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Show Page A6 '(Hfrg Thursday, January 15, 2004 tHimrg-Jnhepenbc- nt Idle Thoughts from Mt. Waas by Ollie Harris Many Trails by Adrien F. Taylor TOUGH GUYS gloom, but its amazing how even a little sun I help on these cold and dreary days. was prepared to not see the sun again for several more days, so it was with a great whoop that I walked out of my office Tuesday to see sunshine through the front windows. That called for a little walk out in it. Okay. I said hoped we would have a cold winter this year, to kill some of the bugs and weeds that have wintered over the past several warm winters. Be careful what you hope for! But I dont take it back. A cold winter is a good thing from time to time. do join a lot of the rest of you out there in my dislike of the inversion, though. Sam and I took off after lunch last Saturday and drove to Dead Horse Point, to get a little sunshine and some photographs. My digital camera was hiding somewhere, so we went without a camera, and were delighted when Dead Horse Point volunteer Matthew C. Wilson offered to email us some for this weeks issue, just to prove the sun is still up there someplace. It turns out a lot of folks had the same idea we had, heading either for the mountains or for the Pointlsland in the Sky. And it sure was an island, literally. Standing at the Point, the sun was bright, and the rocks were actually warm to the touch. Unbelievable. The sea of cloud was hanging just under the rim, with a few rock forms sticking up through it here and there, and the La Sals, Abajos and Henry Mountains looking pretty close way out there, floating on a mass of gray. It was hard to drive back home through the fix-c- I an mid-afterno- I aft the form of a Christmas was card that obviously left by accident on our front counter. Everybody here assumed someone else knew why the card was there, but noIf body did. So we finally opened it. Grandma Day to whom confirm in to will please call or come the card was addressed and what was in it, we will be most happy to either return it to her, or take the mailing address and send it on to the intended recipients. We have a mystery in aft Perhaps, since the Water Conservancy Districts George White Ranch land is not exactly selling like hot cakes, that agency may now take time to reconsider the idea put forth last fall to set aside some of that land for trails. Who knows? The existence of trails could even enhance the attractiveness and value of the rest of the land. As realtors say, its location, location, location. Community Comments by Sam Taylor suddenly donned on us that we were far past lunch time and had nothing to eat. Also, our feet were so wet and cold that we didnt feel any pain. Along a dirt road (now known as Holyoak Lane), hunting in tall sagebrush along that road, we happened upon a cluster of bee hives. Poking around those broken-dow- n hives, we found that the bees hadnt abandoned them, and they were filled with combs of honey. The color of the sweet treat told us that the honey hadnt been harvested for years. Munching on the sweet stuff, mostly frozen, was a taste Ill never forget. paid the price for that days hunt, though. suffered mild frostbite in my feet which still plagues me when the temperatures drop to well below zero. It was a real problem when spent two winters in the mountains of northern Honshu Island in Japan in the military. It got so cold there in the winter that icicles on the sides of our army barracks were massive and reached all the way from the roof to the ground. One of the toughest jobs assigned to us who lived there was to break them off with brooms each morning. Had we left them, they could have been lethal had they fallen on an innocent passerby. But I enjoy my cold weather in short bursts. Im really a summertime guy, and even though the temperatures get pretty high here in July and August, at least you dont have to scrape the heat off your windshields. And miss the morning homage I pay each day to the La Sal Mountains, where measure the slowly lengthening January days by noting which peak or pass the sun rises over at dawn. It was good to see the La Sals Saturday from Dead Horse Point. They were still there thrusting up above the fog, and just as beautiful as ever. As Adrien said in her column, an hour at Dead Horse Point Saturday was a real tonic. An hour in the sunshine after a few days in the fog does wonders. Moab people just arent attuned to fog or for cold temto frozen snow on the ground out my long even and night. dug peratures day still was and cold. week this johns One local resident who keeps track of weather happenings told us Sunday that in the 33 years he has lived in the Moab area, he has only recorded a half dozen years when we had inversions anu fog. That coincides pretty much with my memory of years here. Even so, some of those foggy memories are precious. One was a trip to Dead Horse Point in January after a six inch snowstorm followed by an inversion. went with Jimmie Walker in his 1 931 Model A Ford. We were the first to make the trip and broke trail in the frozen snow. Going up Seven Mile dugway, which was a lot steeper than it is now, we made it to the top, only because found an empty dynamite box, filled it with red sand, and ran alongside the Ford throwing sand under the drive wheels. The reward for that effort was to walk from the parking lot at Dead Horse out to the point, making the first footprints in the frozen snow, which glistened like diamonds in the bright sunshine. Another such winter, Jimmies brother Jerry and hitched a ride to the top of Spanish Valley and hunted quail all the way down Pack Creek to Moab. Yes, there were lots of quail in the valley in those days. They were fun to hunt in the area now known as the Moab Golf Course. They would fly up in a bunch from one cluster of squawbush to the next one. You could follow them for miles and get a few shots each time you flushed them. I dont remember whether or not we got any they are hard to hit, especially for teenagers. It I I I I I I I I ' : : : Classified ads doe by 5 p.tn. Fridays, fids, photos and neas items ybdly accepted through Monday neon for publication in the next issue of Jhe tions. Later came the transition into the less physical, more technological culture of today. There was one bitter Colorado winter when I was twelve or thirteen. A family lived maybe a half-mil- e away. Everybody was poor but these folks were worse off than most. My dad was generous and gave me the assignment to see that they had coal. A couple of times a week I pushed a wheelbarrow full of coal through the snow or over the frozen ruts to them. It was not particularly noteworthy and I only mention it to illustrate the sort of physical chore that isnt likely to happen today. One thing I remember about that experience is that the woman of the house never thanked me for the coal. After emptying my wheelbarrow I would smile and, with well disguised sarcasm, say to her, Well, thanks a lot. She always replied, Youre welcome. I remember being sent out into the dark on various errands or to do chores. It didnt matter that I had an active imagination and was terrified to go into the night, lb have refused was never an option. It was literally unthinkable. It would have violated the attitude and expectation to be tough. One inky, black night my dad sent me with a message to Raymond Lee. The Lees lived behind the trees. It meant walking in thick darkness down across the pasture, across the draw, up through sagebrush and into the trees. Part way through the trees I could see a lighted window in the Lee house. Suddenly, the silhouette of a man passed between me and the light. I heard the of approaching I In terror off the trail and footsteps. leapt crouched, trembling in silence. I have since wondered what would have happened if I had shrieked at him as he walked by. Ill bet we would have found out how tough he was. half-doze- clomp-clomp-clo- ) ; High Country News Writers on the Range Heres to an honest man by Todd Wilkinson Chances are youve never heard of Jim Alderson, and Im willing to wager that no toy company is going to model an action figure af-ter him. Hes more than a little balding on top and hes working on a middle-age- d paunch. You wont find charisma to match that ofCalifornias movie-acto- r Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger. But you will find in him a stubborn honesty and perseverance, and considering what Alderson. achieved, we all owe him at least a thank you. The Montana whistleblower helped U.S. taxpayers save billions of dollars by exposing one ofthe largest cases of corporate fraud in U.S. history. He did it nearly alone and against incredible odds. His fight began on a wintry day 11 years ago this month when he drove from his home in WhitefisK, Mont., to a federal district courthouse in Butte. There, he filed a whistleblower complaint under provisions of the federal False Claims Act. Alderson was angry, even humiliated. Hed been a good accountant, he felt, but hed been fired for refusing to go along with a phony accounting system initiated at North Valley Hospital in Whitefish. The system seemed clearly designed to overcharge federal taxpayers for Medicare services. The billing system was put in place by the giant medical services provider, Quorum Health Group, a subsidiary of Hospital Corporation of bilker of the America, (HCA), the government. As Alderson, a career hospital administrator, tells it, he was ordered to keep two sets of financial ledgers: one documented expenses for services rendered; another inflated invoices to be submitted to government auditors for reimbursement. Alderson was terminated for calling the practice into question at his hospital, but when he began checking elsewhere around the country, he uncovered the same fraud being committed at hundreds of it hospitals. When his decade-lon- g quest for justice began, Alderson acted as his own legal counsel, facing three law firms representing Quorum and HCA, each with over 1,000 attorneys. Not only did he encounter a legal counterattack blitzkrieg, but by blowing the whistle he was also transformed into a pariah within the medical profession. No one would hire him. Alderson drained his retirement and sav ings accounts while compiling evidence, and he moved 14 times with his wife, Connie, to make ends meet. Eventually, fearing retribution, he enlisted attorneys who convinced the U.S. Jus: tice Department to intervene. His case was aided mightily when another health-car- e insider, John Schilling, came forward and provided information which led to the FBI raiding 35 hospitals managed by HCA and Columbia Healthcare Corp. The raids netted loads of incriminating documents. Late in 2003, after spending hundreds of millions of dollars fighting the case, HCA finally settled with the federal government, which gave Alderson and Schilling multimillion dollar rewards. HCA and Quorum have also paid the government nearly $1.7 billion in settlements. Whats more, experts say that blowing the whistle on the corporations illegal practices cut Medicare and Medicaid fraud by some $12 billion. Looking back, this modest ni business and other dealings: Is it the truth? Is it fair to all concerned? Will it build good will and better friendships? Will it be beneficial to all concerned? Government cant legislate good ethics, Alderson says. Thats got to come from ethical individuals who run companies. Another impetus for Alderson to do what he did was thinking about the values he was kids. You see your teaching his college-age- d and realize kids, you you may have lost your of your savings, everymost job, your career, worked for, but if you lose their thing youve respect, its something that cannot be replaced, he says. I wanted to be able to look my kids in the eyes and tell them that truth and honesty really do matter. Todd Wilkinson is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News of Paonia, Colorado (hcn.org). He is a freelance writer in Bozeman, Montana, and author of Science Under Siege: The Politicians War on Nature and Truth. for-prof- ISSN 1538-183- 8 (UPS) 6309-200Entered as Second class Matter at the Post Office at Moab, Utah under the Act of March 3, 1 897. 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Times-lndepende- nt -l Conributing Writer Contributing Writer Mail Room Supervisor , Backshop Castle Valley Columnist Columnist Columnist Distribution number-crunch- er who is descended from a pioneer family in Bozeman, Mont., credits his familys support and his membership in local Rotary clubs with giving him the courage to persevere. In particular, Alderson points to Rotarys famous Four-Wa- y Test, which asks its members a quartet of moral questions when considering now-notorio- Jimes-Jndepende- nt '3Itme0-(3lnbpetthE- eighty-seven-year-o- ld long-abandon- ed I f More was asked ofthemselves and even of their children. My own childhood occurred in that old atmosphere with its attitudes and expecta- Last summer someone told me that I ought to ask my father to tell who he thought was the toughest man he knew when he was young. It is an interesting question. In todays culture physical toughness isnt given much attention except in a context of orn ganized sports. Most of us could name a sports figures who are the fastest, quickest, strongest or toughest at what they do. But, outside of sports there are few noted for his or her toughness. About thirty years ago I was in Prestons cabin on Elk Mountain. Preston Nielson introduced me to Jeff Black, saying that Jeff was the strongest man in Blanding. It may have been the last time that anyone was described to me in that manner. My dad, on the other hand, told me several remarkable stories of toughness. I might add that my dad was one of the toughest men. I grew up hearing stories of his prowess. I always looked forward to the day I would be as tough as my dad. One day it dawned on me that I had passed right through my prime and never had become as tough as he was. Dad told me several stories of uncle Oat Peeler and uncle George Elkins. Uncle Oat could carry a sack of cement in each hand and one in his teeth at the same time. A sack of cement weighs 94 pounds. There was an apparatus at a carnival where the customer could drive his fist into a catchers mitt that would measure the force of the blow. Uncle Oat struck and broke it. There were regular dances in Durango. A burly bully of a man took it upon himself to break up the dances. Finally, Uncle Oat knocked him unconscious with a blow to the forehead. The man never returned to the dances. My cousin, Owen Peeler, had a lot of his fathers strength. Im not sure if he ever was as tough as his father, either. Those were tougher, harder times and there wasnt much tolerance for weakness or fear. Times-lndepende- J nt |