... and I try, and fail, to care.
I'm sure his mother loved him. And I certainly didn't wish him dead. But I save my sympathy for those who deserve it. Other than that, I tend to share the view of Andrew Cohen:
I think the company's demise ruined him, financially and otherwise, and eventually killed him. What more punishment does anyone want above that? Instead of dying a slow death in some tax-funded prison world, Lay died a quick death on the eve of his federal sentencing. As sad as any man's death is, Lay's death is not an entirely unfitting one given his personality, his role at Enron, and his place in the history of corporate America.
When I first heard the news, I jokingly told my wife, "he died because he knew too much."
Little did I know that the conspiracy theorists had gotten there ahead of me.
And then there are the people who think he was some sort of hero. I kid you not.
How many more innocent people will moonbats railroad into jail? How many more will they drive into stress-induced death?
Kenneth Lay is the Socrates of our times, the St. Thomas More of the early 21st century. His innocence transforms his loss into martyrdom; the blood of martyrs demands retribution. The moonbat media moguls that hounded this poor man’s every waking moment must suffer as he suffered, in jail or Guantanamo. It is the only way to restore justice to America.
Uh, sure, dude. Put down the mouse and back away from the keyboard. Slowly.
Ken Lay, Enron, politics, midtopia
3 comments:
It wasn't the Freemasons; my sources tell me it was a combined operation of the Elks, the Jaycees and the Shriner minicar assassination squad. With help from Libyan separatists.
The conspiracy theories aside, Ken Lay's death complicates the process of getting his assets and compensate all who lost money investing in Enron stock.
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/07/06/business/06legal.html
GK
I used to work in a downtown Houston building which was, for some reason, frequented by Ken Lay. Rumors were that (1) his lawyer officed in that building, or (2) his son's energy company was in that building. Either way, I saw him three times: twice in the elevator (he was *short*!!) and once exiting the building's interior parking lot.
As a smoker, I spent about 30 minutes each day, in five-minute intervals, at the building's only designated smoking area, the loading dock. This area abutted the ramp exit from the building's garage. One overcast morning, a woman in a beaten Hyundai hesitated for a very long time before pulling out onto San Jacinto Street. The car behind her, relieved, zipped out into the empty street right behind her. Then came Ken Lay.
He was driving a black, very expensive-looking Mercedes-Benz, and he, too, tried to pull onto San Jacinto quickly. Most everyone in the vicinity had already been staring at him as he sat in his car, waiting his turn. When he took it, though, he didn't notice the six-foot-ten goliath who was strolling down the sidewalk. Lay didn't hit him, but he did come a little close. The enormous man, wearing a dirty T-shirt and overalls, looked at the car for a moment, then over at us.
"Hey, y'all--izzat KEN LAY???" We nodded in unison as Mr. Lay sat, helpless, his eyes darting from the man he'd nearly hit to the gaggle of smokers and other interested parties.
Meanwhile, the unidentified-but-huge man hawked for a full five seconds and produced the largest gob of--well, you know--and deposited it on Mr. Lay's Mercedes. I am not exaggerating when I say that it was easily the size and shape of a fried egg.
The entire area broke out into spontaneous applause. The man strode off, squinting defiantly into the just-appeared sun. Mr. Lay waited a moment, then pulled out onto San Jacinto, his wiper-washers spurting useless liquid onto his new windshield ornament.
Regarding the Grim Reaper, I hope that Ken had a little peace before he passed. I personally believe that one's state of being at the moment of death defines one's stay in Eternity. I must say, he was very personable in the elevator. Although I swore that I'd tell him off if I ever met him (then swore the same oath if I ever met him *again*), I could not help but offer him the empathy due a fellow human being in person. Both times.
I felt sorry for him. That does not mean that I believe he (or his family) should get to keep *any* of the filthy lucre. I know dozens of ex-Enron employees, very talented people, who worked and contributed to that enterprise with no inkling of its status--or their soon-to-be unemployed status.
Whether or not he had anything to do with--or even knew of--Enron's vast ocean of arrogant fraudulence, he was at the helm.
And that hawker was still on his windshield the next day. A little smeared, but still there.
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