New Orleans's Inspector General Robert Cerasoli has resigned his position and returned to Massachusetts in order to attend to what appears to be a serious health issue. I wish Mr. Cerasoli a speedy and full recovery.
I obviously haven't shared the popular enthusiasm for the office of Inspector General. I think it has the potential to create about as much if not more political and governmental mischief than it ends up rooting out.... particularly in this environment. And I certainly don't understand why its staff should feel the need to carry firearms. In fact, I found that request more than a little disconcerting. Mr. Cerasoli's departure only deepens these concerns.
Anywhoooo I figure now is as good a time as any to mention that when I first read this feature story on Cerasoli a few weeks ago in the The Gambit, I couldn't help but be reminded of the classic Simpson's episode, Homer's Enemy in which Frank Grimes, a humorless new employee at the power plant, becomes increasingly appalled at Homer's charmed but buffoonish life. Some points of comparisons between the article and the episode follow.
From the The Gambit:
CERASOLI grew up in Quincy, Mass., a New England seaside city that is part of the Boston metroplex, the birthplace of John Adams, John Quincy Adams and John Hancock. His father, a dockworker, died when Cerasoli was 10; his mother worked as a beautician. He grew up in a Catholic household but became a Baptist in 1995 and joined the Messiah Baptist Church, an African-American congregation in Brockton, Mass. "I pray a lot," he says. He is reticent on the subject of family, though he mentions a sister in Quincy. He matriculated from American University in Washington, D.C., and worked as a financial investor at Drexel Burnham Lambert.
From Kent Brockman's news bio of Grimes:
Tonight's inspiring story is about Frank Grimes, a thirty-five-year-old Springfieldite who has earned everything the hard way, but never let adversity get him down. Abandoned by his parents at age four, Frank never got to go to school. He spent his childhood years as a delivery boy, delivering toys to more fortunate children. Then, on his eighteenth birthday, he was blown up in a silo explosion. During his long recuperation he taught himself to hear and feel pain again. As the years passed, he used his few leisure moments each day to study science by mail. And, last week, Frank Grimes, the man who had to struggle for everything he ever got, received his correspondence school diploma in nuclear physics -- with a minor in determination.
From the The Gambit:
THE STRUGGLES OF CERASOLI'S first months in New Orleans were well-publicized: trouble getting computers, trouble getting telephones, trouble getting cooperation. As the months stretched into a year with no reports issued, some members of the public got restless, wondering what the inspector general was doing. The IG expressed his frustration with their dissatisfaction. "I don't need this job," he told The Gambit last March. "If I can't do it right, I won't do it."
Grimes and Homer discuss their qualifications:
% Lenny and Carl look at Grimes' correspondence-school diploma.
Grimes: Oh, that's my degree in nuclear physics. I'm sure you all have one.
Lenny: Oh yeah, Carl and I each have a masters'. [chuckles] Of course, old Homer, he didn't need a degree. He just showed up the day they opened the plant.
Homer: I didn't even know what a nuclear panner plant was.
Grimes: Um, [forced laugh] yeah. Well, listen, I'm sure, you all have a lot of work to do.
Lenny + Carl: [shrug] Eh. [the two leave] [Grimes turns around, and is startled to see that Homer is still there]
Homer: Hey, you seem like a great guy, so I'll give you a little tip. If you turn that security camera around, you can sleep and no one will ever know.
Grimes: eh, I don't think we're being paid to sleep.
Homer: Oh yeah, they're always trying to screw ya. [leaves]
Grimes: [shudders in amazement]
The Gambit:
Cerasoli himself doesn't own much in New Orleans. After living at Le Pavillon hotel for a time when he first arrived in town, he upgraded to a small apartment in the CBD, where he sleeps on an air mattress. "I've got my luggage in the middle of the apartment, I've got my clothes on hangers, and that's it," he says. A few books. A few suits — black and baggy, more Ralph Nader than Ralph Lauren. "I had my car here, but I brought it home (to Massachusetts), and something happened with the catalytic converter, and I didn't bring it back," he says. "So I'm walking."
Grimes:
I live in a single room above a bowling alley and below another bowling alley.
Cersoli on the French Quarter:
"I don't even go down to the French Quarter. A friend of mine came into town with the National Conference of State Legislators, and we were walking down in the French Quarter at night. I felt so uncomfortable, because there's all the police, and they know me, and the people ... "To me, coming from Boston, it seems so decadent," he says softly. "Seeing all these people, doing all the things that they're doing."
Grimes on a visit to Homer's house:
Grimes: God, I've had to work hard every day of my life, and what do I have to show for it? This briefcase and this haircut! And what do you have to show for your lifetime of sloth and ignorance?
Homer: What?
Grimes: Everything! A dream house! Two cars! A beautiful wife! A son who owns a factory! Fancy clothes and [sniffs air] lobsters for dinner. And do you deserve any of it? No!
Homer: [gasps] What are you saying?
Grimes: I'm saying you're what's wrong with America, Simpson. You coast through life, you do as little as possible, and you leech off of decent, hardworking people like me. Heh, if you lived in any other country in the world, you'd have starved to death long ago.
Bart: He's got you there, dad.
Grimes: You're a fraud. A total fraud.
But, of course, we all know Homer is really a sweet guy and Grimes' disapproval ultimately leads to a moment of introspection.
Marge: You're afraid to go to work because Frank Grimes will be there, aren't you?
Homer: That's crazy talk. You're crazy, Marge. Get off the road! [honks horn]
Marge: [gets in the car] You have to face him sometime, and when you do I'm sure he'll be just as anxious to make up as you are.
Homer: No he won't, he hates me.
Marge: He doesn't hate you. He just feels insecure because you're getting through life so easily, and it's been so difficult for him.
Homer: Yeah, yeah, that's his problem, he's a nut! It's not about me being lazy, it's about him being a crazy nut.
Marge: Well ... maybe. But I bet he would be less crazy if you were just a little more, mmm, professional in your work.
Homer: [gasps]
Marge: Just a little more. Then he won't have any reason to resent you.
Homer: I'll do it! [produces a bottle of that wonderful Duff] To professionalism! [drinks up]
In all seriousness, good luck and good health, Mr. Cersaoli. I promise to toast "professionalism" on your behalf this Carnival season.
No comments:
Post a Comment