The Valley Viewpoint

The other day, more out of curiosity than conviction, I looked up the moon that hung over New York City when I was born.

Apparently, I arrived under a waning crescent moon. Astrologers say it’s the moon of reflection, truth-seeking, and passing along what you’ve learned to others.

I had to chuckle.

After all, I’ve spent decades asking uncomfortable questions—in courtrooms, boardrooms, on the radio, and now here in The Valley Viewpoint. Not because controversy is the goal, but because truth usually isn’t found where everyone is comfortably standing.

Then I thought about it.

Maybe it wasn’t the moon at all.

Maybe it was growing up in New York. Maybe it was the Jesuits at Xavier who taught me that faith without courage is little more than a slogan. Maybe it was spending a career in employment law watching good people get tangled in systems that too often reward bureaucracy over common sense. Maybe it was raising a family, enduring heartbreak, celebrating victories, and learning that character is revealed when life doesn’t go according to plan.

And maybe—just maybe—it was the Hudson Valley.

There’s something about this place that shapes people.

We’re close enough to New York City to hear the noise, but far enough away to know better. We live in communities where people still stop to talk in the grocery store, where town board meetings can be standing room only, and where neighbors still argue about taxes, schools, zoning, and whether the Yankees are finally going to get their act together.

Around here, politics isn’t an abstract debate on cable television. It’s whether your property taxes keep climbing. It’s whether your kids can afford to stay after college. It’s whether Main Street businesses survive another year. It’s whether elected officials remember they’re supposed to work for the people—not the other way around.

That’s what The Valley Viewpoint has always tried to be.

Not a lecture.

A conversation.

Sometimes we agree. Sometimes we don’t. But every column begins with the same belief: the Hudson Valley deserves honest conversations, even when they’re uncomfortable.

So yes, according to the stars, I was supposedly born to ask questions.

I’ll let others decide whether that’s true.

What I know for certain is this: I was fortunate enough to spend my life in a place where asking questions still matters.

And as long as there are stories to tell, politicians to challenge, neighbors to celebrate, and common sense worth defending, I’ll keep showing up.

Whether that’s because of the moon…

…or because this valley has never stopped teaching me how to look up.

If I were ever invited to deliver a commencement address, I’d do something that would probably make every English teacher cringe.

I’d borrow from Justice Clarence Thomas.

Not because I couldn’t write my own speech, but because he captured a truth our culture desperately needs to hear.

He said:

“Today, we rarely hear of our personal responsibilities in discussions of broad notions such as freedom or liberty. It is as though freedom and liberty exist wholly independently of anything we do, as if they are predestined.”

Think about that for a moment.

Every election cycle we hear politicians promising more rights, more benefits, more programs, and more guarantees. Social media is filled with people demanding what they’re entitled to. Yet we hear remarkably little about the obligations that make a free society possible in the first place.

Freedom doesn’t survive because it’s written into the Constitution. It survives because ordinary people choose responsibility over selfishness, service over self-interest, and character over convenience.

Justice Thomas went on to make another observation that cuts straight to the heart of modern America:

“Today, there is much more focus on our rights and on what we are owed, and much less on our own obligations and duties—unless, of course, it is about our duty to submit to some new proposed policy.”

That line resonates because we’ve become a society that too often believes someone else is responsible for fixing our problems. Washington. Albany. The school board. The courts.

But the strength of America has never begun in government buildings.

It begins in neighborhoods.

It begins around kitchen tables.

It begins with parents, grandparents, teachers, coaches, pastors, and neighbors quietly showing the next generation what integrity looks like.

Justice Thomas reflected that the greatest lessons of citizenship weren’t learned from textbooks. They came from watching his grandmother divide the family meal when an unexpected guest arrived. They came from neighbors who extended kindness without expecting recognition. They came from nuns who didn’t simply teach children—they lived among them and believed in them.

Those weren’t political acts.

They were acts of citizenship.

Here in the Hudson Valley, we’ve seen plenty of debates over taxes, schools, crime, immigration, development, and the role of government. Those conversations matter. But they’re not enough. No law can substitute for personal responsibility. No government program can replace good parents. No public policy can manufacture character.

In the end, every generation teaches the next—not so much by what it says, but by what it does.

Justice Thomas closed with a question that may be the most important commencement message ever delivered:

Who will be watching you? And what will you be teaching them?

That’s a question every graduate should carry with them.

It’s also a question every one of us should ask when we look in the mirror.

If I were ever invited to deliver a commencement address, I’d do something that would probably make every English teacher cringe.

I’d borrow from Justice Clarence Thomas.

Not because I couldn’t write my own speech, but because he captured a truth our culture desperately needs to hear.

He said:

“Today, we rarely hear of our personal responsibilities in discussions of broad notions such as freedom or liberty. It is as though freedom and liberty exist wholly independently of anything we do, as if they are predestined.”

Think about that for a moment.

Every election cycle we hear politicians promising more rights, more benefits, more programs, and more guarantees. Social media is filled with people demanding what they’re entitled to. Yet we hear remarkably little about the obligations that make a free society possible in the first place.

Freedom doesn’t survive because it’s written into the Constitution. It survives because ordinary people choose responsibility over selfishness, service over self-interest, and character over convenience.

Justice Thomas went on to make another observation that cuts straight to the heart of modern America:

“Today, there is much more focus on our rights and on what we are owed, and much less on our own obligations and duties—unless, of course, it is about our duty to submit to some new proposed policy.”

That line resonates because we’ve become a society that too often believes someone else is responsible for fixing our problems. Washington. Albany. The school board. The courts.

But the strength of America has never begun in government buildings.

It begins in neighborhoods.

It begins around kitchen tables.

It begins with parents, grandparents, teachers, coaches, pastors, and neighbors quietly showing the next generation what integrity looks like.

Justice Thomas reflected that the greatest lessons of citizenship weren’t learned from textbooks. They came from watching his grandmother divide the family meal when an unexpected guest arrived. They came from neighbors who extended kindness without expecting recognition. They came from nuns who didn’t simply teach children—they lived among them and believed in them.

Those weren’t political acts.

They were acts of citizenship.

Here in the Hudson Valley, we’ve seen plenty of debates over taxes, schools, crime, immigration, development, and the role of government. Those conversations matter. But they’re not enough. No law can substitute for personal responsibility. No government program can replace good parents. No public policy can manufacture character.

In the end, every generation teaches the next—not so much by what it says, but by what it does.

Justice Thomas closed with a question that may be the most important commencement message ever delivered:

Who will be watching you? And what will you be teaching them?

That’s a question every graduate should carry with them.

It’s also a question every one of us should ask when we look in the mirror.

For the past several months, I’ve written repeatedly about what I believe is one of the greatest threats facing New York—not crime, not taxes, not even our failing energy policies.

It’s the steady erosion of confidence in our courts.

I’ve written about judges who appear more interested in social engineering than interpreting the law. I’ve written about the growing perception that justice depends less on statutes than on ideology. I’ve argued that when citizens lose faith in the judiciary, they lose faith in government itself.

Now comes another reason for concern.

Chief Judge Rowan Wilson has appointed actress and political activist Cynthia Nixon to the Commission on Judicial Nomination, the body that decides which names the Governor may choose from when filling vacancies on New York’s highest court. While state law allows non-lawyers to serve on the commission, the appointment has generated intense criticism because Nixon has no legal background and is best known for her progressive political activism. 

This isn’t about Cynthia Nixon personally.

She has every right to express her political opinions, run for office, endorse candidates, or advocate for causes she believes in.

But selecting the men and women who will interpret our Constitution is not another political campaign. It is one of the most solemn responsibilities in government.

For decades, Americans have accepted the premise that justice should be blind—not blindfolded by politics.

Yet New Yorkers have watched the legal system become increasingly politicized. Prosecutors refuse to prosecute. Criminals are treated as victims. Judges openly lecture from the bench about public policy. Court decisions increasingly divide along ideological lines.

Now we’re told that someone with no legal training—but impeccable progressive credentials—should help decide who sits on our highest court.

That should trouble every New Yorker, regardless of political affiliation.

Supporters correctly point out that the commission includes non-lawyers by design. That’s true. But the question isn’t whether the appointment is legal.

The question is whether it strengthens or weakens public confidence in the courts. 

I’ve said before that the rule of law doesn’t disappear overnight. It erodes one appointment, one ruling, one political compromise at a time.

When judicial appointments begin to resemble rewards for ideological loyalty rather than recognition of legal excellence, the damage extends far beyond Albany.

Every litigant begins wondering whether the outcome was determined by the law—or by the philosophy of the people who selected the judge.

Every controversial decision becomes suspect.

Every courtroom becomes just another political arena.

That is a tragedy for a constitutional republic.

I’ve spent years writing about the failures of our legal system because I still believe in what it is supposed to represent. Courts should be where politics ends—not where politics is institutionalized.

The bench should never become a consolation prize for failed political candidates or celebrity activists.

It should remain reserved for those whose first loyalty is to the Constitution, the law, and equal justice under it.

Because once New Yorkers conclude that politics—not principle—determines who interprets the law, we’ve lost something far more valuable than another court case.

We’ve lost faith in justice itself.

Britain has a new prime minister.

His name is Andy Burnham.

And not a single voter in Britain cast a ballot for him to become prime minister in a nationwide election. Under the United Kingdom’s parliamentary system, the governing Labour Party selected Burnham to replace Keir Starmer after Starmer resigned. Because Labour still holds a majority in Parliament, Burnham automatically becomes prime minister without a general election. It’s perfectly legal under Britain’s system. (AP News)

Now, before anyone says, “That’s Britain,” consider what’s happening closer to home.

Here in New York—and especially here in the Hudson Valley—we’ve watched voters grow increasingly frustrated by decisions that seem to be made behind closed doors rather than at the ballot box.

Whether it’s Albany imposing mandates on local communities, unelected bureaucracies writing regulations that affect every business owner, or state agencies making decisions that reshape our schools, energy policies, and neighborhoods, many people feel the same thing: Who’s actually making these decisions?

It’s one reason trust in government continues to erode.

Democracy isn’t just about following the rules. It’s about earning the consent of the governed.

Yes, Britain’s process is constitutional. But legality doesn’t automatically create legitimacy in the minds of voters. That’s why many Britons are already asking whether Burnham should seek a fresh mandate from the people instead of governing until the next required election. (AP News)

Here in the Hudson Valley, we’ve seen our own examples of decisions made over the objections of residents—whether it’s controversial eminent domain battles in Red Hook, Albany’s top-down energy mandates, housing proposals that reshape small towns, or state directives that local officials simply have to accept.

The lesson isn’t that Britain is doing something wrong.

The lesson is that every democracy should be careful not to drift so far toward political insiders and institutional power that ordinary citizens begin to wonder whether their vote still matters.

The farther government moves away from the people, the louder the people eventually become.

That’s true in London.

And it’s just as true in Poughkeepsie, Kingston, Newburgh, Middletown, and every town in between.

Because democracy doesn’t belong to politicians.

It belongs to the people.

When politicians deliberately create chaos, they shouldn’t act shocked when someone else has to clean it up.

Yet that’s exactly what we’re witnessing in America’s immigration debate.

For years, the Biden-Harris administration dismantled border enforcement, narrowed deportation priorities, and presided over an unprecedented wave of illegal immigration. Millions entered the country illegally. Cities declared themselves sanctuaries. Immigration courts buckled under impossible caseloads. Local governments struggled to absorb the costs. Americans were repeatedly told the border was “secure” even as the evidence told a different story.

Now the same political voices who dismissed the crisis are condemning the men and women tasked with restoring order.

That’s not leadership. It’s blame-shifting.

Every time ICE executes a lawful warrant or arrests someone who entered the country illegally, the cameras arrive. Protesters gather. Politicians rush to microphones to denounce federal agents as though they are the cause of the problem rather than the consequence of years of failed policy.

No one celebrates immigration enforcement. It is difficult, dangerous work carried out because previous leaders failed to enforce the law before the problem reached this scale.

Whenever force is used by law enforcement, it deserves careful review and transparency. That principle should never change.

But neither should another truth.

If millions of people had not been encouraged—implicitly or explicitly—to believe America’s immigration laws would not be enforced, today’s confrontations would be far less common.

Here in the Hudson Valley, we’ve watched elected officials march in protests against ICE while remaining largely silent about the burdens placed on taxpayers, schools, hospitals, law enforcement, and communities expected to absorb the consequences of Washington’s failures. Standing in front of television cameras criticizing immigration enforcement may generate applause, but it does nothing to solve the underlying problem.

Compassion and secure borders are not mutually exclusive. America has always been a nation strengthened by legal immigration. But every sovereign nation also has the right—and the obligation—to decide who enters, under what conditions, and to enforce those decisions fairly and consistently.

The rule of law is not optional. It cannot be suspended because enforcing it has become politically unpopular.

History should remember this moment honestly.

The immigration crisis was not created by the ICE agent serving a warrant today.

It was created by politicians who abandoned enforcement yesterday.

And now that someone else is cleaning up the mess, those same politicians would rather blame the janitor than explain who left the building in ruins.

There were smiles, speeches, and applause this week as Ulster County Executive Jen Metzger stood before supporters promoting the Ulster County For Fair Taxes Act. Moments later, the County Legislature voted 15–8 to send a home rule request to Albany—the first step toward giving Ulster County the authority to impose its own local income tax.

Let’s call it what it is.

This isn’t about “fair taxes.” It’s about creating a brand-new tax.

Politicians have become remarkably skilled at marketing tax increases. They rarely call them tax increases anymore. They become “fairness,” “equity,” “shared responsibility,” or “modernization.” The language changes. The bill to taxpayers does not.

Hudson Valley residents are already paying some of the highest property, sales, and income taxes in America. Families are struggling with soaring electric bills, grocery prices, insurance premiums, and housing costs. Young people are leaving New York because they simply can’t afford to build a future here.

So what is government’s answer?

Another tax.

Supporters insist the proposal targets only higher-income residents and could ease pressure on property taxes. Forgive taxpayers for being skeptical. Government has made similar promises before. New York has no shortage of “temporary” taxes that somehow became permanent and “targeted” taxes that eventually expanded.

The real question isn’t whether Albany should authorize Ulster County to levy an income tax.

The real question is why county government believes it needs one in the first place.

Before asking taxpayers for another dime, elected officials should demonstrate that every existing dollar is being spent wisely. Where are the comprehensive efficiency reviews? Where are the serious conversations about reducing spending, consolidating services, eliminating duplication, or reforming government? Too often, raising taxes is simply easier than reforming government.

The Legislature’s 15–8 vote wasn’t just a procedural step. It was a philosophical statement.

It says that when government needs more money, the first instinct is to ask taxpayers—not to ask whether government itself has grown too large.

Albany will now decide whether Ulster County receives the power to impose a local income tax. But taxpayers should remember something long after the speeches and photo opportunities have faded.

Government never asks for a new tax because it expects to need less money tomorrow.

It asks because it expects to spend more.

And history suggests that once government discovers a new way to tax its citizens, it rarely gives it back.

For generations, Americans accepted an unwritten bargain.

Work hard. Stay loyal. Your employer will provide health insurance, a retirement plan, and a measure of security for your family.

That bargain helped build the American middle class.

Today, however, it is quietly transforming the American workforce—and not necessarily for the better.

A recent opinion piece argues that government expansion in health care has begun reshaping the labor market itself, creating incentives that make it harder for employers to attract workers, reward performance, and control benefit costs. Whether you agree with every conclusion or not, it raises an important question that every business owner in the Hudson Valley should be asking: What happens when government programs increasingly compete with employer-sponsored benefits? (New York Post)

After decades in human resources, I’ve watched health insurance become one of the largest expenses facing employers. Every renewal seems to bring another increase. Employers absorb part of it, employees absorb part of it, and neither side walks away happy.

Small businesses—from family-owned manufacturers in Dutchess County to retailers along Ulster Avenue and restaurants throughout the Hudson Valley—don’t have unlimited resources. Every dollar devoted to rising health-care costs is a dollar that cannot be invested in wages, new equipment, expansion, or hiring.

The irony is that most employers want to provide excellent benefits. They know good employees deserve them. But the system has become so expensive and so complicated that many businesses spend as much time managing insurance as they do managing their actual operations.

I’ve lived this reality professionally. Every renewal requires analyzing claims trends, negotiating with carriers, evaluating alternative funding arrangements, and explaining premium increases that no employee wants to hear.

Health insurance has become a business unto itself.

There is another consequence that receives far less attention.

When benefits become increasingly disconnected from employment, the relationship between employer and employee changes. Businesses lose one of the tools they have traditionally used to recruit and retain talent. Workers, meanwhile, become increasingly dependent on government decisions rather than workplace opportunity.

Reasonable people can disagree about how much government should be involved in health care. Americans have debated that question for generations.

But we should at least acknowledge the trade-offs.

Every expansion of government responsibility changes incentives. Every new mandate carries costs. Every additional regulation affects employers already struggling to compete in an economy defined by inflation, labor shortages, and rising operating expenses.

The Hudson Valley is filled with employers who want to grow, hire, and invest in their communities. They don’t need another layer of complexity. They need a health-care system that delivers quality care without making employee benefits the largest obstacle to building a successful business.

If we truly want a stronger workforce, we need policies that make work more rewarding—not simply more regulated.

There are two words that can send a chill through any property owner:

Eminent domain.

It doesn’t matter whether you own a family farm, a small business, a neighborhood home, or a nonprofit organization built by generations of volunteers. The notion that government can simply decide it needs your property more than you do should give every citizen pause.

Eminent domain is one of the most extraordinary powers government possesses. There are times when it may be necessary to build a highway, a bridge, or other essential public infrastructure. But because it allows government to take private property against the owner’s wishes, it should always be exercised sparingly, transparently, and only with the clear support of the people.

That is why what happened this week in Red Hook deserves the attention of everyone in the Hudson Valley.

The Red Hook Town Board voted to continue its effort to acquire the Red Hook Boat Club through eminent domain. Even more troubling, the Board rejected a proposal from newly elected Town Board member Kristina Dousharm to allow the people of Red Hook to decide the issue through a public referendum.

Dousharm also sought to extend the public comment period so more residents could be heard. Although that motion passed, her proposal to let voters decide the future of the property failed by a 3-2 vote.

Supervisor Robert McKeon, joined by Board Members Jacob Testa and William Hamel, voted to continue the condemnation effort. Dousharm and fellow newcomer Ken Migliorelli opposed the move and supported giving residents a direct voice.

Think about that for a moment.

The Town Board is prepared to spend taxpayer dollars to take private property from its owners, yet it is unwilling to ask the taxpayers whether they support doing so.

If this truly reflects the will of the people, why not let the people vote?

The controversy has already cost taxpayers an estimated $300,000 in legal fees. The town has reportedly lost twice in State Supreme Court, and the legal battle continues. Former town attorney and Red Hook Boat Club member Al Tezza has also filed a lawsuit seeking greater transparency from the town.

At the center of the dispute is a modest 2.3-acre waterfront parcel in Barrytown that has operated as a private, nonprofit boat club since 1948.

Town officials argue the property is needed to provide greater public access to the Hudson River, a goal few would oppose in principle.

But opponents argue this case is about much more than river access. They contend the town is stretching the purpose of eminent domain beyond its intended use and setting a precedent that should concern every property owner.

There are practical questions that remain unanswered as well.

Boat club members warn that the shoreline features swift currents and sudden drop-offs, making it unsuitable and potentially dangerous for general public recreation.

There is also the matter of access. The bridge leading to the property is owned by CSX Railroad, and it remains unclear whether the public would even be permitted to cross it if the land became a town park.

Those are not minor details. They are the kinds of questions taxpayers deserve answered before another dollar is spent on litigation.

During the meeting, Supervisor McKeon suggested proceeds from the sale of two town-owned properties could be used to offset the growing legal costs. The comment drew an immediate reaction from the audience, with one resident asking whether the town had become a real estate broker simply to finance its lawsuits.

Dutchess County Executive Sue Serino has also questioned the wisdom of the town’s approach, warning that using eminent domain in this manner sets a dangerous precedent for local government.

Reasonable people can disagree over whether additional public access to the Hudson River is needed.

The larger issue is whether government should exercise one of its greatest powers without first seeking the consent of the governed.

A referendum would not have guaranteed victory for either side.

It would simply have allowed the citizens who will pay the legal bills, elect the Town Board, and live with the consequences to make the decision themselves.

That opportunity was denied.

Whether you support the boat club or support the town’s objective is almost beside the point.

The precedent should concern us all.

Once government becomes comfortable taking private property over the objections of its owners—and declines to let the public decide whether that action is justified—it moves a little farther away from the principle that government derives its just powers from the consent of the governed.

In the end, this isn’t just about one boat club in Barrytown.

It’s about whether the people still have the final say when government reaches for one of its most powerful tools.

That is a question every property owner in the Hudson Valley should be asking.

“Woe unto you also, ye lawyers! For ye lade men with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your fingers.”
— Luke 11:46

There comes a moment in nearly every life when we first collide with the legal system. It might be buying a first home, navigating a work dispute, showing up to small claims court, or facing a painful family matter. Most people walk in expecting fairness—that justice is blind, the rules are clear, the judges impartial, and the lawyers working toward resolution.

But after twenty-five years in employment law, I’ve had to break it to many good people: that vision of the legal system is largely a myth. Trials rarely happen. Correctional systems rarely correct. And mandatory arbitration? That’s not justice—it’s a privatized echo of it, hidden behind closed doors and stacked decks.

The system has grown into something alien—bureaucratic, bloated, and incomprehensible to those who need it most. Worst of all, it often feels as though it was designed to confuse, to delay, and to profit.

Yes, I understand the strange comfort in hiring a lawyer—the yellow legal pad, the solemn nods, the assurances that “you have a case.” But what I’ve seen, too many times, is the shock that follows. The first bill arrives. The retainer is gone. Months pass. Tens of thousands of dollars disappear. And nothing has been resolved. The case hasn’t even really begun.

And now, the cracks in the system are becoming impossible to ignore.

In Georgia, a trial court issued a ruling relying on AI-generated case citations that did not exist. On appeal, both sides submitted briefs containing additional fabricated citations. Twelve phantom cases made their way into the judicial process before anyone caught them. If lawyers, judges, and court officers cannot distinguish real precedent from artificial hallucinations, what confidence should ordinary citizens have?

In Maryland, all fifteen federal judges on the district court retained private legal counsel amid a controversy that has shaken public confidence in the judiciary. Whatever one’s opinion of the underlying dispute, the image is striking: even those entrusted with dispensing justice now find themselves seeking legal protection.

For me, however, this debate stopped being theoretical years ago.

It became deeply personal when I watched my own daughter become entangled in a federal civil proceeding before Obama-appointed U.S. District Judge Victor Bolden. In what was a civil case—not a criminal prosecution—she was twice ordered into civil confinement. No criminal conviction. No jury. No sentence. Yet her liberty was taken.

Watching your own child lose her freedom in a civil courtroom changes the way you look at the legal system forever. You begin asking questions you never imagined asking. Where are the safeguards? Who reviews the exercise of such extraordinary judicial power? And when judges themselves make mistakes, who holds them accountable?

That experience did not simply shake my confidence in one courtroom. It fundamentally changed my confidence in a legal system I had spent more than twenty-five years working within.

This is no longer merely a flawed system. It is a system straining under the weight of its own contradictions. Yet every day ordinary Americans are expected to walk into court believing justice will prevail—that someone will listen, that truth matters, and that fairness ultimately wins.

If I sound jaded, I won’t apologize.

I am jaded.

I’ve watched the legal system break people emotionally, financially, and sometimes spiritually. I’ve watched it consume businesses, marriages, retirement savings, and years of people’s lives. And too often I’ve watched the system protect itself before protecting the public it was created to serve.

Let me leave you with one final comparison.

In some jurisdictions, newly appointed judges receive less formal training before taking the bench than California requires of licensed manicurists, who must complete 400 hours of instruction before they are permitted to practice their profession.

Whether symbolic or substantive, that comparison should give every American pause.

Charles Dickens recognized the problem nearly two centuries ago. In Bleak House, he wrote:

“The one great principle of the English law is to make business for itself. There is no other principle distinctly, certainly, and consistently maintained through all its narrow turnings.”

It is a remarkable observation because, after all these years, it still rings uncomfortably true.

Our legal system is filled with honorable judges, ethical lawyers, and dedicated public servants. This is not an indictment of every individual who serves within it.

It is, however, an indictment of a system that too often seems to exist for its own preservation rather than for the pursuit of justice.

Justice should never become an industry.

It should always remain a promise.

The news that WKIP has laid off Uncle Mike is disappointing—not just because another familiar voice has left local radio, but because people like Mike are becoming increasingly rare.

You can tell everything about a person by how they treat those who can never pay them back.

That’s why I want to recognize someone who has lived that truth every single day.

Whether you know him from the radio or from the countless acts of kindness he performs quietly throughout the Hudson Valley, Uncle Mike has never measured success by ratings or recognition. He has measured it by service.

He has been a tireless advocate for our veterans. He has stood beside first responders. He has organized drives for families in need. He has answered phone calls from people looking for help, often without anyone ever knowing about it.

He didn’t do those things because they were part of his job description.

He did them because that’s who he is.

The measure of a broadcaster isn’t simply the number of listeners they reach. It’s the number of lives they touch.

In an era when syndicated programming is replacing local voices, stations aren’t just eliminating positions—they’re losing relationships. They’re losing decades of trust built one conversation, one fundraiser, one community event, and one act of kindness at a time.

Mike reminded us that radio, at its best, isn’t about transmitting a signal.

It’s about connecting people.

As the saying goes, “A person’s true character is revealed by how they treat those who can offer them nothing in return.”

That describes Uncle Mike perfectly.

Whatever comes next for him, the Hudson Valley will continue to benefit from his compassion, his generosity, and his unwavering commitment to helping others.

We see you, Mike.

And this community is better because of you.

A big thank you to my friend Zolz for the Yankee tickets. It was a thoughtful gesture, and I’m really looking forward to the game.

Assuming, of course, I can actually get to the tickets.

There was a time when heading to Yankee Stadium from the Hudson Valley was easy. Someone handed you two paper tickets. You slipped them into your wallet, grabbed your keys, and whether you drove down or caught Metro-North, you knew one thing for certain:

You had the tickets.

Today, that’s no longer a given.

The tickets don’t come in an envelope. They arrive in an email, which sends you to an app, which asks for a password you haven’t used since Mariano Rivera was still closing games. You reset the password. A verification code arrives. You enter it. Another screen appears. Then another.

Somewhere in all of this are two Yankee tickets.

I think.

Then comes the instruction to “Add to Apple Wallet.”

That sounds reassuring—until nothing happens.

You tap. You swipe. You close the app. You reopen it. You wonder if the tickets are hiding behind another login or if they’ve simply decided they’re not going to the game either.

Technology promised convenience.

Instead, it’s turned attending a baseball game into an escape room.

At one point I found myself thinking, “I’m not trying to launch a rocket. I just want to watch Aaron Judge hit one.”

The funny part is that I’m willing to bet that once I finally make it to Yankee Stadium, someone half my age will scan the tickets in about two seconds and wave me through like this whole ordeal never happened.

So, thanks again, Zolz, for your generosity. The tickets were easy to send.

Finding them has become my pregame entertainment.

If all goes well, by the time first pitch is thrown, I’ll be in my seat.

If not, you’ll probably find me outside Gate 4, staring at my phone, muttering, “I know they’re in here somewhere.”

Sometimes I think the greatest comeback in baseball wouldn’t be from three runs down in the ninth.

It would be the return of two little paper tickets tucked safely inside your wallet.