The Japanese Managerial System Essay Example for Free

The Japanese Managerial System Essay Takeo Hoshi and Anil Kashyap have in the last section of their book; Corporate Financing and Governance in Japan clarified the eventual fate of the Japanese Investment and Fund Raising business sector. This future expectation can be evaluated mulling over the pattern of the Japanese market from 1930’s where banks and conventional cash loan specialists were transcendent and trusted, to changes that occurred and prompted the continuous surpassing of the security advertise over the financial part as means for raising money and venture. The early Japanese period considered Banks to be conventional methods as significant roads for venture and financing. The Security advertise was disagreeable and had no guidelines or Corporate administration. The speculators were negligible benefit imparting observers to no rights in the organizations thus the financial area began to pick up significance. The 50’s and 60’s saw the banks also settled elements with guidelines; subsequently the Government would not like to revise a previously progressing framework. By 1968, Japan turned into the world’s second most solid economy and the financial division was blasting. With the difference in the U.S. structure, Japan too took a choice and built up a protections market to give speculation and raising money openings. The greater Japanese organizations bounced to this open door as this was a decent method to fund their expanding requirements for extension. After some time, the Japanese security advertise became more grounded and overwhelmed the financial area as methods for speculation and raising money. What's more, with the turn of the 21st century, it is anticipated that the fate of the Japanese market will be one that is a protections commanded advertise. TWO SURPRISING FEATURES OF THE JAPANESE TREND Pre 1937, the rule method of venture for families were protections. The security advertise had exceptionally less administration or guidelines, yet they were mainstream. The astounding component is the prevalence of this division even without administration or guidelines. Coherently interest in any market that has less guidelines or administration is dangerous. The following astonishing component was the Banking Sector pre 1937 moreover. Banks are viewed as the most secure choice to put away cash and get assets from around the globe, yet the Japanese family units liked to keep their interests in postal sparing plans demonstrating that the customary strategies were as yet predominant. Connection WITH DISCUSSIONS This Chapter talks about the situation of Japan’s family unit and corporate segment and featuring changes that occurred regarding ventures and financing over a time of 70 years, talking about Pre Wartime Scenario where protections assumed a progressively significant job and Post Wartime Scenario where banks set up their matchless quality †¦ at long last offering path to the protections market to indeed build up their strength. The progressions that bit by bit occurred from conventional strategies for reserve funds and speculation to increasingly modernized represented modes. The reinforcing of the Banking segment adding to Japan being built up as the world’s second most grounded economy in 1968, to the decay of the job of banks and the rise of the protections advertise as the favored mode for venture and subsidizing, setting up the fate of the Japanese economy to be prosperous and idealistic, yet dubious. References Corporate Financing and Governance in Japan by Takeo Hoshi and Anil Kashyap (2001). The MIT Press, Cambridge, Mass. ISBN: 0-262-08301-9

Free Essays - Evil and Good in Othello :: Othello essays

Insidious and Good in Othello     Life as a rule is frequently utilized as an arrangement of approaches to characterize what sort of individual you are by its end. Shakespeare steps through that hypothesis into exam upon his characters in his work of the renowned play Othello. Through the verbal exciting bends in the road alongside the expansion of shading imageries, the characters of Othello, Iago, Desdemona are uncovered to their fullest degrees, alongside their own equalization of good and abhorrence inside. At the point when this is acknowledged by this well known Shakespearian work, the judgment of good and abhorrence is done, and because of mass cleansing of feelings, neither wins in the goals.   Othello, because of his Moorish nature and yet ethically white and untainted, can be viewed as dim with the opening of the play, yet has the possibility to turn out to be either the most splendid white or the darkest dark. From how he is depicted by Iago and once in a while Brabantio, he is a dim mammoth prowling in the shadows, yet he is as white as he can be by the Duke. Dark is a shading not exactly white nor dark, delay and disarray faltering behind his eyes. This turmoil is brought about by his naiveté at confiding in individuals too effectively, and Iago enthusiastically takes this shortcoming to further his potential benefit. With the goal that when Iago controls Othello, Othello unwittingly surrenders to the enticement, in any event, going similarly as telling Iago I am bound to thee for ever (III. iii. 242). Othello now is totally taken in with Iago's psyche harming and energetically submits to him, respecting his deceits. Definitely with a little push from Iago, Othello gradually goes down the way of dim and unadulterated obscurity, in view of homicide clear. With Iago's altering of his internal moralities, Othello turns dark like a speeding snowball, when Iago set him on the correct way. Everything else Othello had done the harm himself; Iago just proposed the thought in the most inconspicuous of ways. Therefore he some of the time breaks out to savage franticness as Iago put it, when being put under such tension (IV. I. 65). He is so far gone that he even has epileptic fits becoming aware of Desdemona's betrayal.

How to Come up With Good Topics

How to Come up With Good Topics How to Come up With Good Topics How to Come up With Good Topics Sometimes the hardest part about writing an essay is coming up with a good topic to write about. When the instructor assigns you an essay but gives you a lot of leeway for the topic, it can be really hard to think of anything. Here are four good tips for coming up with an awesome essay topic. • Brainstorm first: This might sound like a lot of extra work, but brainstorming helps the decision. One way to do this is to make a mind map. In the middle, write the topic for the entire course. Then, write bubbles for every subcategory in that topic that you can think of. For every subcategory bubble, think of smaller categories that relate, until you have a web of topics that range from narrow to wide. Sometimes, after doing this, a student will realize they have written down something similar multiple times without being aware. If this happens, this is likely the topic you should stick to. • Be original: Don’t pick something that has already been used as an example or a case study in class. If your teacher gives you a list of themes, then choose from there, but make sure it doesn’t seem like you’re just taking their ideas from class and regurgitating them on paper. Your teacher also doesn’t want to read the same paper 20 times in a row. • Narrow it down by expanding further: The less generic your topic is, the better your paper will be. Try to find a deeper issue in the topic you want to do. For example, if you are in a human rights class and the subject you want to write about is gay marriage, don’t just write about why it should be legal. Write about the benefits of gay marriage on children in adopted families, why gay marriage is good for the economy, or connect it to another issue, such as transgender rights. • Do some research before you settle: Sometimes you’ll find that you want to completely change your topic once you start doing some research. Often, writers do not end up writing the same paper they began writing. This could be because you realize that there are more scholarly sources out there for another topic, or because you’ve simply lost interest in the original one. You could have also simply realized that your idea was wrong and found another angle to go from. Any of these reasons are valid and prove that doing some research right off the bat will help you. If you just can’t come up with anything, leave the thinking to us. At Homework Help USA we offer custom essay writing services that come complete with an original topic. Our expert writers are talented at seeking out the questions of the world and coming up with something to write about, all without you having to lift a finger. References: Baker, J. R. Brizee, A. (2013, October 7). Purdue OWL: Choosing a topic. Retrieved 30 August, 2015, from How to Come up With Good Topics How to Come up With Good Topics How to Come up With Good Topics Sometimes the hardest part about writing an essay is coming up with a good topic to write about. When the instructor assigns you an essay but gives you a lot of leeway for the topic, it can be really hard to think of anything. Here are four good tips for coming up with an awesome essay topic. • Brainstorm first: This might sound like a lot of extra work, but brainstorming helps the decision. One way to do this is to make a mind map. In the middle, write the topic for the entire course. Then, write bubbles for every subcategory in that topic that you can think of. For every subcategory bubble, think of smaller categories that relate, until you have a web of topics that range from narrow to wide. Sometimes, after doing this, a student will realize they have written down something similar multiple times without being aware. If this happens, this is likely the topic you should stick to. • Be original: Don’t pick something that has already been used as an example or a case study in class. If your teacher gives you a list of themes, then choose from there, but make sure it doesn’t seem like you’re just taking their ideas from class and regurgitating them on paper. Your teacher also doesn’t want to read the same paper 20 times in a row. • Narrow it down by expanding further: The less generic your topic is, the better your paper will be. Try to find a deeper issue in the topic you want to do. For example, if you are in a human rights class and the subject you want to write about is gay marriage, don’t just write about why it should be legal. Write about the benefits of gay marriage on children in adopted families, why gay marriage is good for the economy, or connect it to another issue, such as transgender rights. • Do some research before you settle: Sometimes you’ll find that you want to completely change your topic once you start doing some research. Often, writers do not end up writing the same paper they began writing. This could be because you realize that there are more scholarly sources out there for another topic, or because you’ve simply lost interest in the original one. You could have also simply realized that your idea was wrong and found another angle to go from. Any of these reasons are valid and prove that doing some research right off the bat will help you. If you just can’t come up with anything, leave the thinking to us. At Homework Help Canada we offer custom essay writing services that come complete with an original topic. Our expert writers are talented at seeking out the questions of the world and coming up with something to write about, all without you having to lift a finger. References: Baker, J. R. Brizee, A. (2013, October 7). Purdue OWL: Choosing a topic. Retrieved 30 August, 2015, from

Writing News Stephen Kings Family of Writers

Stephen King is, undoubtedly, one of the most well-known writers of today – not only in his genre, but in literature as a whole. It is a far less widely known fact that among his relatives he is far from being alone in this respect – all in all there are five novelists in his immediate family, with four of them having books out this year. Last July, on the week of the Fourth, this family of writers gathered together for a reunion to talk to each other, reminisce and, perhaps, try to remember what led to turning putting words together into some kind of unusual family business. Usually when we think about a family of entertainers something completely different comes to mind: circus dynasties, musician households – something of the kind. Not writers – it is too individual an accomplishment, too specific a skill to appear so close to each other. But the King family turned everything upside down – there are probably no known analogues in the written history of one family having five authors within two generations. Although it will certainly be news for some people, the closeness to literature and writing is nothing new for the Kings. They mostly attribute this inclination to Stephen King’s love for audiobooks to which he constantly listened in the eighties during his long drive along Maine’s roads. Even now it is not always easy to find a particular book in this format, and thirty years ago, without the Internet, the audiobook industry has been much less prominent. As a result, King was often unable to find the titles he was interested in – so he made his school-age children read and record for him a small library of books on tape. This early and unusual contact with the world of literature has certainly left its mark – it will be news even for some hardcore fans of Stephen King’s, but writing has turned into the family business of theirs. His wife, Tabitha King, is a successful author with eight published novels, as well as two of their three children (although the third, his daughter Naomi King, is not a writer per se, she still has a lot of experience in putting written words together). The fact that his son Owen is married to a writer, Kelly Braffet, comes as a final touch to this picture. The peculiarities of their lifestyle and relationships turned writing and reading into something they all had in common, something they could share with each other. Even their dog, McCurtry, is named after the writer Larry McMurtry – it almost seems as if the entire life of this family has been a special program for bringing up new authors.

The Use Of Cell Phones While Driving - 1817 Words

It is common knowledge that the use of cell phones while driving decreases driver awareness and overall road safety, and in response to this knowledge, some states have passed laws that have prohibited the use of handheld devices. However, there are no laws banning hands free cell phone usage, despite research claiming hands free devices are just as dangerous handheld devices. But, does their usage distract drivers enough to the point where states should legally ban the total use cell phones while driving? The following will introduce arguments for both sides of this topic, one for hands free cell phone usage and the other against cell phones usage entirely. It should be illegal to use hands free devices while driving because research†¦show more content†¦Additionally, the cell phone group rated themselves worse in driving performance before and after the simulator. This indicates that driver performance is impaired by cell phone use and drivers generally know their driving is worse when using hands free devices, therefore, the use of such devices should be illegal. Other evidence against hands free cell phone use while driving is simply that talking on hands free devices is just as bad as talking on handheld devices in relation to driver performance (Ishigami Klein, 2009). To determine this, Ishigami and Klein (2009) reviewed the results of several studies that investigated the impacts of handheld and hands free cell phone usage on the detection reaction times of drivers. These studies were: Abdel-Aty (2003), Burns et al. (2002), Consiglio et al. (2003), Haigney et al. (2000), McEvoy et al. (2005), Patten et al. (2004), Redelmeier and Tibshirani (1997), Strayer and Johnson (2001), Strayer, Drews, and Crouch (2006), and Tà ¶rnros and Boiling (2005, 2006). Consiglio et al. studied the effects of auditory distractions, such as cell phone, by measuring the reaction time of participants using a non-driving, braking task where participants released an ac celerator and applied the brakes if a red light were shown. The control group performed the task without auditory stimulation. Strayer and Johnson (2001) examined the effects of phone conversation on reaction time with a computer pursuit trackingShow MoreRelatedUse Of Cell Phones While Driving860 Words   |  4 PagesAmericans rely heavily on cell phones to perform daily activities. Cell phone are used for phone calls, email, sending text messages, surfing the internet, and performing other tasks. It is unfortunate that many of these daily activities occur while a person is driving. As a result, an increase of accidents and fatalities have occurred because of the use of cellular phones while driving. Using a cell phone while driving is an epidemic that has taken our nation by storm. Most drivers believe theyRead MoreCell Phone Use While Driving1503 Words   |  7 Pagesforth over the lines or driving at very inconsistent speeds. You wonder what could possibly be causing the driver to drive so erratically. Is the driver drunk? Is the driver preoccupied with eating his or her lunch? Is the driver busy attending children in the backseat? Once you pull along the side you realize that was not the case, instead you notice the driver has a cellular telephone up to her or his ear chatting away, or even worse you pass and see the driver holding a phone texting, you pass byRead MoreCell Phone Use While Driving990 Words   |  4 Pages Cell phones are integral to people’s lives in Canada because they are vital communication and entertainment tools. However, the use of cell phones has remained contentious, because texting and talking on the phone are associated with distracted drivi ng. Distracted driving is, â€Å"defined as the diversion of attention away from activities critical for safe driving toward a competing activity† (Klauer, Guo, Simons-Morton, Ouimet, Lee Dingus, 2013, p. 55). Although distracted driving is also associatedRead MoreUse of Cell Phones While Driving824 Words   |  4 PagesIf you are driving at 55mph for 5 seconds in that amount of time you could cross a football field. People don’t understand how dangerous distracted driving really is. All states should have some sort of legal parameters of what happens when you get caught using your cell phone while driving. People should get a stronger/ harsher punishment for the use of a cellular device while driving. People are way more impaired when you are distracted and driving than you are drinking and driving. The problemRead MoreCell Phone Use While Driving1114 Words   |  5 PagesToday, we use our cell phones for just about anything and everything to include; texting, talking to our loved ones, and connecting with the rest of the world via social media. Cell phones have become a natural way of life to where we pick up our phones and use them like second nature. However, the dangers present themselves when we get behind the wheel of a car and carry these habits of cell phone addictions with us. If all states ban the use of cell phones while driving, then there would be a reducedRead MoreThe Use Of Cell Phones While Driving1843 Words   |  8 Pagesknown that the use of cell phones while driving decreases driver awareness and overall road safety, and in response to this knowledge, some states have passed laws that have prohibited the use of handheld devices. However, there are no laws banning hands free cell phone usage, despite research claiming hands free devices are just as dangerous handheld devices, but does their usage distract drivers enough to the point where states should legally ban the total use cell phones while driving? The followingRead MoreThe Use Of Cell Phones While Driving1509 Words   |  7 PagesSeveral states have enacted laws banning the use of cell phones while driving; an indication of the type of society America has become. These laws were put in place not only to keep drivers from taking phone calls, but also to deter them from posting their latest tweet or commenting on their friend’s latest picture. Social media is so ingrained in society today that many are unable to entertain a world that is devoid of such technology. With usage at an all-time high, the psychological effects ofRead MoreCell Phone Use While Driving Essay1816 Words   |  8 PagesThe study was attempting to determine the thoughts and behaviors that African American freshman college students in regards to cellphone use while driving. They wanted to know how the students thought cellphones (independent variable) impact driving skills (dependent variable). Research suggests that cellphone use correlates to higher likelihood of accidents. The study used 331 (195 females and 136 males) freshman students who held a driver’s license. The students were then given a questionnaireRead More Cell Phones And Driving: Dangers Involved with Cell Phone Use While Driving1036 Words   |  5 Pagesoften. Talking on the cell phone and driving has become a very popular thing these days. Technology is coming out with the newest phones that can do everything for you and people are attracted to that. There are people that don’t have hands free and drive their car with only one hand, people that text and totally take their eye off the road and type conversations to each other. Bluetooth is another technological breakthrough where you wear an ear piece and can receive phone calls by one touch ofRead MoreStop the Use of Cell Phones While Driving854 Words   |  4 Pages13 2013 Many people driving don’t know that they can be so many wrongs they can be doing without realizing it. Plenty talk on the phone while driving, drink, text and drive. A lot of people even innocent people as well have had accidents involving one of those. Out of the three there has been one that has become more common, and it’s only increasing if people don’t put a stop to it themselves. A usage of a cell phone should not be displayed at any point while driving. It can wait many have had

Black House Chapter Three Free Essays

string(97) " Dangling from one ear-lobe is a lightning-bolt earring that looks suspiciously like the Nazi S\." 3 OUT TYLER’S WINDOW we go, away from Libertyville, flying southwest on a diagonal, not lingering now but really flapping those old wings, flying with a purpose. We’re headed toward the heliograph flash of early-morning sun on the Father of Waters, also toward the world’s largest six-pack. Between it and County Road Oo (we can call it Nail-house Row if we want; we’re practically honorary citizens of French Landing now) is a radio tower, the warning beacon on top now invisible in the bright sunshine of this newborn July day. We will write a custom essay sample on Black House Chapter Three or any similar topic only for you Order Now We smell grass and trees and warming earth, and as we draw closer to the tower, we also smell the yeasty, fecund aroma of beer. Next to the radio tower, in the industrial park on the east side of Peninsula Drive, is a little cinder-block building with a parking lot just big enough for half a dozen cars and the Coulee patrol van, an aging Ford Econoline painted candy-apple pink. As the day winds down and afternoon wears into evening, the cylindrical shadows of the six-pack will fall first over the sign on the balding lawn facing the drive, then the building, then the parking lot. KDCU-AM, this sign reads, YOUR TALK VOICE IN COULEE COUNTRY. Spray-painted across it, in a pink that almost matches the patrol van, is a fervent declaration: TROY LUVS MARYANN! YES! Later on, Howie Soule, the U-Crew engineer, will clean this off (probably during the Rush Limbaugh show, which is satellite fed and totally automated), but for now it stays, telling us all we need to know about small-town luv in middle America. Looks like we found something nice after all. Coming out of the station’s side door as we arrive is a slender man dressed in pleated khaki Dockers, a tieless white shirt of Egyptian cotton buttoned all the way to the neck, and maroon braces (they are as slim as he is, those braces, and far too cool to be called suspenders; suspenders are vulgar things worn by such creatures as Chipper Maxton and Sonny Heartfield, down at the funeral home). This silver-haired fellow is also wearing a very sharp straw fedora, antique but beautifully kept. The maroon hatband matches his braces. Aviator-style sunglasses cover his eyes. He takes a position on the grass to the left of the door, beneath a battered speaker that is amping KDCU’s current broadcast: the local news. This will be followed by the Chicago farm report, which gives him ten minutes before he has to settle in behind the mike again. We watch in growing puzzlement as he produces a pack of American Spirit cigarettes from his shirt pocket and fires one up with a gold lighter. Surely this elegant fellow in the braces, Dockers, and Bass Weejuns cannot be George Rathbun. In our minds we have already built up a picture of George, and it is one of a fellow very different from this. In our mind’s eye we see a guy with a huge belly hanging over the white belt of his checked pants (all those ballpark bratwursts), a brick-red complexion (all those ballpark beers, not to mention all that bellowing at the dastardly umps), and a squat, broad neck (perfect for housing those asbestos vocal cords). The George Rathbun of our imagination and all of Coulee Country’s, it almost goes without saying is a pop-eyed, broad-assed, wild-haired, leather-lunged, Rolaids-popping, Chevy-driving, Republican-voting heart attack waiting to happen, a churning urn of sports trivia, mad enthusiasms, crazy prejudices, and high choleste rol. This fellow is not that fellow. This fellow moves like a dancer. This fellow is iced tea on a hot day, cool as the king of spades. But say, that’s the joke of it, isn’t it? Uh-huh. The joke of the fat dee-jay with the skinny voice, only turned inside out. In a very real sense, George Rathbun does not exist at all. He is a hobby in action, a fiction in the flesh, and only one of the slim man’s multiple personalities. The people at KDCU know his real name and think they’re in on the joke (the punch line of course being George’s trademark line, the even-a-blind-man thing), but they don’t know the half of it. Nor is this a metaphorical statement. They know exactly one-third of it, because the man in the Dockers and the straw fedora is actually four people. In any case, George Rathbun has been the saving of KDCU, the last surviving AM station in a predatory FM market. For five mornings a week, week in and week out, he has been a drive-time bonanza. The U-Crew (as they call themselves) love him just about to death. Above him, the loudspeaker cackles on: † still no leads, according to Chief Dale Gilbertson, who has called Herald reporter Wendell Green ? ®an out-of-town fearmonger who is more interested in selling papers than in how we do things in French Landing.’ â€Å"Meanwhile, in Arden, a house fire has taken the lives of an elderly farmer and his wife. Horst P. Lepplemier and his wife, Gertrude, both eighty-two . . .† â€Å"Horst P. Lepplemier,† says the slim man, drawing on his cigarette with what appears to be great enjoyment. â€Å"Try saying that one ten times fast, you moke.† Behind him and to his right, the door opens again, and although the smoker is still standing directly beneath the speaker, he hears the door perfectly well. The eyes behind the aviator shades have been dead his whole life, but his hearing is exquisite. The newcomer is pasty-faced and comes blinking into the morning sun like a baby mole that has just been turned out of its burrow by the blade of a passing plow. His head has been shaved except for the Mo-hawk strip up the center of his skull and the pigtail that starts just above the nape of his neck and hangs to his shoulder blades. The Mohawk has been dyed bright red; the ‘tail is electric blue. Dangling from one ear-lobe is a lightning-bolt earring that looks suspiciously like the Nazi S. You read "Black House Chapter Three" in category "Essay examples"S. insignia. He is wearing a torn black T-shirt with a logo that reads SNIVELLING SHITS ’97: THE WE GET HARD FOR JESUS TOUR. In one hand this colorful fellow has a CD jewel box. â€Å"Hello, Morris,† says the slim man in the fedora, still without turning. Morris pulls in a little gasp, and in his surprise looks like the nice Jewish boy that he actually is. Morris Rosen is the U-Crew’s summer intern from the Oshkosh branch of UW. â€Å"Man, I love that unpaid grunt labor!† station manager Tom Wiggins has been heard to say, usually while rubbing his hands together fiendishly. Never has a checkbook been guarded so righteously as the Wigger guards the KDCU check-book. He is like Smaug the Dragon reclining on his heaps of gold (not? that there are heaps of anything in the ‘DCU accounts; it bears repeating to say that, as an AM talker, the station is lucky just to be alive). Morris’s look of surprise it might be fair to call it uneasy surprise dissolves into a smile. â€Å"Wow, Mr. Leyden! Good grab! What a pair of ears!† Then he frowns. Even if Mr. Leyden who’s standing directly beneath the outside honker, can’t forget that heard someone come out, how in God’s name did he know which someone it was? â€Å"How’d you know it was me?† he asks. â€Å"Only two people around here smell like marijuana in the morning,† Henry Leyden says. â€Å"One of them follows his morning smoke with Scope; the other that’s you, Morris just lets her rip.† â€Å"Wow,† Morris says respectfully. â€Å"That is totally bitchrod.† â€Å"I am totally bitchrod,† Henry agrees. He speaks softly and thoughtfully. â€Å"It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it. In regard to your morning rendezvous with the undeniably tasty Thai stick, may I offer an Appalachian aphorism?† â€Å"Go, dude.† This is Morris’s first real discussion with Henry Leyden, who is every bit the head Morris has been told to expect. Every bit and more. It is no longer so hard to believe that he could have another identity . . . a secret identity, like Bruce Wayne. But still . . . this is just so pimp. â€Å"What we do in our childhood forms as a habit,† Henry says in the same soft, totally un?CGeorge Rathbun voice. â€Å"That is my advice to you, Morris.† â€Å"Yeah, totally,† Morris says. He has no clue what Mr. Leyden is talking about. But he slowly, shyly, extends the CD jewel box in his hand. For a moment, when Henry makes no move to take it, Morris feels crushed, all at once seven years old again and trying to wow his always-too-busy father with a picture he has spent all afternoon drawing in his room. Then he thinks, He’s blind, dickweed. He may be able to smell pot on your breath and he may have ears like a bat, but how’s he supposed to know you’re holding out a fucking CD? Hesitantly, a bit frightened by his own temerity, Morris takes Henry’s wrist. He feels the man start a little, but then Leyden allows his hand to be guided to the slender box. â€Å"Ah, a CD,† Henry says. â€Å"And what is it, pray tell?† â€Å"You gotta play the seventh track tonight on your show,† Morris says. â€Å"Please.† For the first time, Henry looks alarmed. He takes a drag on his cigarette, then drops it (without even looking of course, ha ha) into the sand-filled plastic bucket by the door. â€Å"What show could you possibly mean?† he asks. Instead of answering directly, Morris makes a rapid little smacking noise with his lips, the sound of a small but voracious carnivore eating something tasty. And, to make things worse, he follows it with the Wisconsin Rat’s trademark line, as well known to the folks in Morris’s age group as George Rathbun’s hoarse â€Å"Even a blind man† cry is known to their elders: â€Å"Chew it up, eat it up, wash it down, it aaallll comes out the same place!† He doesn’t do it very well, but there’s no question who he’s doing: the one and only Wisconsin Rat, whose evening drive-time program on KWLA-FM is famous in Coulee Country (except the word we probably want is â€Å"infamous†). KWLA is the tiny college FM station in La Riviere, hardly more than a smudge on the wallpaper of Wisconsin radio, but the Rat’s audience is huge. And if anyone found out that the comfortable Brew Crew?Crooting, Republican-voting, AM-broadcasting George Rathbun was also the Rat who had once narrated a gleeful on-air evacuation of his bowels onto a Backstreet Boys CD there could be trouble. Quite serious, possibly, resounding well beyond the tight-knit little radio community. â€Å"What in God’s name would ever make you think that I’m the Wisconsin Rat, Morris?† Henry asks. â€Å"I barely know who you’re talking about. Who put such a weird idea in your head?† â€Å"An informed source,† Morris says craftily. He won’t give Howie Soule up, not even if they pull out his fingernails with red-hot tongs. Besides, Howie only found out by accident: went into the station crapper one day after Henry left and discovered that Henry’s wallet had fallen out of his back pocket while he was sitting on the throne. You’d have thought a fellow whose other senses were so obviously tightwired would have sensed the absence, but probably Henry’s mind had been on other things he was obviously a heavy dude who undoubtedly spent his days getting through some heavy thoughts. In any case, there was a KWLA I.D. card in Henry’s wallet (which Howie had thumbed through â€Å"in the spirit of friendly curiosity,† as he put it), and on the line marked NAME, someone had stamped a little inkpad drawing of a rat. Case closed, game over, zip up your fly. â€Å"I have never in my life so much as stepped through the door of KWLA,† Henry says, and this is the absolute truth. He makes the Wisconsin Rat tapes (among others) in his studio at home, then sends them in to the station from the downtown Mail Boxes Etc., where he rents under the name of Joe Strummer. The card with the rat stamped on it was more in the nature of an invitation from the KWLA staff than anything else, one he’s never taken up . . . but he kept the card. â€Å"Have you become anyone else’s informed source, Morris?† â€Å"Huh?† â€Å"Have you told anyone that you think I’m the Wisconsin Rat?† â€Å"No! Course not!† Which, as we all know, is what people always say. Luckily for Henry, in this case it happens to be true. So far, at least, but the day is still young. â€Å"And you won’t, will you? Because rumors have a way of taking root. Just like certain bad habits.† Henry mimes puffing, pulling in smoke. â€Å"I know how to keep my mouth shut,† Morris declares, with perhaps misplaced pride. â€Å"I hope so. Because if you bruited this about, I’d have to kill you.† Bruited, Morris thinks. Oh man, this guy is complete. â€Å"Kill me, yeah,† Morris says, laughing. â€Å"And eat you,† Henry says. He is not laughing; not even smiling. â€Å"Yeah, right.† Morris laughs again, but this time the laugh sounds strangely forced to his own ears. â€Å"Like you’re Hannibal Lecture.† â€Å"No, like I’m the Fisherman,† Henry says. He slowly turns his aviator sunglasses toward Morris. The sun reflects off them, for a moment turning them into rufous eyes of fire. Morris takes a step back without even realizing that he has done so. â€Å"Albert Fish liked to start with the ass, did you know that?† â€Å"N â€Å" â€Å"Yes indeed. He claimed that a good piece of young ass was as sweet as a veal cutlet. His exact words. Written in a letter to the mother of one of his victims.† â€Å"Far out,† Morris says. His voice sounds faint to his own ears, the voice of a plump little pig denying entrance to the big bad wolf. â€Å"But I’m not exactly, like, worried that you’re the Fisherman.† â€Å"No? Why not?† â€Å"Man, you’re blind, for one thing!† Henry says nothing, only stares at the now vastly uneasy Morris with his fiery glass eyes. And Morris thinks: But is he blind? He gets around pretty good for a blind guy . . . and the way he tabbed me as soon as I came out here, how weird was that? â€Å"I’ll keep quiet,† he says. â€Å"Honest to God.† â€Å"That’s all I want,† Henry says mildly. â€Å"Now that we’ve got that straight, what exactly have you brought me?† He holds up the CD but not as if he’s looking at it, Morris observes with vast relief. â€Å"It’s, um, this Racine group. Dirtysperm? And they’ve got this cover of ? ®Where Did Our Love Go’? The old Supremes thing? Only they do it at like a hundred and fifty beats a minute? It’s fuckin’ hilarious. I mean, it destroys the whole pop thing, man, blitzes it!† â€Å"Dirtysperm,† Henry says. â€Å"Didn’t they used to be Jane Wyatt’s Clit?† Morris looks at Henry with awe that could easily become love. â€Å"Dirtysperm’s lead guitarist, like, formed JWC, man. Then him and the bass guy had this political falling-out, something about Dean Kissinger and Henry Acheson, and Ucky Ducky he’s the guitarist went off to form Dirtysperm.† † ? ®Where Did Our Love Go’?† Henry muses, then hands the CD back. And, as if he sees the way Morris’s face falls: â€Å"I can’t be seen with something like that use your head. Stick it in my locker.† Morris’s gloom disappears and he breaks into a sunny smile. â€Å"Yeah, okay! You got it, Mr. Leyden!† â€Å"And don’t let anyone see you doing it. Especially not Howie Soule. Howie’s a bit of a snoop. You’d do well not to emulate him.† â€Å"No way, baby!† Still smiling, delighted at how all this has gone, Morris reaches for the door handle. â€Å"And Morris?† â€Å"Yeah?† â€Å"Since you know my secret, perhaps you’d better call me Henry.† â€Å"Henry! Yeah!† Is this the best morning of the summer for Morris Rosen? You better believe it. â€Å"And something else.† â€Å"Yeah? Henry?† Morris dares imagine a day when they will progress to Hank and Morrie. â€Å"Keep your mouth shut about the Rat.† â€Å"I already told you â€Å" â€Å"Yes, and I believe you. But temptation comes creeping, Morris; temptation comes creeping like a thief in the night, or like a killer in search of prey. If you give in to temptation, I’ll know. I’ll smell it on your skin like bad cologne. Do you believe me?† â€Å"Uh . . . yeah.† And he does. Later, when he has time to kick back and reflect, Morris will think what a ridiculous idea that is, but yes, at the time, he believes it. Believes him. It’s like being hypnotized. â€Å"Very good. Now off you go. I want Ace Hardware, Zaglat Chevy, and Mr. Tastee Ribs all cued up for the first seg.† â€Å"Gotcha.† â€Å"Also, last night’s game â€Å" â€Å"Wickman striking out the side in the eighth? That was pimp. Totally, like, un-Brewers.† â€Å"No, I think we want the Mark Loretta home run in the fifth. Loretta doesn’t hit many, and the fans like him. I can’t think why. Even a blind man can see he has no range, especially from deep in the hole. Go on, son. Put the CD in my locker, and if I see the Rat, I’ll give it to him. I’m sure he’ll give it a spin.† â€Å"The track â€Å" â€Å"Seven, seven, rhymes with heaven. I won’t forget and neither will he. Go on, now.† Morris gives him a final grateful look and goes back inside. Henry Leyden, alias George Rathbun, alias the Wisconsin Rat, also alias Henry Shake (we’ll get to that one, but not now; the hour draweth late), lights another cigarette and drags deep. He won’t have time to finish it; the farm report is already in full flight (hog bellies up, wheat futures down, and the corn as high as an elephant’s eye), but he needs a couple of drags just now to steady himself. A long, long day stretches out ahead of him, ending with the Strawberry Fest Hop at Maxton Elder Care, that house of antiquarian horrors. God save him from the clutches of William â€Å"Chipper† Maxton, he has often thought. Given a choice between ending his days at MEC and burning his face off with a blowtorch, he would reach for the blowtorch every time. Later, if he’s not totally exhausted, perhaps his friend from up the road will come over and they can begin the long-promised reading of Bleak House. That would be a treat. How long, he wonders, can Morris Rosen hold on to his momentous secret? Well, Henry supposes he will find that out. He likes the Rat too much to give him up unless he absolutely has to; that much is an undeniable fact. â€Å"Dean Kissinger,† he murmurs. â€Å"Henry Acheson. Ucky Ducky. God save us.† He takes another drag on his cigarette, then drops it into the bucket of sand. It is time to go back inside, time to replay last night’s Mark Loretta home run, time to start taking more calls from the Coulee Country’s dedicated sports fans. And time for us to be off. Seven o’clock has rung from the Lutheran church steeple. In French Landing, things are getting into high gear. No one lies abed long in this part of the world, and we must speed along to the end of our tour. Things are going to start happening soon, and they may happen fast. Still, we have done well, and we have only one more stop to make before arriving at our final destination. We rise on the warm summer updrafts and hover for a moment by the KDCU tower (we are close enough to hear the tik-tik-tik of the beacon and the low, rather sinister hum of electricity), looking north and taking our bearings. Eight miles upriver is the town of Great Bluff, named for the limestone outcropping that rises there. The outcropping is reputed to be haunted, because in 1888 a chief of the Fox Indian tribe (Far Eyes was his name) assembled all his warriors, shamans, squaws, and children and told them to leap to their deaths, thereby escaping some hideous fate he had glimpsed in his dreams. Far Eyes’s followers, like Jim Jones’s, did as they were bidden. We won’t go that far upriver, however; we have enough ghosts to deal with right here in French Landing. Let us instead fly over Nailhouse Row once more (the Harleys are gone; Beezer St. Pierre has led the Thunder Five off to their day’s work at the brewery), over Queen Street and Maxton Elder Care (Burny’s down there, still looking out his window ugh), to Bluff Street. This is almost the countryside again. Even now, in the twenty-first century, the towns in Coulee Country give up quickly to the woods and the fields. Herman Street is a left turn from Bluff Street, in an area that is not quite town and not quite city. Here, in a sturdy brick house sitting at the end of a half-mile meadow as yet undiscovered by the developers (even here there are a few developers, unknowing agents of slippage), lives Dale Gilbertson with his wife, Sarah, and his six-year-old son, David. We can’t stay long, but let us at least drift in through the kitchen window for a moment. It’s open, after all, and there is room for us to perch right here on the counter, between the Silex and the toaster. Sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and shoveling Special K into his mouth without tasting it (he has forgotten both the sugar and the sliced banana in his distress at seeing yet another Wendell Green byline on the front page of the Herald), is Chief Gilbertson himself. This morning he is without doubt the unhappiest man in French Landing. We will meet his only competition for that booby prize soon, but for the moment, let us stick with Dale. The Fisherman, he thinks mournfully, his reflections on this subject very similar to those of Bobby Dulac and Tom Lund. Why didn’t you name him something a little more turn-of-the-century, you troublesome scribbling fuck? Something a little bit local? Dahmerboy, maybe, that’d be good. Ah, but Dale knows why. The similarities between Albert Fish, who did his work in New York, and their boy here in French Landing are just too good too tasty to be ignored. Fish strangled his victims, as both Amy St. Pierre and Johnny Irkenham were apparently strangled; Fish dined on his victims, as both the girl and the boy were apparently dined upon; both Fish and the current fellow showed an especial liking for the . . . well, for the posterior regions of the anatomy. Dale looks at his cereal, then drops his spoon into the mush and pushes the bowl away with the side of his hand. And the letters. Can’t forget the letters. Dale glances down at his briefcase, crouched at the side of his chair like a faithful dog. The file is in there, and it draws him like a rotted, achy tooth draws the tongue. Maybe he can keep his hands off it, at least while he’s here at home, where he plays toss with his son and makes love to his wife, but keeping his mind off it . . . that’s a whole ‘nother thing, as they also say in these parts. Albert Fish wrote a long and horribly explicit letter to the mother of Grace Budd, the victim who finally earned the old cannibal a trip to the electric chair. (â€Å"What a thrill electrocution will be!† Fish reputedly told his jailers. â€Å"The only one I haven’t tried!†) The current doer has written similar letters, one addressed to Helen Irkenham, the other to Amy’s father, the awful (but genuinely grief-stricken, in Dale’s estimation) Armand â€Å"Beezer† St. Pierre. It would be good if Dale could believe these letters were written by some troublemaker not otherwise connected to the murders, but both contain information that has been withheld from the press, information that presumably only the killer could know. Dale at last gives in to temptation (how well Henry Leyden would understand) and hauls up his briefcase. He opens it and puts a thick file where his cereal bowl lately rested. He returns the briefcase to its place by his chair, then opens the file (it is marked ST. PIERRE/IRKENHAM rather than FISHERMAN). He leafs past heartbreaking school photos of two smiling, gap-toothed children, past state medical examiner reports too horrible to read and crime-scene photos too horrible to look at (ah, but he must look at them, again and again he must look at them the blood-slicked chains, the flies, the open eyes). There are also various transcripts, the longest being the interview with Spencer Hovdahl, who found the Irkenham boy and who was, very briefly, considered a suspect. Next come Xerox copies of three letters. One had been sent to George and Helen Irkenham (addressed to Helen alone, if it made any difference). One went to Armand â€Å"Beezer† St. Pierre (addressed just that way, too, nickname and all). The third had been sent to the mother of Grace Budd, of New York City, following the murder of her daughter in the late spring of 1928. Dale lays the three of them out, side by side. Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her. So Fish had written to Mrs. Budd. Amy sat in my lap and hugged me. I made up my mind to eat her. So had Beezer St. Pierre’s correspondent written, and was it any wonder the man had threatened to burn the French Landing police station to the ground? Dale doesn’t like the son of a bitch, but has to admit he might feel the same way in Beezer’s shoes. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get her blood on them. Fish, to Mrs. Budd. I went around back of the hen-house and stripped all my cloes off. New if I did not I would get his blood on them. Anonymous, to Helen Irkenham. And here was a question: How could a mother receive a letter like that and retain her sanity? Was that possible? Dale thought not. Helen answered questions coherently, had even offered him tea the last time he was out there, but she had a glassy, poleaxed look in her eye that suggested she was running entirely on instruments. Three letters, two new, one almost seventy-five years old. And yet all three are so similar. The St. Pierre letter and the Irkenham letter had been hand-printed by someone who was left-handed, according to the state experts. The paper was plain white Hammermill mimeo, available in every Office Depot and Staples in America. The pen used had probably been a Bic now, there was a lead. Fish to Mrs. Budd, back in ’28: I did not fuck her tho I could of had I wished. She died a virgin. Anonymous to Beezer St. Pierre: I did NOT fuck her tho I could of had I wished. She died a VIRGIN. Anonymous to Helen Irkenham: This may comfort you I did NOT fuck him tho I could of had I wished. He died a VIRGIN. Dale’s out of his depth here and knows it, but he hopes he isn’t a complete fool. This doer, although he did not sign his letters with the old cannibal’s name, clearly wanted the connection to be made. He had done everything but leave a few dead trout at the dumping sites. Sighing bitterly, Dale puts the letters back into the file, the file back into the briefcase. â€Å"Dale? Honey?† Sarah’s sleepy voice, from the head of the stairs. Dale gives the guilty jump of a man who has almost been caught doing something nasty and latches his briefcase. â€Å"I’m in the kitchen,† he calls back. No need to worry about waking Davey; he sleeps like the dead until at least seven-thirty every morning. â€Å"Going in late?† â€Å"Uh-huh.† He often goes in late, then makes up for it by working until seven or eight or even nine in the evening. Wendell Green hasn’t made a big deal of that . . . at least not so far, but give him time. Talk about your cannibals! â€Å"Give the flowers a drink before you go, would you? It’s been so dry.† â€Å"You bet.† Watering Sarah’s flowers is a chore Dale likes. He gets some of his best thinking done with the garden hose in his hand. A pause from upstairs . . . but he hasn’t heard her slippers shuffling back toward the bedroom. He waits. And at last: â€Å"You okay, hon?† â€Å"Fine,† he calls back, pumping what he hopes will be the right degree of heartiness into his voice. â€Å"Because you were still tossing around when I dropped off.† â€Å"No, I’m fine.† â€Å"Do you know what Davey asked me last night while I was washing his hair?† Dale rolls his eyes. He hates these long-distance conversations. Sarah seems to love them. He gets up and pours himself another cup of coffee. â€Å"No, what?† â€Å"He asked, ? ®Is Daddy going to lose his job?’ â€Å" † Dale pauses with the cup halfway to his lips. â€Å"What did you say?† â€Å"I said no. Of course.† â€Å"Then you said the right thing.† He waits, but there is no more. Having injected him with one more dram of poisonous worry David’s fragile psyche, as well as what a certain party might do to the boy, should David be so unlucky as to run afoul of him Sarah shuffles back to their room and, presumably, to the shower beyond. Dale goes back to the table, sips his coffee, then puts his hand to his forehead and closes his eyes. In this moment we can see precisely how frightened and miserable he is. Dale is just forty-two and a man of abstemious habits, but in the cruel morning light coming through the window by which we entered, he looks, for the moment, anyway, a sickly sixty. He is concerned about his job, knows that if the fellow who killed Amy and Johnny keeps it up, he will almost certainly be turned out of office the following year. He is also concerned about Davey . . . although Davey isn’t his chief concern, for, like Fred Marshall, he cannot actually conceive that the Fisherman could take his and Sarah’s own child. No, it is the other children of French Landing he is more worried about, possibly the children of Centralia and Arden as well. His worst fear is that he is simply not good enough to catch the son of a bitch. That he will kill a third, a fourth, perhaps an eleventh and twelfth. God knows he has requested help. And gotten it . . . sort of. There are two State Police detectives assigned to the case, and the FBI guy from Madison keeps checking in (on an informal basis, though; the FBI is not officially part of the investigation). Even his outside help has a surreal quality for Dale, one that has been partially caused by an odd coincidence of their names. The FBI guy is Agent John P. Redding. The state detectives are Perry Brown and Jeffrey Black. So he has Brown, Black, and Redding on his team. The Color Posse, Sarah calls them. All three making it clear that they are strictly working support, at least for the time being. Making it clear that Dale Gilbertson is the man standing on ground zero. Christ, but I wish Jack would sign on to help me with this, Dale thinks. I’d deputize him in a second, just like in one of those corny old Western movies. Yes indeed. In a second. When Jack had first come to French Landing, almost four years ago, Dale hadn’t known what to make of the man his officers immediately dubbed Hollywood. By the time the two of them had nailed Thornberg Kinderling yes, inoffensive little Thornberg Kinderling, hard to believe but absolutely true he knew exactly what to make of him. The guy was the finest natural detective Dale had ever met in his life. The only natural detective, that’s what you mean. Yes, all right. The only one. And although they had shared the collar (at the L.A. newcomer’s absolute insistence), it had been Jack’s detective work that had turned the trick. He was almost like one of those story-book detectives . . . Hercule Poirot, Ellery Queen, one of those. Except that Jack didn’t exactly deduct, nor did he go around tapping his temple and talking about his â€Å"little gray cells.† He . . . â€Å"He listens,† Dale mutters, and gets up. He heads for the back door, then returns for his briefcase. He’ll put it in the back seat of his cruiser before he waters the flower beds. He doesn’t want those awful pictures in his house any longer than strictly necessary. He listens. Like the way he’d listened to Janna Massengale, the bartender at the Taproom. Dale had had no idea why Jack was spending so much time with the little chippy; it had even crossed his mind that Mr. Los Angeles Linen Slacks was trying to hustle her into bed so he could go back home and tell all his friends on Rodeo Drive that he’d gotten himself a little piece of the cheese up there in Wisconsin, where the air was rare and the legs were long and strong. But that hadn’t been it at all. He had been listening, and finally she had told him what he needed to hear. Yeah, shurr, people get funny ticks when they’re drinking, Janna had said. There’s this one guy who starts doing this after a couple of belts. She had pinched her nostrils together with the tips of her fingers . . . only with her hand turned around so the palm pointed out. Jack, still smiling easily, still sipping a club soda: Always with the palm out? Like this? And mimicked the gesture. Janna, smiling, half in love: That’s it, doll you’re a quick study. Jack: Sometimes, I guess. What’s this fella’s name, darlin’? Janna: Kinderling. Thornberg Kinderling. She giggled. Only, after a drink or two once he’s started up with that pinchy thing he wants everyone to call him Thorny. Jack, still with his own smile: And does he drink Bombay gin, darlin’? One ice cube, little trace of bitters? Janna’s smile starting to fade, now looking at him as if he might be some kind of wizard: How’d you know that? But how he knew it didn’t matter, because that was really the whole package, done up in a neat bow. Case closed, game over, zip up your fly. Eventually, Jack had flown back to Los Angeles with Thornberg Kinderling in custody Thornberg Kinderling, just an inoffensive, bespectacled farm-insurance salesman from Centralia, wouldn’t say boo to a goose, wouldn’t say shit if he had a mouthful, wouldn’t dare ask your mamma for a drink of water on a hot day, but he had killed two prostitutes in the City of Angels. No strangulation for Thorny; he had done his work with a Buck knife, which Dale himself had eventually traced to Lapham Sporting Goods, the nasty little trading post a door down from the Sand Bar, Centralia’s grungiest drinking establishment. By then DNA testing had nailed Kinderling’s ass to the barn door, but Jack had been glad to have the provenance of the murder weapon anyway. He had called Dale personally to thank him, and Dale, who’d never been west of Denver in his life, had been almost absurdly touched by the courtesy. Jack had said several times during the course of the investigation that you could never have enough evidence when the doer was a genuine bad guy, and Thorny Kinderling had turned out to be about as bad as you could want. He’d gone the insanity route, of course, and Dale who had privately hoped he might be called upon to testify was delighted when the jury rejected the plea and sentenced him to consecutive life terms. And what made all that happen? What had been the first cause? Why, a man listening. That was all. Listening to a lady bartender who was used to having her breasts stared at while her words most commonly went in one ear of the man doing the staring and out the other. And who had Hollywood Jack listened to before he had listened to Janna Massengale? Some Sunset Strip hooker, it seemed . . . or more likely a whole bunch of them. (What would you call that, anyway? Dale wonders absently as he goes out to the garage to get his trusty hose. A shimmy of streetwalkers? A strut of hookers?) None of them could have picked Thornberg Kinderling out of a lineup, because the Thornberg who visited L.A. surely hadn’t looked much like the Thornberg who traveled around to the farm-supply companies in the Coulee and over in Minnesota. L.A. Thorny had worn a wig, contacts instead of specs, and a little false mustache. â€Å"The most brilliant thing was the skin darkener,† Jack had said. â€Å"Just a little, just enough to make him look like a native.† â€Å"Dramatics all four years at French Landing High School,† Dale had replied grimly. â€Å"I looked it up. The little bastard played Don Juan his junior year, do you believe it?† A lot of sly little changes (too many for a jury to swallow an insanity plea, it seemed), but Thorny had forgotten that one revelatory little signature, that trick of pinching his nostrils together with the palm of his hand turned outward. Some prostitute had remembered it, though, and when she mentioned it only in passing, Dale has no doubt, just as Janna Massengale did Jack heard it. Because he listened. Called to thank me for tracing the knife, and again to tell me how the jury came back, Dale thinks, but that second time he wanted something, too. And I knew what it was. Even before he opened his mouth I knew. Because, while he is no genius detective like his friend from the Golden State, Dale had not missed the younger man’s unexpected, immediate response to the landscape of western Wisconsin. Jack had fallen in love with the Coulee Country, and Dale would have wagered a good sum that it had been love at first look. It had been impossible to mistake the expression on his face as they drove from French Landing to Cen-tralia, from Centralia to Arden, from Arden to Miller: wonder, pleasure, almost a kind of rapture. To Dale, Jack had looked like a man who has come to a place he has never been before only to discover he is back home. â€Å"Man, I can’t get over this,† he’d said once to Dale. The two of them had been riding in Dale’s old Caprice cruiser, the one that just wouldn’t stay aligned (and sometimes the horn stuck, which could be embarrassing). â€Å"Do you realize how lucky you are to live here, Dale? It must be one of the most beautiful places in the world.† Dale, who had lived in the Coulee his entire life, had not disagreed. Toward the end of their final conversation concerning Thornberg Kinderling, Jack had reminded Dale of how he’d once asked (not quite kidding, not quite serious, either) for Dale to let him know if a nice little place ever came on the market in Dale’s part of the world, something out of town. And Dale had known at once from Jack’s tone the almost anxious drop in his voice that the kidding was over. â€Å"So you owe me,† Dale murmurs, shouldering the hose. â€Å"You owe me, you bastard.† Of course he has asked Jack to lend an unofficial hand with the Fisherman investigation, but Jack has refused . . . almost with a kind of fear. I’m retired, he’d said brusquely. If you don’t know what that word means, Dale, we can look it up in the dictionary together. But it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Of course it is. How can a man not yet thirty-five be retired? Especially one who is so infernally good at the job? â€Å"You owe me, baby,† he says again, now walking along the side of the house toward the bib faucet. The sky above is cloudless; the well-watered lawn is green; there is nary a sign of slippage, not out here on Herman Street. Yet perhaps there is, and perhaps we feel it. A kind of discordant hum, like the sound of all those lethal volts coursing through the steel struts of the KDCU tower. But we have stayed here too long. We must take wing again and proceed to our final destination of this early morning. We don’t know everything yet, but we know three important things: first, that French Landing is a town in terrible distress; second, that a few people ( Judy Marshall, for one; Charles Burnside, for another) understand on some deep level that the town’s ills go far beyond the depredations of a single sick pedophile-murderer; third, that we have met no one capable of consciously recognizing the force the slippage that has now come to bear on this quiet town hard by Tom and Huck’s river. Each person we’ve met is, in his own way, as blind as Henry Leyden. This is as true of the folks we haven’t so far encountered Beezer St. Pierre, Wendell Green, the Color Posse as it is of those we have. Our hearts groan for a hero. And while we may not find one (this is the twenty-first century, after all, the days not of d’Artagnan and Jack Aubrey but of George W. Bush and Dirtysperm), we can perhaps find a man who was a hero once upon a time. Let us therefore search out an old friend, one we last glimpsed a thousand and more miles east of here, on the shore of the steady Atlantic. Years have passed and they have in some ways lessened the boy who was; he has forgotten much and has spent a good part of his adult life maintaining that state of amnesia. But he is French Landing’s only hope, so let us take wing and fly almost due east, back over the woods and fields and gentle hills. Mostly, we see miles of unbroken farmland: regimental cornfields, luxuriant hay fields, fat yellow swaths of alfalfa. Dusty, narrow drives lead to white farmhouses and their arrays of tall barns, granaries, cylindrical cement-block silos, and long metal equipment sheds. Men in denim jackets are moving along the well-worn paths between the houses and the barns. We can already smell the sunlight. Its odor, richly compacted of butter, yeast, earth, growth, and decay, will intensify as the sun ascends and the light grows stronger. Below us, Highway 93 intersects Highway 35 at the center of tiny Centralia. The empty parking lot behind the Sand Bar awaits the noisy arrival of the Thunder Five, who customarily spend their Saturday afternoons, evenings, and nights in the enjoyment of the Sand Bar’s pool tables, hamburgers, and pitchers of that ambrosia to the creation of which they have devoted their eccentric lives, Kingsland Brewing Company’s finest product and a beer that can hold up its creamy head among anything made in a specialty microbrewery or a Belgian monastery, Kingsland Ale. If Beezer St. Pierre, Mouse, and company say it is the greatest beer in the world, why should we doubt them? Not only do they know much more about beer than we do, they called upon every bit of the knowledge, skill, expertise, and seat-of-the-pants inspiration at their disposal to make Kingsland Ale a benchmark of the brewer’s art. In fact, they moved to French Landing because the brewery, which they had selec ted after careful deliberation, was willing to work with them. To invoke Kingsland Ale is to wish for a good-sized mouthful of the stuff, but we put temptation behind us; 7:30 A.M. is far too early for drinking anything but fruit juice, coffee, and milk (except for the likes of Wanda Kinderling, and Wanda thinks of beer, even Kingsland Ale, as a dietary supplement to Aristocrat vodka); and we are in search of our old friend and the closest we can come to a hero, whom we last saw as a boy on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. We are not about to waste time; we are on the move, right here and now. The miles fly past beneath us, and along Highway 93 the fields narrow as the hills rise up on both sides. For all our haste, we must take this in, we must see where we are. How to cite Black House Chapter Three, Essay examples

Creating and Updating an Employee Policy †MyAssignmenthelp.com

Question: Discuss about the Creating and Updating an Employee Policy. Answer: Introduction: Employment and in particular labor laws are significantly complex for government and private sector players like Reynolds Plastic Products. Although the company is trying is maximum best to have fair compensation policies it is somehow contravening the compensation practices in legal requirements. Most applicable employment and labor laws are basically determined by the nature of the business the employer engages in. laws such as the Canada labor code and the much strict federal employment equity act are the laws that govern compensation. Reynolds plastic although federally regulated will still conform to certain provincial laws that relates to compensation of its workers (DeCenzo, Robbins Verhulst, 2013). The compensation laws as a mechanism for extinguishing obligations and the legal requirements to apply it are important. We distinguish between legal and conventional compensation and recognize the difficulty of its application in employment proceedings(Alibekova Campbell,2007). The compensation law is something very easy to understand, which can be summarized in the total or partial extinction against the other party. A very thick but perfectly understandable example would be that of the one who owes 5 to a supplier but in turn is creditor of 3 in front of it (Harzing Pinnington, 2015). It is a mechanism that we must use and communicate expressly that we have made use of it, especially when we suspect that otherwise the collection of our credit will be impossible. Beyond this legal compensation, it is always possible to reach specific agreements of conventional compensation, when all the requirements are not met. Among the contravening aspects in labour laws are; Underpaying employees at the company when normal compensation rates and market rates tend to show otherwise. Others are not paying of overtime in Reynolds plastic limited One of the ways that employers use to extinguish the obligations they assume with others or with their clients is legal compensation, which can also be used as a defense mechanism against claims initiated by their creditors, provided that the legal requirements are met. for its use (Ivancevich Konopaske, 2013). Understaffing- employing very few workers to take a lot of work in the company and not hiring either on permanent or contractual basis. Underpayment- compensation is done not only irregularly but also the workers are not paid according to market rates and compensation labor laws. Overworking- as a plastic company with few workers, the company overworks its employees and as a result there is excessive fatigue and abject disregard of human working conditions. Delayed salary- sometimes the salaries are delayed leading to demoralization of workers at the site(Association, 2016). Based on the legal definition described in the preceding paragraph, it is concluded that is before the existence of reciprocal compensation between two people, the figure of compensation is structured, causing such debts to be extinguished, leaving the parties to peace and so compensated. The compensation, as a way through which the obligations are extinguished, is regulated in Title XVII of the Civil Code, applicable in commercial matters based on the express reference of article 822 of the Commercial Code.The requirements for legal compensation to operate are the following: In that order of ideas, the compensation could not be alleged by the principal debtor before his creditor that claims the fulfillment of the obligation, based on the right of credit that the guarantor has in his favor and that the compensation process of Reynolds plastic must satisfy (Ivancevich Konopaske, 2013). That there is a fungibility of the credits. That is to say, that the mutual debts between the contractual parties are those that are classified as gender and that are also of the same gender. An example of this would be when both parties owe each other sums of money. By virtue of the foregoing, it is affirmed that the compensation would not be viable when one of the obligations is to do or not to do, it is the case in which A owes the payment of a sum of money to B and, in turn, B He owes A the execution of a specific task or to refrain from doing something, for example to carry out legal accompaniment in a meeting of members or not to give an opinion in the assembly, without prior authorization from A (Ross, 2010). That the reciprocal debts are liquid. The foregoing indicates that the debts must be certain and determined in their amount, a circumstance that is appreciated when by a simple arithmetic operation the existence of the reciprocal debts and their exact value is determined. It is important to clarify that although it is true that of the Civil Code determines that if the requirements described above are met, the legal compensation operates automatically and therefore would not require the pronouncement of a judge, based on the provisions of Article 282 of the General Code of the Process, the compensation must be alleged by the interested party in the respective judicial process to produce its effects, since the judge can not declare it informally (Fisher, Schoenfeldt Shaw, 2006). Compensation management, also called compensation for performance is a practice that has been used for a long time in the management of human talent. Considered as a key differentiator for attracting talent today, it goes beyond that purpose as human capital managers have discovered that it is very useful to foster a high performance culture among employees. As mentioned above, employers are not required to provide their employees with medical, disability, dental or life insurance, but if they do, they must respect federal laws that prohibit discrimination in employment. As in other areas related to employment, such as hiring, promotion and dismissal, it is not permissible to provide different types of coverage based on gender, race, age, nationality, religion or disability of an employee or his / her employees. Dependents For example, an employer who provides its employees with health insurance cannot do the following, among other things. Refusing to provide coverage based on the actual or perceived disability of the employee or his dependents, or their genetic information (Grabowski, 2012). Plan A Plan B Single Premium $40 / employee /month $60 / employee /month Family Premium $100 / employee /month $120 / employee /month One of the current challenges of the organizations is precisely not to focus their programs of compensations and incentives towards the benefit only of the company, the employees want to be successful and develop in a competitive environment for which the company must establish a philosophy of compensations and incentives that motivate employees to give their maximum effort and at the same time the organization is benefited by having staff that is achieving business goals. There is a wide range of options in terms of designing a compensation and benefits plan and it is important that it is aligned with the overall strategy of the company and that it is part of an integral process of human capital management by connecting it with the other processes such as recruitment, performance evaluations, career plans, among others (Grabowski, 2012). In PeopleNext we want to share with you 5 key tips so that the implementation of your compensation and benefits plan for your collaborators is a success. When designing the compensation plan for your employees, it is important that you do it based on the organizational strategy, as this will help your employees' performance to have a significant impact on the achievement of organizational goals. It is essential that each of the positions that make up your organization chart is well defined, since this is the basis on which the compensation and benefits plan is supported, in this way you can ensure that you are implementing an equitable practice for each of your employees. (Association, A. 2016). . The job profile is a document in which all the information of the job position to be performed is included, such as skills, competences, attitudes, educational and professional training, experience, etc. It is essential that the recruitment and selection of staff is based on the job profiles developed to ensure that you are hiring people who meet the requirements and that your profile is appropriate to the values and organizational culture (Harzing Pinnington, 2015). For the list of Health Procedures charged to the UPC, all the subcategories that make up each of the categories described in Annex 2 are considered financed with UPC resources, except those referred to as not funded in the explanatory note and those that correspond to a different field than health. It is the maximum value that serves to define the orientation of public funding towards a reference value to be recognized by any drug in the group that complies. The VMR is calculated considering the annual weighted average value, position statistics of the values and frequencies reported in the SISMED; said value is adjusted taking into account, if necessary, the average prescription dose and maintaining the frequencies reported in the basis of service provision used for the calculation of the UPC. The expression of the value can be established either as a total, or as an expression per capita according to the number of exposed (Ivancevich Konopaske, 2013). According to resolution 5269 of 2017, the Maximum Recognition Value does not constitute a regulation or a setting of market prices, nor a billing value or a single tariff, therefore, it should not be used as recognition of treatment values between actors. . In order to facilitate timely access, the Benefits Plan charged to the UPC finances the Telemedicine modality when it is available and allows the purpose of providing the service or guarantees greater opportunity in case the face-to-face is limited by geographic access barriers or low supply availability. Most employers are not required by law to offer health benefits to their employees, although it is very common in many companies. When an employer offers or provides health benefits (including medical, disability, dental, and life insurance), it must respect federal anti-discrimination laws and regulations for the application of health plans that protect the rights of employees covered by these types of plans. References Alibekova, A., Campbell, D. (2007).Employment law. Alphen aan den Rijn, The Netherlands: Kluwer Law International. Association, A. (2016).Creating and Updating an Employee Policy Manual. Chicago: American Dental Association. DeCenzo, D., Robbins, S., Verhulst, S. (2013).Human resource management. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley. Fisher, C., Schoenfeldt, L., Shaw, J. (2006).Human resource management. Boston, Mass. [u.a.]: Houghton Mifflin. Grabowski, W. (2012).Employee stock options, payout policy, and stock returns. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Harzing, A., Pinnington, A. (2015).International human resource management. London: SAGE Publications Ltd. Ivancevich, J., Konopaske, R. (2013).Human resource management. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill Irwin. Ross, J. (2010).Employment law. Dundee: Dundee University Press.