Walker record speaks for itself
In my opinion Scott Walker isn’t much of a governor, but he is a savvy politician.
I give him credit for knowing how to run a campaign. His philosophy seems to be if he repeats something often enough, it’s automatically true and maybe no one will check the rest of the story.
After six years of cutting budgets to public education, his latest budget did add money for schools. His ads are quick to point out that increase, while neglecting to mention that public school funding is still below the 2010 level. I’m amazed any teacher would be in his ads, until I noticed they don’t say “public” school teacher. Charter schools are doing well.
He brags about not raising taxes yet our taxes keep going up. Our property taxes go up because we vote for the referendums needed to keep our public schools going. Counties have to enact wheel taxes because our roads are in terrible condition. Roads are getting fixed down by Racine to accommodate Foxconn, but the rest of the state can deal with its “Scottholes.”
He’s willing to buy votes at $100 per child instead of putting that money toward fixing our roads. Just borrow to fix the minimum and pay interest instead of addressing the problem. Fees on state parks have skyrocketed because state funding has been slashed.
If Walker gets re-elected, you can expect him to spend the next three years undoing this past year and continuing his agenda of kowtowing to his corporate puppeteers. Don’t let his ads dupe you.
MARY ANN HOLTE
An ill-advised determination
As a child at our Plummer Lake cottage, I would grab a slice of bread from the kitchen, then lie down on the dock and hold the bread in the water. Sunfish would swim from under the weathered gray boards and eat out of my hand.
My parents, however, sat on the homemade pontoon boat that was tethered to the end of the dock. They dropped lines into the water from their rod and reels with worms squirming from rusted hooks. There was one sunfish who trumpeted pleas to his followers, touting the soft, juicy worms and warning against the limp, mushy bread. Some of the sunnies listened to him and swam the greater distance to the deeper, colder waters to find the worms.
Many of those fish were caught on the sharp hooks and were yanked away by my mom and dad, never to be seen again. My friends hovered by my hand long after the bread was gone, their side fins gently caressing my benevolent fingers while my dad tossed severed heads onto the tomato plants growing from the old tractor tires and my mom fried the headless bodies that were soon filleted open on my parents’ breakfast plates.
It was clear to some of the sunnies that they would continue to be sacrificed to the mysterious sky until enough of them had the courage to admit that the trumpeter sunfish was a traitor who was debasing their friend while exalting their foes.
W.D. SHERMAN OLSON