Secret Service Director Kimberly Cheatle has resigned in the aftermath of what many describe as a massive security breach at the Donald Trump rally shooting. Leadership starts at the top, and she showed great courage in appearing before hostile members of Congress at a hearing. She admitted mistakes were made, she didn’t look to pass blame and she came to that hearing most likely knowing what was in store.
She could have resigned instead of facing ridicule before a nationwide audience. A lesson for all in leadership positions: The buck does stop with you.
Thank you to Cheatle for her service.
— Bob Angone, Austin, Texas
Wrong person in the hot seat
I find it curious that members of the Republican Party wanted to drag the director of the Secret Service through the mud while the person they should have been questioning was the head of Donald Trump’s Secret Service detail. He or she is directly responsible for all aspects of the candidate’s security. If, indeed, there were operational failures that occurred, then that person should be on the hot seat, not someone who had no boots on the ground at the time of the incident.
— Thomas Mulcrone, Chicago
House built for assigning fault
It seems clear that these congressional subpoenas to supposedly investigate issues are little more than an invitation to the person to be chastised by representatives looking for attention. This Secret Service hearing is a prime example. For sure, there are legitimate concerns, but does anyone really believe that this House of Representatives has any skills in problem-solving?
They are, however, well built for assigning blame, which seems to be a priority for most elected officials. Offering solutions is way above their abilities, but like a moth to a flame, when disaster strikes, they will be there in front of the cameras preening for all to see and demanding someone else be sacrificed.
Wouldn’t it be nice if they said instead, “How can we help?”
— Ken Stead, Aurora
Response to man’s distress
Walking from dinner on a recent lovely Chicago summer evening, I encountered a man standing unsteadily in the middle of our complex’s driveway. He was disheveled and dirty and in obvious bad shape. He was causing no harm to anyone but possibly himself as he fiddled with the crook of his arm while being dodged by cars entering and exiting the complex.
I called 911 as we have been instructed by our police district and alderman, gave a description of the man and situation, and asked for help to be sent. I made it clear that this man was in distress and needed help. And then I waited. I waited for 30 minutes in the dark with a member of our security team and a fellow resident. I called 911 again and asked if anyone was coming and left my number.
A full hour later, police arrived. The man had wandered away unsteadily in the dark across the Kinzie Street Bridge a full 75 minutes prior.
This man is someone’s son, his life has worth, but no one came. Where was the urgency in this situation? Where was the trained and timely distress response from the city? This situation did not warrant a police officer; it called for a trained, compassionate and timely distress response team armed with Narcan.
The man was failed. I was left with the haunting feeling of not being able to do enough.
— Claudia Jackson, Chicago
Memories of Bob Newhart
Bob Newhart’s humor was always sly, but this is about as risqué as I ever heard him. It was during a show he did in an outdoor stadium on Long Island, New York, at which he told this story. “My wife is from long Island. She went to Valley High School, and now we live in Los Angeles and are about to have a new baby. (Applause.) Thank you, it was my pleasure. (Laughter.) So we had to find a new gynecologist. When my wife walked into his office, the nurse told her to proceed to the examination room, undress, lay down on the examination table and cover herself with the sheet. Later, the doctor walks in and without looking at her immediately lifts the sheet and begins his examination. Suddenly, still without looking at her, he says, ‘Say, didn’t you go to Valley High?’”
Later, McCall’s magazine assigned me to interview Newhart in Beverly Hills. We both had gone to St. Ignatius Prep, he to the one in Chicago, I to the one in Cleveland, so we talked a bit about a classmate of mine, Jack Riley, who played the zany Mr. Carlin on “The Bob Newhart Show” and who goes unmentioned in Rick Kogan’s story on Newhart (“Beloved comedian never forgot his Chicago roots,” July 19).
I was waiting for the zippy one-liners to come, but Newhart — like a lot of comics off-camera — wanted to be dead serious. I asked him what he was reading. “The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind,” he replied with a perfectly straight face and then when on to talk about it.
To this day, I still cannot decide if he was putting me on.
— Kenneth L. Woodward, writer-in-residence, Lumen Christi Institute, University of Chicago
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