term," she says. She was so sure about her feelings that on February 12, when news started spreading that San Francisco was issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples, she immediately suggested they head north to tie the knot. Avery was hesitant. She didn't want to rush things--after all, they were only 18. But she also didn't want to miss out on the opportunity. "We didn't want to be engaged for 10 years waiting for this to come around again," Avery explains. So a week later, they booked a flight to San Francisco. race against time
Four hundred miles away, people were already lining up at San Francisco City Hall. Mayor Gavin Newsom had begun allowing same-sex marriages. "We have an obligation under the equal protection clause of the Constitution to do what's right--treat people fairly with dignity on an equal basis regardless of their sexual orientation," he argued. More than 4,000 couples from 46 states and 8 countries flocked to the city to take advantage of his liberating decision.
Although Avery's mom had been supportive of her relationship with Nikki, Avery knew she'd say they were too young, so she didn't tell her about their plans to get married. And Nikki's parents were mostly out of the picture--after she came out to them at age 13, they became abusive, and Nikki moved into a group home. But they did tell their friends about their marriage plans. While most of them were supportive, one friend of Avery's tried to change her mind. "You're being absolutely ridiculous!" she said. "You're only 18, and you hardly even know her."
But Nikki and Avery were determined. On February 23, after they bought their plane tickets, they went online to make an appointment at City Hall. But to their surprise, the calendar was full for the next two months. They checked the Web site every day--and on March 5, they finally found an opening. "Oh my God!" Nikki screamed. "There's a spot open on March 17!" They snagged it--and went out to buy matching wedding bands with "Lucky Me" etched inside, in honor of St. Patrick's Day. They cleared their schedules and packed their bags.
On March 11, just four days before their flight, Avery saw a newspaper headline that said that the California State Supreme Court had ordered Mayor Newsom to stop the ceremonies. "I bought the paper thinking maybe there was more to the story," she recalls. But when she read the article, she realized it was true. "She was really upset," Nikki remembers. "I told her this just meant it wasn't the right time."
The window closed on Avery and Nikki's nuptials because many people--including groups like the Alliance Defense Fund and the Family Research Council--believe that marriage is meant to be only between a man and a woman. They called Mayor Newsom's actions radical--and the controversy got so bad that the California State Supreme Court ordered Mayor Newsom to stop allowing same-sex marriages until it reviewed the law. If the court decides that same-sex marriage is against state law, those 4,000-plus weddings could be ruled invalid--and all those couples won't be considered married in the eyes of the law.
But Nikki and Avery still have hope that at some point they'll be legally recognized as a couple. The day they found out that the city was ordered to discontinue issuing marriage licenses, Nikki decided to show Avery that she believed they'd eventually be married. "I got down on one knee and said, 'Will you marry me?'" recalls Nikki. Avery said yes--then proposed back. While the government is deciding their fate, they're wearing the rings they bought as wedding bands as engagement rings instead. mrs. and mrs. austin
Jami Antwan and Angle Austin, both 20, got the precious marriage license, but it still might not do them any good. The two met in high school in Daly City, California, just south of San Francisco, and quickly became best friends. They both had boyfriends--but when they talked to each other about their relationships, they'd get jealous. "It felt strange," says Angle. "You're always supposed to be happy for your best friend." Then one day in class junior year, their true feelings came out. "We were passing flirty little notes," says Angle. "Then I wrote this note that said 'What is this exactly? Do we want it to continue?'" Jami says she was confused by the note--but in a good way.
Both Jami and Angle say the relationship just evolved naturally after that. They never really discussed the note or talked about "what they were"--they just fell in love. They don't like to discuss how it happened because they shy away from labeling themselves--as lesbians or anything else. "We've never been able to define ourselves," explains Angle. "We fell in love with each other as people, not sexes. She could have been a purple alien, and I would have loved her anyway."
When they graduated from high school in 2002, Jami and Angle moved in together and started attending classes at City College of San Francisco. And in February, when Angle read in the newspaper that same-sex couples were getting marriage licenses, she decided to propose. "I told her I loved her and couldn't live without her," Angle says. Then she popped the question. Recalls Jami: "I said, 'Sure.' And I smiled."
The next day, February 14, they went to City Hall and jumped in line with hundreds of other same-sex couples eager to marry. "It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," Angle says of the scene. People of all ages--some of them with their kids--stood in the line, which wrapped all the way around the building. Since neither Angle nor Jami is close to her family, they only had each other--but they enjoyed it being such a private moment. "It was a cool thing to do," says Jami, who has changed her last name to Austin. "To be a part of something--a part of history." Unlike Nikki and Avery, they were able to get married before the ban--but now they worry about their union remaining valid. No matter what happens, though, they'll always have a scrap-box filled with souvenirs from the day they said their vows and heard the words "I now pronounce you partners for life." And they take comfort in the fact that no one can change the past. "We'll always have the paper," says Angle. "No matter what people say, we're married." powerful piece of paper
But Angle worries about not having the benefits that come with marriage. There are over 1,000 federal laws affected by marital status, including Social Security benefits, adoption, immigration, and medical insurance. That's why gay-marriage advocates say that denying same-sex couples the right to marry is unfair. Right now, it's up to each state to decide--and so far, only Massachusetts has declared same-sex marriage legal (at press time, legislators were considering amending the state constitution to change that). But many cities have been testing state law: In February, New Paltz, New York, mayor Jason West began issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples, just as Mayor Newsom had. Officials in Multnomah County, Oregon, followed in March. But like California, New York and Oregon are now reviewing the validity of those marriages. And while the definition of marriage is up in the air, Benton County, Oregon, is making its point by not issuing marriage licenses to anyone--even straight couples.
Many politicians, including President George W. Bush, want to amend the Constitution to ban gay marriage nationally--but many who want this ban, including President Bush, support "civil unions" with some benefits, but not the term marriage. Civil unions are currently legal in the state of Vermont. my two moms
While the debate rages on, Marina Gatto, 15, sits at home in San Carlos, California, worried that she might lose her family. Marina's father was never really in her life--it was just her and her mom, Ramona. Then one day when Marina was 9, her mom said, "I'm going on a date--with a girl." Ramona had raised her daughter to be open-minded, so Marina wasn't fazed. And when she saw her mom with Arzu Akkus, she knew it was right: "My mom was so happy with her--the pieces of a puzzle just fit."
Six years later, on February 13, 2004, at 5:30 a.m., Marina sat on the steps of San Francisco City Hall with her two moms, unable to believe that their love was finally going to be recognized legally. "As my moms recited their vows, the three of us began to cry," Marina says. "It was one of the most wonderful, unforgettable moments of my life."
A problem remains: Arzu, a criminal justice student, isn't a U.S. citizen. In August, her visa is up for renewal. If she were in love with a man, she could marry him--and as the wife of a U.S. citizen, she'd be allowed to stay. But she fell in love with a woman, so her future is uncertain. That's why when the Gatto family heard about Mayor Newsom's decision, they rushed to be first in line. But if the California Supreme Court rules their marriage invalid, Arzu might have to go back to Germany.
Marina has been through too much to see her family destroyed. Growing up, she faced a lot of hatred--especially in her Catholic middle school. "The priests spoke about how homosexuality was wrong and told me that my mom was going to hell," Marina says. And during a family tree project in seventh grade, the teacher made her choose only one mom and make up an imaginary father. Some of her friends have been hurtful too, saying things like "Is your mom going to hit on me?" But Marina quickly learned how to deal with that sort of thing. "Well, if I went over to your house, would your dad hit on me?" she'd reply.
Marina tries to use these opportunities to explain to people that her family is not that different (and that her moms won't "turn" her gay). And she hopes the courts will see how their decision will affect kids like her. "Marriage is so important to me--without it, my family could be torn apart," she says. And that just doesn't make sense to Marina. "I don't think genes make a parent at all," she says. "Love makes a family."
School Law's Story: Read All About It
Cathy Grimes has become something of an expert on the No Child Left Behind Act. She keeps a copy of the hefty federal law at her desk — and has actually read it.
Ms. Grimes isn't a school administrator or state education official. She doesn't work at a think tank, either. She's the education reporter for the Walla Walla Union-Bulletin in southeastern Washington state.
As with a lot of other reporters in the mainstream media, understanding the complex law has become part of her job.
Last September, her newspaper ran a five-part, 18-story series explaining the ins and outs of the bipartisan legislation and putting it in context. The series also connected the law with the schools and people in her community, such as Gail Callahan, a 1st grade teacher at Walla Walla's Blue Ridge Elementary School.
"My readers didn't seem to have an idea of what it was," said Ms. Grimes, a 10-year veteran of education reporting. "There was a feeling that somebody had to explain the law, explain its significance."
Some longtime observers of federal policy say the sheer volume of No Child Left Behind stories being published or aired is unprecedented for an education law.
Across the country, from The News & Observer of Raleigh, N.C., to the Albuquerque Tribune and the Los Angeles Times, the 2 ½-year-old law has increasingly become a magnet for press attention. It is also getting airtime on radio and, to a lesser extent, television news.
The news media have been a rich source of information and, critics say, misinformation at times.
What the reporters and commentators say in their news stories and opinion pieces matters a lot. After all, the media are the main source for helping millions of Americans understand the law and watch it unfold. The coverage is closely monitored by the U.S. Department of Education, teachers' unions, and others with a big stake in how the public perceives the law, and they've worked hard to influence how the media depict it.
If there's one thing many supporters and critics of the No Child Left Behind Act seem to agree on, it's that the coverage is getting more sophisticated. They say journalists have developed expertise on the subject and are increasingly digging below the surface to give the public a more nuanced perspective.
"On the whole, journalists have put an enormous amount of energy into getting it right," said Richard Lee Colvin, a former education reporter for the Los Angeles Times who now directs the Hechinger Institute on Education and the Media, based at Teachers College, Columbia University. They're getting better at it." 'Amazed' at Attention
There are some clear reasons for the media's interest. For starters, the No Child Left Behind Act touches virtually every public school and district in the nation with its tough requirements for improving student achievement overall and ending the achievement gaps between various categories of students.
The legislation, a reauthorization of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, has been a central part of President Bush's domestic agenda, and his administration has touted the measure almost nonstop since Mr. Bush signed it into law in January 2002.
It's also controversial, a big selling point to the press. The law has faced widespread complaints from educators and teachers' unions, local and state officials, and Sen. John Kerry of Massachusetts, the presumptive Democratic nominee for president, who voted for it but has been criticizing it on the campaign trail.
Even so, some experts find the abundance of stories, well after the law was signed, striking.
"Amazed is probably a more apt term," said Christopher T. Cross, an education consultant and former assistant U.S. secretary of education under President George H.W. Bush. "It has been on television, in regional and local newspapers, just all around the country where I go."
"It is remarkable," agreed Mr. Colvin. The law, he said, hands reporters a "steady stream of news hooks."
For one, each year it singles out schools by name that have not made what is deemed adequate yearly progress. Schools receiving federal Title I aid that repeatedly fall short of a state's performance targets for such progress face federally driven consequences, such as allowing parents to choose another public school for their children. And a lot of schools are falling short.
In many states, the law is generating far more publicly available student achievement data than ever before. It also calls for "highly qualified" teachers in every classroom, and requires Title I schools to notify parents if their child's teacher falls short.
It all amounts to a gold mine of story ideas for reporters. And they've delivered. The No Child Left Behind Act has generated thousands of stories; new ones appear practically every day.
A sample of headlines this year includes:
* "Critics Calling for Overhaul of No Child Left Behind" in the March 21 Pittsburgh Post-Gazette;
* "Floodgate Could Open On School Transfers" in the June 13 Orlando Sentinel;
* "Paige Sees School That Works; Secretary Praises Amistad Academy" in the April 30 Hartford Courant; and
* "Fifth-grade Band Could Be 'No Child' Casualty" in the Feb. 21 Kansas City Star.
In Raleigh, The News & Observer has run a long list of No Child Left Behind stories over the past year.
Last summer, reporter Todd Silberman wrote a front-page article headlined "Braced for Bad Marks," to help prepare readers for the state's pending announcement of how schools had fared under the federal law. In October, he took readers to Raleigh's Millbrook Elementary School to illustrate how the law was snagging some schools solely because students with disabilities fell short of testing goals.
Just last month he wrote: "Without a single improved test score, more than 300 additional North Carolina schools could meet hard-to-reach goals this year under the federal No Child Left Behind law. The state wants to make it easier by taking advantage of exceptions, exemptions, and other technical allowances the federal government is permitting."
Mr. Silberman says the complicated law can make it tough going as a subject for his paper.
"The biggest challenge that I've faced in covering No Child Left Behind is making it understandable for readers," he said in an interview. "The potential for confusion is pretty great. ... At a recent meeting, it made me think of the federal tax code."
Ms. Grimes isn't a school administrator or state education official. She doesn't work at a think tank, either. She's the education reporter for the Walla Walla Union-Bulletin in southeastern Washington state.
As with a lot of other reporters in the mainstream media, understanding the complex law has become part of her job.
Last September, her newspaper ran a five-part, 18-story series explaining the ins and outs of the bipartisan legislation and putting it in context. The series also connected the law with the schools and people in her community, such as Gail Callahan, a 1st grade teacher at Walla Walla's Blue Ridge Elementary School.
"My readers didn't seem to have an idea of what it was," said Ms. Grimes, a 10-year veteran of education reporting. "There was a feeling that somebody had to explain the law, explain its significance."
Some longtime observers of federal policy say the sheer volume of No Child Left Behind stories being published or aired is unprecedented for an education law.
Across the country, from The News & Observer of Raleigh, N.C., to the Albuquerque Tribune and the Los Angeles Times, the 2 ½-year-old law has increasingly become a magnet for press attention. It is also getting airtime on radio and, to a lesser extent, television news.
The news media have been a rich source of information and, critics say, misinformation at times.
What the reporters and commentators say in their news stories and opinion pieces matters a lot. After all, the media are the main source for helping millions of Americans understand the law and watch it unfold. The coverage is closely monitored by the U.S. Department of Education, teachers' unions, and others with a big stake in how the public perceives the law, and they've worked hard to influence how the media depict it.
If there's one thing many supporters and critics of the No Child Left Behind Act seem to agree on, it's that the coverage is getting more sophisticated. They say journalists have developed expertise on the subject and are increasingly digging below the surface to give the public a more nuanced perspective.
"On the whole, journalists have put an enormous amount of energy into getting it right," said Richard Lee Colvin, a former education reporter for the Los Angeles Times who now directs the Hechinger Institute on Education and the Media, based at Teachers College, Columbia University. They're getting better at it." 'Amazed' at Attention
There are some clear reasons for the media's interest. For starters, the No Child Left Behind Act touches virtually every public school and district in the nation with its tough requirements for improving student achievement overall and ending the achievement gaps between various categories of students.
The legislation, a reauthorization of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, has been a central part of President Bush's domestic agenda, and his administration has touted the measure almost nonstop since Mr. Bush signed it into law in January 2002.
It's also controversial, a big selling point to the press. The law has faced widespread complaints from educators and teachers' unions, local and state officials, and Sen. John Kerry of Massachusetts, the presumptive Democratic nominee for president, who voted for it but has been criticizing it on the campaign trail.
Even so, some experts find the abundance of stories, well after the law was signed, striking.
"Amazed is probably a more apt term," said Christopher T. Cross, an education consultant and former assistant U.S. secretary of education under President George H.W. Bush. "It has been on television, in regional and local newspapers, just all around the country where I go."
"It is remarkable," agreed Mr. Colvin. The law, he said, hands reporters a "steady stream of news hooks."
For one, each year it singles out schools by name that have not made what is deemed adequate yearly progress. Schools receiving federal Title I aid that repeatedly fall short of a state's performance targets for such progress face federally driven consequences, such as allowing parents to choose another public school for their children. And a lot of schools are falling short.
In many states, the law is generating far more publicly available student achievement data than ever before. It also calls for "highly qualified" teachers in every classroom, and requires Title I schools to notify parents if their child's teacher falls short.
It all amounts to a gold mine of story ideas for reporters. And they've delivered. The No Child Left Behind Act has generated thousands of stories; new ones appear practically every day.
A sample of headlines this year includes:
* "Critics Calling for Overhaul of No Child Left Behind" in the March 21 Pittsburgh Post-Gazette;
* "Floodgate Could Open On School Transfers" in the June 13 Orlando Sentinel;
* "Paige Sees School That Works; Secretary Praises Amistad Academy" in the April 30 Hartford Courant; and
* "Fifth-grade Band Could Be 'No Child' Casualty" in the Feb. 21 Kansas City Star.
In Raleigh, The News & Observer has run a long list of No Child Left Behind stories over the past year.
Last summer, reporter Todd Silberman wrote a front-page article headlined "Braced for Bad Marks," to help prepare readers for the state's pending announcement of how schools had fared under the federal law. In October, he took readers to Raleigh's Millbrook Elementary School to illustrate how the law was snagging some schools solely because students with disabilities fell short of testing goals.
Just last month he wrote: "Without a single improved test score, more than 300 additional North Carolina schools could meet hard-to-reach goals this year under the federal No Child Left Behind law. The state wants to make it easier by taking advantage of exceptions, exemptions, and other technical allowances the federal government is permitting."
Mr. Silberman says the complicated law can make it tough going as a subject for his paper.
"The biggest challenge that I've faced in covering No Child Left Behind is making it understandable for readers," he said in an interview. "The potential for confusion is pretty great. ... At a recent meeting, it made me think of the federal tax code."
Worst-case scenarios
If the controversial Bill C-12 becomes law, any artists who depict sexual activity by characters under 18 could have to prove their work contributes to the Œpublic good.¹
Artistic merit is no longer a defence. In theory, many famous works could get busted.
Here are three potential victims of the new law. Story page H10. By Peter Goddard
FILE: First Kiss, by William-Adolphe Bouguereau
CONCERNS: Graphic display of cherubic genitalia. The 19th-century French painter might easily have daubed on a heavenly loincloth to hide the offending male part, the sight of which exceeds the limits of what constitutes the public good.
ACTION: Substantial funding provided to local artists, particularly those with connections to the Liberal Party of Canada, to go out and cover over any sexually explicit details on heavenly cherubs and the baby Jesus found in any museum.
FILE: Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie.
CONCERNS: A sexually charged relationship between an underage male and female - Peter makes Wendy "fly," and we know what that means - with broad suggestion of voyeurism on the part of two of the nine-year-old girl's male siblings, not to mention a dog!
ACTION: Video stores have 24 hours to clear out their entire stock of Peter Pan - both the most recent version by Australian director P.J. Hogan as well as the 1953 Disney cartoon and the 1960 Mary Martin film - plus Steven Spielberg's Hook and Damion Dietz's Neverland. Anything by Michael Jackson has got to go, too.
FILE: Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare
CONCERNS: Underage sex. Shakespeare shows Juliet as 14 years old, substantially younger than she first appears in The Tragicall Historye of Romeus and Juliet, the 1562 work by British poet Arthur Brooke that provided the basis for Shakespeare's 1594-95 play. "The first defence of Romeo And Juliet would be on the ground of artistic merit," says Charles Campbell, a specialist in censorship and obscenity law with Iler, Campbell. "But if you take away the artistic merit argument" - the intention of Bill C-12 - "you then have to ask, 'is Romeo And Juliet in the public good?' "
ACTION: Ban on all copies of the Shakespeare work and its many film adaptations.
FILE: Propaganda art
CONCERNS: None. Although most would find works like this distasteful, propaganda is by definition art for "the public good," at least from the point of view of the government of the day. Other "approved" art: military recruitment posters; poetry in subway cars; murals warning motorists not to drink and drive.
ACTION: Dissolve Parliament and all provincial legislatures, turn power over to elite, back up elite with military controlled by leader's brother, arrest all rejected artists.
Artistic merit is no longer a defence. In theory, many famous works could get busted.
Here are three potential victims of the new law. Story page H10. By Peter Goddard
FILE: First Kiss, by William-Adolphe Bouguereau
CONCERNS: Graphic display of cherubic genitalia. The 19th-century French painter might easily have daubed on a heavenly loincloth to hide the offending male part, the sight of which exceeds the limits of what constitutes the public good.
ACTION: Substantial funding provided to local artists, particularly those with connections to the Liberal Party of Canada, to go out and cover over any sexually explicit details on heavenly cherubs and the baby Jesus found in any museum.
FILE: Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie.
CONCERNS: A sexually charged relationship between an underage male and female - Peter makes Wendy "fly," and we know what that means - with broad suggestion of voyeurism on the part of two of the nine-year-old girl's male siblings, not to mention a dog!
ACTION: Video stores have 24 hours to clear out their entire stock of Peter Pan - both the most recent version by Australian director P.J. Hogan as well as the 1953 Disney cartoon and the 1960 Mary Martin film - plus Steven Spielberg's Hook and Damion Dietz's Neverland. Anything by Michael Jackson has got to go, too.
FILE: Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare
CONCERNS: Underage sex. Shakespeare shows Juliet as 14 years old, substantially younger than she first appears in The Tragicall Historye of Romeus and Juliet, the 1562 work by British poet Arthur Brooke that provided the basis for Shakespeare's 1594-95 play. "The first defence of Romeo And Juliet would be on the ground of artistic merit," says Charles Campbell, a specialist in censorship and obscenity law with Iler, Campbell. "But if you take away the artistic merit argument" - the intention of Bill C-12 - "you then have to ask, 'is Romeo And Juliet in the public good?' "
ACTION: Ban on all copies of the Shakespeare work and its many film adaptations.
FILE: Propaganda art
CONCERNS: None. Although most would find works like this distasteful, propaganda is by definition art for "the public good," at least from the point of view of the government of the day. Other "approved" art: military recruitment posters; poetry in subway cars; murals warning motorists not to drink and drive.
ACTION: Dissolve Parliament and all provincial legislatures, turn power over to elite, back up elite with military controlled by leader's brother, arrest all rejected artists.
Mothr in law
IT'S the ultimate mother-in-law story. The lady, whom we know to be an ogress with a gourmand's love of human flesh, first devours what she thinks are her grandchildren. Next, she sniffs hungrily at her daughter-in-law's neck, orders the girl's heart to be cooked forthwith, then noisily munches, grunts and slurps her way through what's actually a hastily substituted, quickly grilled cat.
That's not Sleeping Beauty as Disney saw it or as I remember it from Mother Goose, whom the adaptor-director Rufus Norris cites as his source; but it's in the tradition of Grimm Tales and the other Christmas productions the Young Vic staged in the 1990s. I wouldn't recommend it to squeamish adults or vegetarians of any age, but the children near me, some of them very young, didn't look in danger of bad dreams, let alone lasting trauma.
How did Norris and his versatile ten-person cast arrive at this stomach turning climax? Well, this time the Bad Fairy is a Highly Ambivalent Fairy, a tattered, troubled creature oddly called Goody. When the snobbish queen she's made pregnant refuses to invite her to the christening, on the grounds that she farts too much, she delivers the familiar curse on the infant Beauty -and, though she instantly regrets that deed, she can't stop folklore taking its course.
All this is re-enacted by Helena Lymbery's repentant Goody and assorted churls, bumpkins and Struwwelpeter-style freaks for the benefit of a prince (Paul Ewing) who turns out to be too feeble to revive Danielle King's lissome Beauty; and there were moments when I wondered if a hint of political correctness wasn't entering the plot. But the arrival of a scary ogre, in Christopher Brand's roaring performance a sort of skinhead Yeti, was reassuring.
So was the appearance of James Loye's much more macho Prince, who strutted, swaggered, yelled "Let's go hunting!" in Countryside Alliance style -and, despite his shyness with girls, went through with the mandatory kissing, awaking and marrying.
Norris's production can't be faulted for fun or inventiveness, thanks to his resourceful use of a circular drum-stage through whose myriad trap-doors peep thorny arms, heads sprouting moss, and ghoulish effects galore; but it is, let's agree, genetically baffling, especially in the second half.
The prince, you see, is half-human, half-monster, fruit of a union between Daniel Cerqueira's drag-queen ogress and the unnamed gentleman his mother has eaten. For Beauty, as for us, he's a hero -and, well, a bit of a worry. Work out the symbolism for yourselves.
Last night, I myself was too caught up in the fizz and the flow to worry about that. This year the Young Vic is in refreshingly robust form -and its audiences are in luck.
That's not Sleeping Beauty as Disney saw it or as I remember it from Mother Goose, whom the adaptor-director Rufus Norris cites as his source; but it's in the tradition of Grimm Tales and the other Christmas productions the Young Vic staged in the 1990s. I wouldn't recommend it to squeamish adults or vegetarians of any age, but the children near me, some of them very young, didn't look in danger of bad dreams, let alone lasting trauma.
How did Norris and his versatile ten-person cast arrive at this stomach turning climax? Well, this time the Bad Fairy is a Highly Ambivalent Fairy, a tattered, troubled creature oddly called Goody. When the snobbish queen she's made pregnant refuses to invite her to the christening, on the grounds that she farts too much, she delivers the familiar curse on the infant Beauty -and, though she instantly regrets that deed, she can't stop folklore taking its course.
All this is re-enacted by Helena Lymbery's repentant Goody and assorted churls, bumpkins and Struwwelpeter-style freaks for the benefit of a prince (Paul Ewing) who turns out to be too feeble to revive Danielle King's lissome Beauty; and there were moments when I wondered if a hint of political correctness wasn't entering the plot. But the arrival of a scary ogre, in Christopher Brand's roaring performance a sort of skinhead Yeti, was reassuring.
So was the appearance of James Loye's much more macho Prince, who strutted, swaggered, yelled "Let's go hunting!" in Countryside Alliance style -and, despite his shyness with girls, went through with the mandatory kissing, awaking and marrying.
Norris's production can't be faulted for fun or inventiveness, thanks to his resourceful use of a circular drum-stage through whose myriad trap-doors peep thorny arms, heads sprouting moss, and ghoulish effects galore; but it is, let's agree, genetically baffling, especially in the second half.
The prince, you see, is half-human, half-monster, fruit of a union between Daniel Cerqueira's drag-queen ogress and the unnamed gentleman his mother has eaten. For Beauty, as for us, he's a hero -and, well, a bit of a worry. Work out the symbolism for yourselves.
Last night, I myself was too caught up in the fizz and the flow to worry about that. This year the Young Vic is in refreshingly robust form -and its audiences are in luck.
Simply a story
When Keith Acornley saw the 25-foot-deep hole in August 1989 in the basement of his Reynolds Street double-block, he took out a mine subsidence insurance policy.
Knowing the Wyoming Valley's history and remembering his late father-in-law's stories of hearing miners talking in the tunnels beneath his house on nearby Orchard Street, Acornley decided to play it safe.
"I said I better get it in case it comes again," he said.
Eight years later the hole reappeared -- not as deep, but in the same place.
The rear of the house sank, taking down the sewer, water and gas lines and chasing his family from their home for a week until it could be stabilized with a steel beam the width of the structure.
Only then, could the hole be filled with concrete.
The problem hasn't reoccurred since that morning in late December 1997.
Acornley said he heard a loud bang and found his washer and dryer in the hole where his basement floor used to be.
He and his sons did the rebuilding that had to be approved by state inspectors. The insurance covered the repair work.
"It's not that it's out of reach as far as cost," said Acornley of the policy premium. For $75,000 in coverage he pays an annual premium of $68.50.
"I feel it's very valuable to have," he said. Otherwise, he would have to "pay all that expense out of my own pocket."
The average mine subsidence insurance premium is approximately $1 for every $1,000 of coverage and there is a $250 deductible.
Premium rates for residential properties run from $12.50 per year for $5,000 coverage to $128.50 for $150,000 coverage.
Senior citizens get a 10-percent discount. Nonresidential structures have separate rates.
Acornley's homeowner's policy covered his home's contents but not the structural damage. The policy, like most in place, excludes damage to a structure caused by the lateral or vertical movement of the earth due to the collapse of underground coal mining operations.
States in the Coal Belt region of Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia and Illinois, however, offer special subsidence insurance programs.
Pennsylvania established its own in 1961 run by the state Department of Environmental Protection, and the nonprofit Mine Subsidence Insurance Fund is supported by the premiums.
Since 1963, there have been 467 claims paid out in Luzerne County for a total $1.7 million, said Mark Carmon, spokesman for DEP's Wilkes-Barre office.
"Anyone who lives in the Wyoming Valley area from Duryea to Shickshinny really should have it," he said.
But not enough do, Carmon said. "From 1997 to today we've seen a decrease in the number of policies."
DEP data shows there were 6,301 policyholders in 1997. Currently, there are 5,670.
During the 1997-1998 fiscal year, three claims were paid for a total $43,400. In 1998-1999, one claim of $17,500 was paid. There were no claims in the 1999-2000 fiscal year.
And, last year, there was only one claim of $29,759.
One reason for the decline, Carmon said, is that many of the Valley's elderly residents who know the history of mining have died.
New people moving in might not know the subsurface is honeycombed with abandoned mines.
Some homeowners just don't think they need mine subsidence insurance.
"It's still the kind of thing -- out of sight out of mind," Carmon said.
The DEP has been advertising the insurance program in local newspapers.
The department's Web site www.dep.state.PA.us also contains information. From the home page click on section Individuals & Families which will open to a list of topics including the insurance program.
Homeowners also may call a toll-free number, (800) 922-1678, to contact the DEP mine subsidence insurance office in Wilkes-Barre.
Once the department receives an application, it sends out an engineer to survey the home, Carmon said. Only damage that occurs during the period of coverage is considered a loss. Homes under construction might be eligible under a special policy.
"I think this is the kind of insurance that sells itself," Carmon said.
Knowing the Wyoming Valley's history and remembering his late father-in-law's stories of hearing miners talking in the tunnels beneath his house on nearby Orchard Street, Acornley decided to play it safe.
"I said I better get it in case it comes again," he said.
Eight years later the hole reappeared -- not as deep, but in the same place.
The rear of the house sank, taking down the sewer, water and gas lines and chasing his family from their home for a week until it could be stabilized with a steel beam the width of the structure.
Only then, could the hole be filled with concrete.
The problem hasn't reoccurred since that morning in late December 1997.
Acornley said he heard a loud bang and found his washer and dryer in the hole where his basement floor used to be.
He and his sons did the rebuilding that had to be approved by state inspectors. The insurance covered the repair work.
"It's not that it's out of reach as far as cost," said Acornley of the policy premium. For $75,000 in coverage he pays an annual premium of $68.50.
"I feel it's very valuable to have," he said. Otherwise, he would have to "pay all that expense out of my own pocket."
The average mine subsidence insurance premium is approximately $1 for every $1,000 of coverage and there is a $250 deductible.
Premium rates for residential properties run from $12.50 per year for $5,000 coverage to $128.50 for $150,000 coverage.
Senior citizens get a 10-percent discount. Nonresidential structures have separate rates.
Acornley's homeowner's policy covered his home's contents but not the structural damage. The policy, like most in place, excludes damage to a structure caused by the lateral or vertical movement of the earth due to the collapse of underground coal mining operations.
States in the Coal Belt region of Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia and Illinois, however, offer special subsidence insurance programs.
Pennsylvania established its own in 1961 run by the state Department of Environmental Protection, and the nonprofit Mine Subsidence Insurance Fund is supported by the premiums.
Since 1963, there have been 467 claims paid out in Luzerne County for a total $1.7 million, said Mark Carmon, spokesman for DEP's Wilkes-Barre office.
"Anyone who lives in the Wyoming Valley area from Duryea to Shickshinny really should have it," he said.
But not enough do, Carmon said. "From 1997 to today we've seen a decrease in the number of policies."
DEP data shows there were 6,301 policyholders in 1997. Currently, there are 5,670.
During the 1997-1998 fiscal year, three claims were paid for a total $43,400. In 1998-1999, one claim of $17,500 was paid. There were no claims in the 1999-2000 fiscal year.
And, last year, there was only one claim of $29,759.
One reason for the decline, Carmon said, is that many of the Valley's elderly residents who know the history of mining have died.
New people moving in might not know the subsurface is honeycombed with abandoned mines.
Some homeowners just don't think they need mine subsidence insurance.
"It's still the kind of thing -- out of sight out of mind," Carmon said.
The DEP has been advertising the insurance program in local newspapers.
The department's Web site www.dep.state.PA.us also contains information. From the home page click on section Individuals & Families which will open to a list of topics including the insurance program.
Homeowners also may call a toll-free number, (800) 922-1678, to contact the DEP mine subsidence insurance office in Wilkes-Barre.
Once the department receives an application, it sends out an engineer to survey the home, Carmon said. Only damage that occurs during the period of coverage is considered a loss. Homes under construction might be eligible under a special policy.
"I think this is the kind of insurance that sells itself," Carmon said.
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