Modee on Spilling Oil

BP and the U.S. government have blown it on the Gulf of Mexico oil spill. Obama’s complete and blind faith in the free enterprise system, and the pressure he feels from Republicans to prove that at every moment, and the sharp criticism he took for Bush’s Wall Street bailouts, and the effects of Sarah Palin’s mantra, “Drill, baby drill,” led Obama to believe that BP should be fully responsible for the mess they made; you know, the price of doing business. Yes, BP should be paying the bill for the cleanup and full compensation to the millions of people personally affected by this disaster for possibly decades to come. But the federal government should be leading the effort to respond to the crisis, not BP, since there seems to be some confusion about that in Obama’s mind. That’s not to say BP shouldn’t be involved with any assistance it can offer, but BP, worried about its public image, shouldn’t be leading the way. The government should have been ready for this, and probably wasn’t because of past government funding and priorities. It has to get ready now. If you’re going to drill in sensitive areas, like the ocean in hurricane territory, you better be ready for this and more to come.

And to Alaska’s Republican Senator Lisa Murkowski, who wants to excuse BP from having to pay fully for their mess, and to bill the American taxpayer for almost all of it, I say, “Get out of BP’s back pocket, and be an American.”

My Last Relay Race 1969

My friend Jeff McKay said he was looking forward to the fun of running some distance medley relays with Anna’s speed group tomorrow night. It does sound fun. And he talked about how long it’s been since he ran a relay. That got me to thinking—about the last time I ran a relay. Senior year of high school, at the state track meet, I ran anchor on the Mile Relay. I think I got the baton a little ahead of any of the other teams. Soon enough though, Jack LeRoy from Rogue River sidled up beside me and said, “OK, Modée, it’s just you and me now.” We ran a little while side-by-side, or I think maybe he was half a step behind me. He was making me nervous. And he was messing with me, trying to mess with my mind. I thought I can’t let him mess with me; I’m going to mess with him. So I said, “No, it’s not, Jack. It’s just me now,” and I took off, pulling away from him rapidly, showing him the bottom of my shoes getting smaller and smaller to his vision. I thought I would just do this to discourage him and then I would slow down, but I didn’t slow down. I kept going. I was clocked at 49.5 seconds, which I think translates to something like 49.3 for the 400M, my P.R still to this day—of course.

Afterwards, I was approached by Bill Bowerman, the track coach from the University of Oregon, where I had already signed a Letter of Intent. Bowerman said, “That was a great run you had in the Mile Relay.”

I felt like, yeah, but that was me and three other guys, so with bloated pride, I said, “I won the 880, too.” And I was thinking . . . and that was all by myself, too.

Bowerman completely ignored what I said. He did not even congratulate me on my State Championship Half Mile. He repeated, “That Mile Relay was a great run.” As if my individual race was unimportant. Plus I felt kind of ashamed that I had bragged to him about my Half Mile. I felt kind of small.

That was Bill Bowerman.

As I got to know him better, I realized what he had liked was the style of my quarter mile leg—the way I toyed with Jack Leroy, the way I displayed an impressive kick. He wasn’t impressed with my leading the Half the whole way, and then winning by fifty yards.

That, my friends, was Bill Bowerman.