Giving Credit

By Stein, Benjamin J. | The American Spectator, December 1997 | Go to article overview
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Giving Credit


Stein, Benjamin J., The American Spectator


Sunday Aw, New Yawk City, you tawk a lot. Let's have a look at 'chu," as Mick Jagger said at the beginning of the Gimme Shelter movie.

Here I am stepping onto New York City soil at Kennedy airport to head into Manhattan. I'm doing another appearance for Comedy Central to promote them and my show, "Win Ben Stein's Money." It's amazing. There is a wall of drivers waiting to take passengers from my flight into town. I think that every single man Jack and woman Jill in first class and some in business is accounted for. I guess no one takes taxis any longer. My car is a shiny new Mercedes sedan. It's not big, but it's clean. Guess what the ride to midtown Manhattan costs: $208 plus tax, for a 25-mile trip!!! Or, about eight dollars per mile. First class (and I know I have made this point before) costs about $i,6oo for a distance of about 2400 miles, or about sixty-six cents per mile. What's the difference? Mass production, I would guess. As I rode in I recalled how, when I was a lad in college, I would take a taxi to the airport and it cost $2.50. Sometimes I would take an airport bus and that cost about a dollar. Time, time, time, see what's become of me.

The Hotel Pierre had a lovely room ready. Really, really nice. Park view if you craned your neck, little cubbyhole for your maid if your maid was a midget, and not one soul spoke English. Why? Where are the English-speaking people in New York? I guess they're all at Morgan Stanley. I went out for a walk. Around Sixth Avenue and Fifty-Seventh Street, I came across an open deli. A very tall black fellow followed me in. He hovered near me as I picked out my apple juice and bagel. Hmm. I did not want to have racist thoughts, but...

"Hey," he said, "how can I get on your show? My roommate and I both want to get on."

So you see. My racist fears were mistaken. As I talked to him, a taxi driver strolled in for coffee. In unaccented English he told me how much he loved the Spectator.

I slept like a baby.

Monday

Lunch with Linda Alice Fairstein dog and her husband Justin Feldman dog (all of our close friends are dogs) at Michael's at 55th and Fifth. Linda Fairstein is one of the most amazing women of all time. She was my wifie's roommate at Vassar College, and then she studied law at the University of Virginia, and after slow, painstaking work she became head of the Manhattan D.A.'s Sex Crimes Unit, and then she became Deputy DA of all Manhattan, and I think she will be Mayor some day. Her hubby is a lawyer who works for the exploiting class, which we all want to become part of.

Linda is a woman of stupendous common sense. She routinely chases faulty complainants out of her office. She has zero patience with women who cry rape because the "assailant" never called to ask for a second date. On the other hand, when a real crime has occurred, she is merciless and thorough, a true avenging angel of justice.

Today, she told us about a really bogus case in which a woman came into her office claiming that she had been forcibly sodomized by her husband-with whom, by total coincidence, she was in a nasty divorce battle. Linda told us how she busted the woman's con by telling her that if she filed the complaint, Linda would be bound to pursue it and the divorce would probably be thrown into abeyance with no prospect of alimony or split of community property until after long years of prosecution and possible appeal. The woman beat a hasty retreat.

If someone as smart as Linda were available as prosecutor in every U.S. jurisdiction, there would be no insane mass child sex abuse cases like the hideously unfair Amirault case in Massachusetts, the nightmarish case in North Carolina, or the hideous case here in the South Bay. Linda would be smart enough to see through allegations of rape with a butcher knife where there were no wounds, easily smart enough to see through lies about rapists riding brooms and burying animals in schoolyards.

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