Honeywell’s CEO David Cote recently told Bloomberg that the world seems to have a constant need to relearn the benefits of free trade.

“I think people have been arguing about free trade since the Phoenicians were at it a couple of millennia ago,” he said. “And every century we seem to have the same argument, whether it’s about, ‘is productivity good? Is trade good?’ And every century we kind of learn the same lessons.”

If you haven’t read the details of how the former director of Russia’s anti-doping lab helped his nation’s athletes cheat their way to victory in Sochi in 2014, you might not fully understand all the fuss leading up to the start of the Rio games in a few days.
​
You also might not fully understand why Utah needs put its hopes for another Olympic bid on ice. 

If the pioneers left any legacy, it is that seemingly impossible obstacles may be overcome by faith and hard work. If you don’t think that has any application in today’s world, your television must be broken, your Internet must have crashed and you haven’t spoken to another person in days.

This brief pause between two political conventions may be a good time to realize that we might learn from these rugged settlers what traits truly matter for leadership.

Whatever you may think of the proceedings underway in Cleveland right now, you may be comforted by one thought. At least it’s not happening in Salt Lake City.

Oh, it’s been quiet enough, at least up to the time when I’m writing this. But we have a ways to go yet. In a year when protesters have followed Donald Trump like roadies on a concert tour, the opportunity remains for full-scale mischief on the streets.

Not long ago, Interior Secretary Sally Jewell told Utah Gov. Gary Herbert, "We are not the Clinton administration." In one particular sense, she is right.

Jewell’s comment was in response to Herbert’s concerns that the Obama administration plans to designate a new Bears Ears national monument in Utah. Republican leaders in the state remember how, 20 years ago, President Bill Clinton stunned them by declaring the Grand Staircase-Escalante 

I sometimes ride my bike late at night, partly for exercise and partly as a way to unwind. Something about the wind in my face and the solitude of normally busy streets can put a stressful day in perspective.

But recently, the solitude has been AWOL. I have had to negotiate late-night pedestrians who crowd intersections, zombie-like and barely aware of their surroundings. I have had to steer clear of cars with passengers hanging phones out of windows. I watched a man jogging with a cell phone in front of his face.

Americans have a penchant for fads. Nearly 100 years ago, some of our ancestors sat atop flagpoles for days while thousands watched below. At various times, we have gathered en mass to throw discs, twirl Hula Hoops, bounce Super Balls or dump buckets of ice over our heads.

Two things may be said about police body cameras. One is that they bring into focus the messy and unpredictable world of law enforcement.

As Salt Lake Police Chief Mike Brown put it at a press conference, “We go at some of the worst times in people’s lives.”

The other is that, dramatic though they may be, such videos seldom tell the entire story of what happened.

People tend to feel uneasy about things over which they have no control.

It can be difficult, therefore, to read the tragic story out of Provo on Monday concerning two young boys who were seriously injured when a tree fell on the tent they shared with the rest of their family.

We naturally feel unease. Perhaps “fear” is a better word.

GETTYSBURG, PA. — For me, the enormity of what happened here hit home on the solemn drive down from the hill known as Little Round Top into a boulder-filled ridge called Devil’s Den. Here, an estimated 2,600 lay dead or wounded on July 2, 1863, the second day of fighting in the battle of Gettysburg, which coincided exactly with the date my family and I visited.

Monuments to soldiers line the road. Tourists, mainly families with children who may not comprehend what happened here, either stare solemnly through car windows or walk the road