Read Online First Citizen by Thomas T. Thomas - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas T. Thomas
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In truth, I had almost forgotten about him. Better we had remained strangers forever.
The course we shared was political economy, a seminar in current problems. Professor Ballenger took us all over late-twentieth-century economics: the Federal deficit as negative investment, the social functions of defense spending, entitlements as an economic lever—ah?—the idea of “entitlements” may need some explaining now. ...
You see, the laws at the time guaranteed State and Federal payments, usually in perpetuity, to arbitrarily selected classes of people such as the aged, the “unemployed,” veterans, farmers, mothers of unsupported children, and others who fell outside a narrow spectrum that had been pre-defined as economically able-bodied. These people were said to be “entitled” to these “transfer payments,” which were thought to redistribute the country’s wealth along “equitable” lines. At one point, the monies involved were as much as forty percent of all Federal disbursements, incredible as that may seem.
Many people at the time argued that the economy depended on these transfer payments and the consumer spending they made possible, that to dispossess the holders of entitlements would have destroyed the American manufacturing and marketing base. Of course, they ignored the damage this negative investment was causing in the capital markets. And they missed the most important characteristic of money: It is inherently non-fluid. No matter how fast you pump it, some always sticks to the sides of the pipe and the hands of the pump-turners. It’s much more efficient for the recipient to obtain money directly, through work or wealth or stealth.
Anyway, Professor Ballenger covered all of this with a certain grim wit. After fifteen weeks of discussion, he announced that our only grade would be from the final exam, which would be in essay form, three hours, on a topic of his choosing. A chorus of groans met this news.
When the day came, the professor’s topic was: “Define the constitutional implications and restraints upon a repudiation of the national debt.”
As luck would have it, I was exceptionally well prepared on this question. Actually, it was not a matter of luck but astute guesswork. Proposals for a repudiation were even then in the air, and Ballenger had mentioned them repeatedly, and favorably, in class. He also had spent an inordinate amount of time on the negative side of a $5 trillion debt, which is where it hovered that year. Any child, or a resident of any one of a half dozen Latin American countries, could see the drift of his thoughts. So I came to the final armed with four or five constitutional sections penciled in my mind and at least three arguments for and against the repudiation. As a contingency. The whole preparation took me fifteen minutes. Really.
In the wrap-up seminar, where a professor usually returned the exam papers and discussed them, Ballenger presided with the face of the thunder god. All the happy, malevolent wit had withered away. He told us not even to look at the papers he had handed back. We were all a bunch of time-serving ninnies who would one day find out how ignorant we were, how incapable of any coherent thought that had not been spoon-fed down our slender throats. We would certainly find this out in law school—if any of us ever were accepted—and met some real professors. All of us, that is, but one. Mr. Corbin. Mr. Granville James Corbin, to be specific, whose final essay was exemplary, whose reasoning was exquisite, whose facts were extraordinary. This paragon, Mr. Corbin, should stand up and take a bow so that all the lesser mortals in the room could see what a truly adept legal mind was fashioned from ... except ...
“Except even in the case of Mr. Corbin do I have my doubts.” The ginger beard and lion’s mane of hair that Ballenger combed back from his forehead shook sadly.
“Sir?” I quavered from the second row—the last row in a tiny
The course we shared was political economy, a seminar in current problems. Professor Ballenger took us all over late-twentieth-century economics: the Federal deficit as negative investment, the social functions of defense spending, entitlements as an economic lever—ah?—the idea of “entitlements” may need some explaining now. ...
You see, the laws at the time guaranteed State and Federal payments, usually in perpetuity, to arbitrarily selected classes of people such as the aged, the “unemployed,” veterans, farmers, mothers of unsupported children, and others who fell outside a narrow spectrum that had been pre-defined as economically able-bodied. These people were said to be “entitled” to these “transfer payments,” which were thought to redistribute the country’s wealth along “equitable” lines. At one point, the monies involved were as much as forty percent of all Federal disbursements, incredible as that may seem.
Many people at the time argued that the economy depended on these transfer payments and the consumer spending they made possible, that to dispossess the holders of entitlements would have destroyed the American manufacturing and marketing base. Of course, they ignored the damage this negative investment was causing in the capital markets. And they missed the most important characteristic of money: It is inherently non-fluid. No matter how fast you pump it, some always sticks to the sides of the pipe and the hands of the pump-turners. It’s much more efficient for the recipient to obtain money directly, through work or wealth or stealth.
Anyway, Professor Ballenger covered all of this with a certain grim wit. After fifteen weeks of discussion, he announced that our only grade would be from the final exam, which would be in essay form, three hours, on a topic of his choosing. A chorus of groans met this news.
When the day came, the professor’s topic was: “Define the constitutional implications and restraints upon a repudiation of the national debt.”
As luck would have it, I was exceptionally well prepared on this question. Actually, it was not a matter of luck but astute guesswork. Proposals for a repudiation were even then in the air, and Ballenger had mentioned them repeatedly, and favorably, in class. He also had spent an inordinate amount of time on the negative side of a $5 trillion debt, which is where it hovered that year. Any child, or a resident of any one of a half dozen Latin American countries, could see the drift of his thoughts. So I came to the final armed with four or five constitutional sections penciled in my mind and at least three arguments for and against the repudiation. As a contingency. The whole preparation took me fifteen minutes. Really.
In the wrap-up seminar, where a professor usually returned the exam papers and discussed them, Ballenger presided with the face of the thunder god. All the happy, malevolent wit had withered away. He told us not even to look at the papers he had handed back. We were all a bunch of time-serving ninnies who would one day find out how ignorant we were, how incapable of any coherent thought that had not been spoon-fed down our slender throats. We would certainly find this out in law school—if any of us ever were accepted—and met some real professors. All of us, that is, but one. Mr. Corbin. Mr. Granville James Corbin, to be specific, whose final essay was exemplary, whose reasoning was exquisite, whose facts were extraordinary. This paragon, Mr. Corbin, should stand up and take a bow so that all the lesser mortals in the room could see what a truly adept legal mind was fashioned from ... except ...
“Except even in the case of Mr. Corbin do I have my doubts.” The ginger beard and lion’s mane of hair that Ballenger combed back from his forehead shook sadly.
“Sir?” I quavered from the second row—the last row in a tiny
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