One Day, Three Stories

1. Here’s one from today’s Philadelphia Weekly about last week’s hit-and-run penalty-strengthening hearing in NE Philly.

The teeth-sinking process hit Stack’s district last Thursday at Nazareth Hospital right off Roosevelt Boulevard when a Senate Transportation Committee hearing was held to discuss Senate bills 522, 1049 and 1177. All three focus on making drivers think twice about fleeing the scene. Sponsored by Stack, proposal S-522 would hike sentences for drivers who cause serious bodily injury from 90 days to two years and if there are fatalities, from one to five years. Since bill S-1177 covers similar ground, and because S-1049 focuses on DUI involvement, an amalgamation of all three—one that makes a misdemeanor a felony and makes concurrent sentences consecutive—is expected to make its way to Gov. Rendell’s desk should it get House and Senate approval over the coming months. So far, Farnese’s office hasn’t heard a peep of opposition, other than the Department of Corrections’ concerns about overcrowding.

2. Here’s one from the Weekly’s website about a book in which bride and me are featured.

The resulting 290-page soft-cover could represent both a first-generation keepsake of a young institution that’s already shifted how some interact and stay in touch with others and a beach-read for people who need a positive pick-me-up. It’s online “Soup for the Soul,” in so many words. Liebert found a few stories via Facebook connections and inquiries and good old-fashioned writerly research. She found a groove in the social-networking book catalog that hadn’t been filled and filled it with a book she hopes would appeal to both inspiration-story speakers and “Everyone who’s on Facebook! So, I’d say roughly 400 million people worldwide, for now.”

3. And today’s Metro column is rough-draft-cut-and-pasted here …

Judge Not, Lest We All Be Judged
By Brian Hickey
By the time you read this, I’ll be slinging a tan Eddie Bauer suit bag over my good shoulder before making my way via automobile, train and plane for some March Madness in Vegas. There, a ton of over-gambling and a modicum of over-drinking generally ensues. (A ton of the latter would’ve likely come into play hadn’t my skull necessitated repair recently, but I digress.) I’ll come home exhausted, praying I saved cab fare but relieved that I got this vice-trait admission out of the way. Because that means I probably won’t get put through the morality-judging wringer currently occupied by Allen Iverson who – the world recently gasped – probably gambles and drinks too much, too.

To better grasp my utter disgust with the way A.I.’s been treated of late, here’s what I wrote for this newspaper when his career winded back – albeit temporarily – to South Philly: His first home game “was about proving that if you’re pure of heart, you can always go home. This wasn’t a sporting event so much as a collective yearning for the old days.”

That was just 100 days ago. But the times, they a’change a’quick these days, huh?

Now, the little guy who helped little ole Philadelphia feel it could take gigantic foes down with a speed-fueled slingshot is a gossip-novelty act beset by a divorce, sick daughter and where-did-it-go career. He’s now sketched as a Hennessey-and-dice caricature who’s continually re-punished for his whole rap sheet.
If you inhale deeply, you can catch the odor of haters’ cultural told-ya-so sneering. Yeah, the White House already became the mountaintop, but I suspect if A.I. wasn’t a corn-rowed hood product who didn’t bother learning the Charles Barkley-approach to placating white America, his gambling and drinking would be publicly deemed sicknesses over which the abuser has no control.

I know life can go awry in less than 100 steps, but to see a relationship devolve from “Reunited (and it feels so good)” to “Don’t care if you need support” in less than 100 days because of widely-held sins should never leave my “never forget” file. Yours either. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find a sports-book taking action on whether Philadelphia will ever re-embrace Iverson. The smart money’s on “no,” which is the greatest failing of all.

Despite all his bravado, the little guy just wanted us to love him.
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