Veterans Day and Chicken Marengo

On this Veterans Day, I bypassed the free meals many restaurants offer to veterans and instead made my favorite Veterans’ Day feast: Chicken Marengo.

Chicken Marengo illustrates one of the best qualities of servicemen everywhere: the ability to improvise, adapt and overcome. It’s also a really good dinner. The legend is that the dish was invented by Napoleon’s personal chef after the Battle of Marengo in 1800.

ChickenMarengoNapoleon was pursuing the Austrian army across northern Italy and won a stunning victory near the village of Marengo. But the army had advanced so rapidly that its baggage train was left far behind. This was a problem for Napoleon’s chef because he had nothing to cook. He also had a hungry general, because Napoleon’s habit was to fast before and during a battle (which probably gave him better odds of surviving a stomach wound).

So the chef improvised. He liberated a chicken and scrounged up some mushrooms, tomatoes, wine and spices. (The original version also included crayfish and an egg, we are told.) The resulting dish became Napoleon’s favorite.

Individual initiative and ingenuity has become the hallmark of generations of American servicemen, from the junior officers and noncoms who led shattered troops off the Normandy beaches on D-Day to the soldiers who attached homemade armor to their Humvees in Iraq.

When I was on active duty in the Navy, an elaborate barter system overcame a dysfunctional supply system that inevitably produced a shortage of things we needed and a surplus of things we didn’t. So sailors swapped plexiglass for spray paint, and then traded the spray paint for the radio parts they needed in the first place.

The unwritten rule was that enlisted men did the bartering. My job as an officer was to turn a blind eye to midnight requisitions and shield my men from discipline on the rare occasions when they were caught. So when I conducted an inventory aboard ship in Japan, I was pleased to learn that my petty officers had swapped several bags of coffee for a broken-down radar languishing in the shipyard and then stripped it for parts. Their secret was safe with me.

A port visit to Hong Kong was an opportunity to sell scrap brass and use the proceeds to get the ship painted. So the night before we left our home port, the boatswain’s mates would collect scrap brass – defined as any material on or near the pier that was not nailed down. The captain approved of this but, of course, knew nothing about it.

The ship’s cook was an expert at improvisation. Our tiny minesweeper was at sea for two months at a time with limited access to fresh ingredients, but the food was so good I gained a few pounds.  The cook baked wonderful bread with powdered milk and powdered eggs, and modified the recipe when the flour came from Australia rather than the Philippines.

Chicken Marengo was never on the menu, but I’ll bet our cook could have created a reasonable facsimile with powdered ingredients and whatever mystery meat emerged from the Navy supply system.

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Where’s Adlai when we need him?

I turned off the TV after the fourth negative political ad in two minutes and thought of Adlai Stevenson.

Not many people still remember him: He died in 1965 after serving as governor of Illinois, running for president unsuccessfully in 1952 and 1956, and serving as Ambassador to the United Nations in the Kennedy administration. He was best known for his statesmanship and eloquence.

When nominated as the Democratic candidate for president in 1952, Stevenson said: Let’s talk sense to the American people. Let’s tell them the truth, that there are no gains without pains…” He lost resoundingly and no politician ever tried that again.

As we approach the mid-term elections, I am grateful that New Mexico is not a battleground and has been spared the tsunami of political ads that some states are seeing. My adopted home state has one and a half political parties. Democrats dominate and most state legislators run unopposed.

This time around, our Hispanic/female/Republican governor is coasting to an easy victory by default. Her opponent is a second-generation pol whose campaign platform consists mostly of rolling back the Guv’s halting efforts to reform one of the worst school systems in the country. The Republicans have been unable to offer any serious challenge to the incumbent Democratic senator or my local Congressional representative.

I hosted a fundraiser for a Republican candidate for state legislature because I was so thrilled to finally see a second name on the ballot in my district. He’s a good guy, but is running a shoestring campaign staffed by his friends and family with little evidence of party support.

Voter fraud is a political football in New Mexico because a Republican effort to scrub the voter rolls was blocked by a Democratic judiciary. Everyone assumes that fraudulent voters always vote Democratic. So Republicans try to prosecute voter fraud and Democrats claim it doesn’t exist. Because of this stalemate, voter fraud has never been fully investigated. Nobody really knows how many illegal voters are out there or how they vote. So I can’t help wondering: What if they actually vote Republican?

On the other hand, voter ID laws are not a big issue out here. That would be pointless in a state that gives driver’s licenses to illegal immigrants.

Despite the dearth of electoral competition, New Mexicans still must endure tediously shrill political ads accusing candidates of either supporting Obama or opposing Social Security. I’d prefer to see the refreshing candor of the 1991 governor’s race in Louisiana, in which a corrupt incumbent defeated a neo-Nazi Klan leader. Bumper stickers read: Vote for the crook. It’s important.

It’s said that when Adlai Stevenson was campaigning for president, a woman called out to him: “You have the vote of every thinking person!” Stevenson replied: “That’s not enough, madam, we need a majority.” 

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When cops are Rambo and soldiers are Barney Fife

One positive outcome of the race riots in Ferguson, MO, may be a fresh look at the over-militarization of law enforcement. It’s about time. Deployment of SWAT teams by local police departments has been increasing for decades, often unnecessarily and occasionally with tragic results. Heavily armed police assault squads, once reserved for major crimes and hostage situations, now are commonplace for serving warrants, making routine arrests and confronting protesters.

MRAPUnloading surplus assault rifles and mine-resistant ambush-protected (MRAP) military vehicles on local police departments has boosted militarization by combining the cops’ warrior instincts with the lure of federal freebies. (Whether the cops keep their free MRAPs once they learn what it costs to operate and maintain these 14-ton clunkers is another question.) I’ll bet the Ukrainians and Kurds can make better use of those weapons than the average county sheriff. 

If the politicians are serious about demilitarizing law enforcement, they can start by disbanding some of the dozens of federal SWAT teams in agencies such as the Fish and Wildlife Service, the Consumer Product Safety Commission and the Department of Education. In recent years heavily armed federales have burst into the homes of desperadoes suspected of student loan fraud and shipping unpasteurized milk across state lines.

While domestic law enforcement has gone warrior, our armed forces are going in the other direction. U.S. soldiers in overseas conflicts are increasingly constrained by rules of engagement intended to avoid civilian casualties. Rules of war are nothing new, and a lot of progress has been made in recent generations. But some argue that recent restrictions in Afghanistan, such as declining to enter a home in which terrorists may be hiding, will put our troops in danger.

The Israelis have taken military rules of engagement to a new level of sophistication by warning residents of buildings in Gaza before firing missiles. One of the ironies of the current conflict is that Israel is accused of war crimes when Hamas’ human shields become casualties.

We further blur the lines between law enforcement and warfare when we respond to overseas terrorist acts such as the attack on the Benghazi consulate by sending in the FBI rather than a SEAL team, and by giving every enemy combatant a lawyer. Yet the rights of our own citizens are in jeopardy when few rules of engagement apply to local police and federal agencies.

Some politicians are calling for a federal “police czar” to police the police, but we already have one. The U.S. Department of Justice has launched more than a dozen civil rights investigations of local police departments. One recently took place in my home town of Albuquerque, prompted by numerous police shootings of mostly mentally ill perpetrators. Federal oversight may force some much-needed needed reforms in racial diversity and training, and may help so long as the investigations are fair and impartial. That was not the case in New Orleans, however, where a federal judge reprimanded DOJ prosecutors for abusive tactics in securing the indictment of police officers.

So far DOJ scrutiny has focused only on local police departments, and there’s no indication that federal agencies will be held to the same standard. So if the SWAT team breaking down your door is from, say, the Bureau of Land Management, all you can do is holler “hands up, don’t shoot.”

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Neither Catholic nor Jewish

I grew up as a member of a religious minority: a Protestant in a Catholic neighborhood. In those days the Austin neighborhood on Chicago’s West Side was mostly Irish. Although my family claims Scottish ancestry on my father’s side, our name sounded Irish enough to blend in, sort of.

Occasionally this was a source of confusion. Shortly after my parents moved into their apartment in the 1940s, the doorbell rang and my father buzzed the visitor in. It was a rotund priest, who huffed and puffed up the three flights of stairs to ask my father why he had not attended mass. “We’re not Catholic,” my father explained. The priest lost it: “Not Catholic! How can you have a good Irish name like McClure and not be Catholic?”

One of my brother’s playmates, the youngest of the five Maloney kids, settled the issue. She assumed we were Irish but was unable to visualize a non-Catholic Christian. “If you’re not Catholic, then you must be a Jew,” she declared. So for a while the neighbor kids thought we were an exotic species of Hibernian Hebrew.

We encountered other incidents of cultural dissonance. When my grandfather passed away, we were touched when our Irish-immigrant neighbor made the trek to the South Side to attend the wake. His grief was genuine when he learned that no liquor was being served.

Since most of the Catholic kids went to the local parish school, many of my classmates in public school lived in a Jewish enclave a couple of blocks away. My mother made friends with their moms in the PTA and I attended Cub Scout meetings in a synagogue.

When I was in seventh grade, some of my friends were celebrating their Bar Mitzvahs with lavish parties and lots of presents. It was a much bigger deal than my confirmation in the Congregational church and I could not help being a little envious. My parents reminded me that I was different from the other kids.

Years later, I found myself in another Irish-Catholic environment when I bought a house in Oak Park’s Gunderson neighborhood. The vintage houses there were a magnet for large families (a few with 10 kids or more) because their attics could be converted to dormitories. When we first moved in, I asked the next-door neighbor how many children she had and was told: “Only five.” A year or so later the same neighbor pointed out that my wife and I had only two children in a four-bedroom house (not to mention the attic) and needed to catch up with the neighborhood.

Lately I have been hanging out with the Knights of Columbus. My neighbor in Albuquerque is a big wheel in the Knights. I always buy a ticket to his chapter’s pancake breakfast, and we sold a few copies of the book we co-authored at the organization’s state convention. Last Sunday he invited me to a backyard barbecue for his group after borrowing my folding tables. I had a nice time, but had to keep explaining that I can’t join the Knights of Columbus because I’m not Catholic.

Posted in Idle Ruminations | 2 Comments

Confessions of a home improvement addict

I live in an ideal location: five minutes from Home Depot.

Portal2Even though my house in Albuquerque is not a fixer-upper, I just refinished the faux-Spanish exterior woodwork, am preparing to paint the garage doors and have done lots of landscaping. Call me a home improvement addict.

It’s probably in my blood. My grandfather in Mississippi built a playhouse in his backyard and let me tinker in a cluttered workshop that smelled of cedar shavings. I watched my father remodel our house, and when I became a homeowner picking up a paintbrush was second nature. My children’s first words were “Mommy,” “Daddy” and “paint.”

Do-it-yourself remodeling initially was a financial necessity but became something I enjoyed. My work in public relations immersed me in an exciting but ephemeral stream of issues and ideas. Satisfying as that was, it was refreshing to come home and paint a wall or refinish a floor that would endure beyond the next deadline.

My favorite house was a Gunderson home in Oak Park, IL, that we bought in 1972. It was built in 1911 and had bay windows, oak floors and woodwork, a stained-glass window, walk-up attic and even a laundry chute. The previous owners had modernized the house extensively… in 1936.

522 ElmwoodWe hired contractors to modernize the kitchen and bathroom and finish the attic while I blowtorched layers of paint from exterior trim, rebuilt the front and back steps, and replaced sash cords in double-hung windows. My wife likened stripping layers of wallpaper to archeology. This is what they had in 1940!  Occasionally we found buried treasure: I removed a paint-caked light switch cover to discover that it was solid brass and polished it to its original glory.

It’s probably just as well that the home improvement cable TV channel did not exist in those days. I would have been inspired to start knocking out walls, which could have done structural damage to the house and our marriage.

WaiolaOur money pit was a 1960 ranch house in LaGrange, IL. We bought it in 1992 because it had an ideal layout for our two home offices even though it flunked the home inspection. As soon as we signed the closing papers contractors began busting up the basement floor with jackhammers, excavating the front lawn with a backhoe to strengthen the foundation, replacing bathroom fixtures and pulling up carpeting. When we drove up with the moving van, a carpenter cutting a hole in the roof shouted: “Is this where you want the skylight?” Over the years we remodeled the kitchen, coped with a basement flood and helped put a plumber’s kid through college.

These days I hire tradesmen for difficult projects but still do my own carpentry, finishing and landscaping. I hired landscape guys to move truckloads of dirt into my backyard in Albuquerque (because landscapers charge less than chiropractors) but spread gravel and planted shrubs myself. I refurbished a wooden deck and installed a gas firepit. A neighbor helped me re-sod my lawn and build storage shelves in my garage.

At this point there’s not much left to do my house, but I’m sure I’ll find something. In the meantime, I can watch the home improvement channel on cable TV. And stop by Home Depot to see what’s new.

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The VA crisis: one veteran’s perspective

I was dismayed to hear about widespread problems at Veterans Administration hospitals of veterans being denied medical care because of bureaucratic malfeasance. And I was a little surprised because my experience as a VA patient has been overwhelmingly positive.

When I injured my knee in a snowshoeing mishap a couple of years ago, I had surgery at the VA hospital in Albuquerque. The care I received was excellent. Everyone – clerks, surgeons, nurses, physical therapists – was professional, efficient and courteous. These are dedicated people who genuinely care for veterans and treat them with respect.

But I’m not the kind of veteran who is at risk. The VA is optional for me because I also am covered by Medicare and military-retirement Tricare. When I originally applied for VA health care (to get a free flu shot) I was surprised when I was accepted. I have no service-connected disabilities (a tolerance for bad coffee does not count, they told me) and am not indigent. I qualified for health care because I served in Vietnam – even though I was floating off the coast, never saw actual combat and was never exposed to Agent Orange.

Nearly all the people I saw at the VA hospital clearly deserved to be there: lots of disabled elderly vets and young amputees. The place has more handicapped parking spaces than I have ever seen in one location and needs more. I got prompt treatment because I showed up in the emergency room with a ruptured tendon, but suspect I would have been on a long waiting list if I had vague symptoms of post-traumatic stress or brain injury.

The VA health system is excellent in many ways but is unable to cope with the sheer number of veterans who need care. From what we know so far, that problem has been compounded by bureaucratic dishonesty, poor leadership and political inattention. It’s not just a matter of money: The VA has received significant funding increases and has been exempted from federal budget cuts, yet hundreds of medical jobs at the VA are going unfilled while veterans wait for treatment.

When the VA turns away veterans who need care, that’s an outrage – especially if they’re also delivering care to veterans who do NOT need it. If EVERY veteran who set foot in Vietnam is eligible for VA health care, for instance, that’s three million of us. Some of these folks have service-connected medical problems but many more do not. My good health and ability to afford co-pays puts me in the lowest eligibility category for VA health care, but perhaps the VA should not be treating guys like me at all when veterans in greater need are on a waiting list.

I’m sure there’s plenty of inefficiency, too. After my knee surgery the VA sent me home with a brand-new wheelchair. Once I was back on my feet I called the hospital to turn in the wheelchair and was told they did not want it back. Wonder how many more doctors the VA could hire if they were less generous with wheelchairs? There’s also no coordination between the VA, Medicare and Medicaid.

The VA has been broken for years and I hope they fix it this time. It will take a Veterans Affairs secretary who has the authority to fire dishonest bureaucrats and the gumption to pound on the desk in the Oval Office. Congress will listen in an election year because millions of veterans will be watching and voting.

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Climate change and hot air

It’s official: Climate change has left the realm of science and is now a full-blown political ideology. That’s unfortunate because climate change is real, and there are some commonsense solutions that are likely to get lost in the political hysteria.

Climate scientists have been making alarmist predictions for decades and most have been spectacularly wrong. Now the same folks (at least the ones appointed by politicians to government and U.N. panels) now connect manmade climate change with virtually every weather extreme: rainstorms and drought, decreasing and increasing icecaps, cold snaps and heat waves. What’s next, locusts?

I’m suspicious of the claim that debate is over because there’s a scientific consensus. This sounds more like a religion than a science, but even theologians debate. I suspect there still is a lot we do not know about the causes of weather. But if the Einstein of climate science shows up, could he or she get a research grant without conforming to political orthodoxy?

In any case, science is irrelevant because the politicians have taken over. Sen. Harry Reid, predictably, blames climate change on the Koch brothers. And I’m sure it’s a coincidence that President Obama declared climate change an urgent priority after hedge-fund billionaire Tom Steyer pledged to donate $100 million to politicians who support stringent environmental regulation. Does hot air cause climate change?

The political climate-change campaign sidesteps some inconvenient truths. Global warming has increased since 1970 but has remained flat for the past 17 years. Greenhouse gas emissions of most developed nations, led by the U.S., have been reduced to below 1990 levels. The biggest driver of this environmental success is the increasing use of cheap, abundant natural gas from hydraulic fracking. Perhaps the politicians are silent about this because the natural-gas revolution is a result of private enterprise and not government regulation.

Climate change remains a global problem, however, because increasing emissions from China, India and other growing economies far outweigh reductions in the U.S. and Europe. So adding new U.S. environmental regulations is a symbolic gesture that will reduce our standard of living, but will have zero impact on climate change so long as the rest of the world continues to burn more coal. All we’ll get out of it is skyrocketing electricity rates, higher gasoline prices, an even slower economy and the same crappy weather.

If we really want to do something about climate change – and not merely increase government control over the economy – there are some possible solutions that do not require economic suicide:

  • Step up production of natural gas and export it overseas, then work with energy companies and foreign governments to expand fracking technology to growing countries that now depend on coal.
  • Poverty kills more people than climate change. So let’s help poor countries develop cheap energy so that people can heat their houses, purify their water and cook their food. Solar and wind energy can play a big role here, but even fossil fuels will be an improvement over burning camel dung and cutting down rain forests for fuel.
  • Develop storage and smart power grid technologies that can distribute solar and wind power to places where the sun doesn’t shine and the wind doesn’t blow.
  • Dump ethanol. It causes more environmental damage than it prevents. Expand the use of natural gas as motor fuel instead.
  • Expand nuclear power, perhaps by developing small-scale, manufactured reactors (like the ones on submarines) as backup generators for wind and solar systems.

It would be great to see a constructive discussion on how best to harness American innovation to continue environmental progress in the U.S. and drive global solutions. But don’t expect that to happen until after the election, if ever.

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Rio Grande opera

I spent a pleasant afternoon at the opera last Sunday, enjoying Opera Southwest’s performance of Bizet’s The Pearl Fishers in Albuquerque. In June, the season begins at the Santa Fe Opera and I’ve already ordered tickets for two performances.

I grew up listening to opera. My father had studied opera, and from earliest childhood I heard him practicing baritone arias. But I rarely saw opera performed because Chicago’s world-class Lyric Opera was out of my price range. That changed when I moved to New Mexico, where opera is more accessible.

Opera has everything: beautiful music, staging and costumes, acting and sometimes a body count. The plots often don’t make much sense. Take Wagner’s Ring Cycle, in which a mythical Norse hero marries his twin sister and their son falls in love with his aunt. (Kinky fellow, that Wagner.) Or that the infidelity in Strauss’ Die Fledermaus is cheerfully forgiven because everyone was drunk on champagne.

But suspending disbelief is part of the fun. So we accept that the zaftig lass singing Mimi in Puccini’s La Boheme is dying of consumption. It’s okay for women to play male roles if the key is high enough. And nobody dies quietly.

The themes of opera are universal and timeless: love, jealousy, betrayal and the ever-popular death. So the idea of the au fond du temple saint duet in The Pearl Fishers – in which two men who love the same woman proclaim their friendship — is not much different from the contemporary bros before hoes. I like Bizet’s version better than Jay-Z’s.

01_SSF_SantaFeOpera_636x431Going to the Santa Fe Opera is a distinctively New Mexico experience. The sweepingly modern opera house is open on both sides and at the back of the stage, with a view of the sun setting behind the mountains. A tiny LED screen at each seat displays the libretto in the patron’s choice of New Mexico’s two official languages. So when they see Bizet’s Carmen, an opera about Spaniards sung in French, cultural purists can read the subtitles in Spanish if they wish.

Santa Fe OperaPeople wear everything from black tie to jeans. Some women go for the Santa Fe casual look: sundress, sandals and $1,000 worth of turquoise. This may be the only opera venue with tailgate parties in the parking lot. Unlike traditional tailgating, the opera crowd prefers chardonnay and salmon. Some folks do it up with tablecloths and candelabra.

Perhaps this year I’ll bring beer and brats to the Santa Fe Opera, just to mix things up.

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Politically incorrect solutions for practically everything

How to stimulate the economy

Since President Obama is unwilling to grow the economy by approving the Keystone Pipeline, increasing U.S. energy production or relaxing some of his new regulations on business, he should double down on his most successful economic stimulus. I’m talking about gun control.

This President has a rare talent for inspiring people to buy guns whenever he opens his mouth. His push for gun control resulted in new records for firearms sales in 2012 and 2013. So we need the President to boost the economy by campaigning even harder for gun control. And since women account for the biggest increase in gun ownership, he should continue his “war on women” rhetoric.

Guantanamo

Just close the joint, for heaven’s sake. Send all those guys back to their home countries and turn them loose. But first, surgically implant a microchip in each terrorist suspect we release. So the drones can find them.

Driver’s licenses for illegal immigrants

My home state of New Mexico is one of only two states that issue a full-privilege driver’s license to illegal immigrants. This makes the state a magnet for license fraud: Undocumented folks from around the country pay big bucks to travel here for a fraudulent license that enables them to get through airport security and perhaps register to vote. Problem is, the criminals who set this up are making all the money and that’s unfair to New Mexicans.

Our politicians are unwilling to end this fraud by issuing illegal immigrants a limited driving permit as other states have done. So my idea is to capitalize on this situation by legalizing it. Just offer New Mexico licenses to out-of-state illegal immigrants for a premium fee that’s slightly less than the criminals charge. That will put the illegal license rings out of business and generate new state revenues from driver’s license tourism.

Unemployment

We need an initiative to help unemployed workers in places like Detroit and Upstate New York migrate to areas where the jobs are, like North Dakota and Texas. Offer them moving assistance and job placement, and cut a deal with the banks for those whose mortgages are underwater. This is a practical suggestion, actually, but the politicians will never stand for it.

A union for Congress

Many politicians are fervent supporters of the right of working people to join unions, but are denied the benefit of union membership themselves. That’s unfair. If unions can represent home healthcare workers and IRS agents, why should members of Congress be denied the right to organize?

Under the “card check” rule governing most government agencies, Congress would not even have to vote. If 51% of members sign up, everyone has to join the union. This might be a problem in the House of Representatives but would sail through the Senate.

Based on the percentage of dues most union members pay, the union would collect around $8,000 a year from every senator — which is far less than many senators get in union campaign contributions. Work rules could be a challenge: Are the senators who keep the Senate in session to avoid presidential recess appointments entitled to overtime pay? When a senator fails to win re-election, will the union file a grievance? I’m sure the U.S. Department of Labor can work this out.

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Owning your dream vacation

Mexico is a great place to vacation if you’re aware of the hazards: Not the dodgy sanitation or drug cartels, but the timeshare salesmen.

CaboResort

My resort in Cabo

A timeshare is a vacation home, sort of. You purchase time at a resort, pay an annual maintenance fee and can exchange time at one resort for another. It’s a lousy investment, but my late wife and I found that owning a timeshare counterbalanced our customary frugality: We felt compelled to take vacations at nice resorts and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I often vacation at my home resort in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and have used timeshare exchanges in a variety of places in the U.S., Mexico and the Caribbean.

Timeshare selling is practically a national sport in Mexico because the country has more tourists and fewer consumer protection laws than most places. Arriving at the airport in a resort town like Puerto Vallarta or Los Cabos entails walking through what some locals call the “shark tank.” It’s a room full of official-looking airport counters where friendly people accost you with offers of transportation or tours. Their job is to sign you up for a 90-minute resort tour and timeshare presentation. I’ve learned to avoid eye contact.

You get the same commercial bonhomie from tourist information booths around town and random strangers who approach you on the street. The practice is so widespread that some legitimate tourist information booths have “no timeshare” signs. On one vacation we were walking on the beach and stopped at a quaint, thatched-roof restaurant… where the waiter tried to sell us a timeshare.

The timeshare sales presentation starts with an attractive young person who gives you a tour of the resort. Then you’re ushered to a sales room, perhaps with a dramatic ocean view (all this can be yours!), where a succession of more experienced salesmen give you a high-pressure sales pitch. The object is to get you to sign a purchase contract before you leave the room because Mexican law does not give consumers the right to cancel a contract once it’s signed.

My timeshare company, Universal Vacation Club’s Villa Group, does an excellent job of building and operating resorts. But their sales force inhabits the same ethical swamp as the rest of the industry and timeshare owners are not immune. Over the years my wife and I upgraded our timeshare a couple of times as our needs changed. During a recent vacation in Cabo San Lucas, I signed up for what they euphemistically called a member update in exchange for a discount on my restaurant tab.

I knew what I was getting into. After the pretty lady gave me the obligatory resort tour, I explained to a tag team of sales guys that I was interested in trading down to a smaller unit than my current two-bedroom condo in exchange for greater flexibility. Instead, they offered me an upgrade to a three-bedroom penthouse: a steal at slightly more than my annual income. When I reminded them that I’m not Donald Trump, they countered with several smaller offers.

Oh, the promises they made! Upgrading to a higher membership category would give me preferential treatment. A special toll-free number to a private concierge. Nicer beach towels, spa discounts, even complimentary bathrobes. All of which would cost a great deal more than I’m willing to pay. I got up and began moving toward the door.

But they weren’t through with me. Outside the sales room yet another guy asked me to take a survey on my sales experience, and then asked how much I would be willing to pay for an upgrade. I made up a figure that was about half the price of their lowest offer, and the guy went to check with his manager.

He came back a minute later, exclaiming: “Good news!” The offer had been reduced by 15 percent. I shook my head, picked up my discount card and got out of there. The rest of my vacation was considerably more pleasant.

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