Stupid Or Ulterior Motive?

Most people have noticed and a few have commented on the response to the hurricane warning by the people of Texas as compared to the response by the people of Louisiana.

Our local paper carried an article from AP which included a bunch of charts to show the per centage of each population that was "Black". That really pissed me off. They also offered charts to show per centages of each population below poverty level.

In the first place, please define "Black". Does it mean your ancestors came from Africa? The human race evolved in Africa and spread throughout the world. All our ancestors came from Africa.

I could go on, but the point is that I could not believe AP would be so stupid as to assume that being Black had anything to do with response to a hurricane. Then I began to wonder if they really are stupid... or if they are trying to promote some agenda.

No one may ever know the true answer to the question of why people responded as they did, but since I subscribe to the duck paradigm of scientific investigation, let's see if we can think of something here that waddles, quacks or looks like a duck.

Is it poverty? There are masses of people earning below the poverty level who maintain their self-respect and their faith in the future. Those people will admit to being broke - never to being poor. You did not see them begging for help while refusing to help themselves.

How about welfare? Welfare to give temporary help to someone is an act of compassion. Welfare as a lifestyle destroys a person. They lose their self respect. They lose the ability to solve their own problems. They hate themselves for being dependent. They hate you for giving to them. That perfectly describes some of the evacuees who came out of New Orleans.

So, why would a major news gathering source infer that being "black" is the problem? "Racism" is widely criticized in this country. If you can blame racism, it is a lot easier to cause someone a great deal of political pain.

Why not a chart showing the per cent of each population living the welfare life? Welfare has become a liberal bragging point. You would not dare imply that your basic philosophy could cause suffering and loss of life.

I Have What?

Shingles? What is that?

It started Wednesday morning, working at the computer. My left eyebrow had a tender spot. If I pushed my glasses up until they touched my eyebrow, it hurt.

Then the headache started. I never have headaches, so this is very unusual.

Thursday, the tender spot on my eyebrow extented back across my scalp, left side only. Headache more severe. Friday everything is worse, but I had to go to the dental clinic, so I decided to tough this one out.

Saturday morning, it was tougher than me and I called my doctor. He was not in, but an RN, CNP was in and I saw her. I told her I thought a spider had bitten me on my eyebrow (during my sleep???)

I am sure she knew better, but did not say so. Instead, she arranged for a head scan in the emergency room, which proved normal.

The pain just kept getting worse, so I called the nurse again on Sunday. Again she sent me to the emergency room. The emergency room doctor, a kindly old country doctor type listened to my concern about a spider bite, then broke the news. Shingles!

He gave me prescriptions for Valtrex and the pain killer percoset and urged me to see an ophthalmologist as soon as possible.

I picked up the prescriptions and went back to my nurse. After admitting that I had flunked in my diagnosis, I was willing to take the advice of any medical professional. She arranged for me to see the eye doctor first thing Monday morning. He gave me a prescription for some eye drops.

Well, it is Sunday again. The medicine, and a lot of rest, has worked, and I am much improved. But I am not cured.

Now I am hearing of other people who have or have had shingles. It is not a joke. Really!

Border Paranoia

Yesterday I went to Mexico. Ciudad Juarez, to be exact. I went to vist one of several dental clinics that serve an American clientele. They are clean, fast, and prices are far below their American counterparts... important to an old man on Social Security.

The clinics provide tansportation from several points in El Paso, Texas. I go to a parking garage in El Paso, park my car and board the clinic's van.

Going to Mexico is a pleasant experience. There are no traffic delays entering the country. It is about a ten minute drive to the clinic. The clinic has their own lab, so work on dentures is done while you wait. In about an hour I was ready to go home and boarded the next van for El Paso.

There are several bridges that cross the Rio Grande, but the traffic situation on each of them is about the same if you are going into the U.S.. Four lanes of traffic sit bumper to bumper across the bridge and extend for blocks back into the city. Commercial buses and vans are permitted to cut into the line at the foot of the bridge, so we were spared some of the wait.

It took about 40 minutes to cross the short bridge. On the U.S. side of the bridge the four lanes split into about eight lanes to pass through the inspection station. Meanwhile, the pedestrian lanes are crowded with hundreds of people, Mexican and American, going back and forth to shop. The fact that it was Friday, and September 16, Mexico's Independence Day, meant there were more people crossing the border than usual.

In most of the inspection lanes, which are somewhat like the toll booths on American highways, the inspector asks the occupants of each vehicle their citizenship and each person shows their picture I.D.. They then want to know what you are bringing into the U.S. If it is liquor, or any valuable items, you are directed to an area where you pay U.S. Customs tariff, or Texas state liquor tax.

If the occupants are Mexican citizens, I assume they have some sort of I.D. that authorizes them to shop in El Paso stores, go to jobs in the U.S., or visit friends or relatives on the U.S. side.

For the most part it goes slowly but smoothly. However, it is entirely at the discretion of the inspecting officer. The lines next to us moved along in an orderly fashion, but our line crawled. The inspector insisted that the driver of every car get out of the car, open their trunk and/or the back doors. This inspector poked around inside the vehicle, then with a mirror on a stick, walked around the vehicle using the mirror to look up under the vehicle. I saw no other inspectors doing this.

Just ahead of us was a conversion van with a Texas license. When the driver got out of the van, I noticed he was wearing a tee shirt with a U.A.W. logo on the back. The inspector took about ten minutes to inspect this van. Frequently stopping to talk with other inspecting officers.

It is incredibly frustrating to just sit there in the heat, watching the other lanes of traffic move along, while you accomodate an inspector who likes to excercise their power to make you wait. If you are visualizing an inspecting officer who is bright, neatly uniformed and courteous, you are wrong. Since I had to leave the van before it was inspected, I did not get an up close look, but from about 20 feet away this inspector was so obese I could not tell it it was a man or a woman. The person literally bulged in their uniform as they waddled around each car, taking their own sweet time.

In my case, the van dropped me off at the inspection station. I had to join the line of pedestrians, show my I.D. and declare that I was bringing noithing back to the U.S. The van then picked me up on the other side of the inspection station to take me back to the garage where my car was parked.

So many Americans are paranoid about our southern border, yet they have no concept of what border crossing is like. Imagine someone drawing a line through the middle of any large American city, then restricting traffic across that line. Now imagine those restrictions being entirely at the whim of some arrogant, uncaring individual who has total power to permit or forbid your crossing. Or, the power to have you arrested if you protest.

And, please, don't remind me of 9/11. It was like this long before that terror attack.

Eat your corn!

I never heard that admonition from my mother because I was always the first to eat those hot, buttered roasting ears. But, someone, somewhere, may have to hear it. Yesterday the U.S.D.A. estimated this fall's corn harvest at 10.6 billion bushels. That's more than 35 bushels for every person in the United States!

Of course, not all that corn will be consumed in America - and not all by humans. Corn is an important livestock feed.

This all makes me think of a meeting I attended in Kansas about forty years ago. The meeting was to address the growing concern that America would not be able to continue to feed its growing population. One of the speakers responded to the question of our running out of land to raise crops. I remember his mentioning that we were not yet having to plant the median of Interstate Highway 70, which meanders over 400 miles across The Sunflower State.

My hat is off to the farmers of America and their partners in the business of supplying chemicals to help grow bigger, insect free crops, and medicines which make livestock healthier.

And, without the modern machines of agriculture we would not be able to plant or harvest today's bumper crops. If we still snapped corn by hand, the way I did as a kid, we would not need to plant any corn next year. It would take us two or three years to pick those 10.6 billion bushels.

Today there is a big movement toward organic foods. Remembering the scrubby little ears of corn we picked in the 1930s, I find it hard to understand this movement. If we ever quit the use of pesticides and fertilizers, or quit feeding supplements to our livestock, we may well reach the point where we cannot feed our own. Much less a big chunk of the world's hungry.

America's New Minority

Forget Hispanics, African Americans and Asians--- even Native Americans! There is a new minority and they are getting more benefits, more support, more coddling than any human minority.

I'm talking about pets. Principally dogs!

This country has gone bonkers for pets. Go to the internet and you will find "Petmeds." But no "AsianMeds!"

At the shopping Center, you may see "Petsmart." But no "Hispanicsmart." Look the other direction and you may see "Pets & More." Why not "Native Americans and More?"

Today I drove past a livestock feed store and a big sign said "Pet Wash Today." The whole neighborhood smelled like wet dogs.

Our city just banned the use of ground audible fireworks. The reason? They frightened people's dogs.

I don't like dogs as pets. I like seeing eye dogs, drug sniffing and bomb sniffing dogs, and dogs trained to work livestock. I say all other dogs should be prohibited. That won't happen because the dog food business is raking in billions for ground up horse hair and chicken feathers.

Too many people are injured by dogs. Recently a local deputy sheriff was mauled by a pair of pit bulls. He could have shot them, but did not because he was in a densely populated neighborhood and would not risk firing his gun.

Our county has about 100,000 dogs. If each excretes only 8 ounces a day, that's 25 tons of canine excrement a day. In our desert climate, if just sits there and dries up. Over 9,000 tons per year. When desert winds blow and dust storms sweep across our city, I decline outdoor barbecues.

I know a few dog owners who are responsible citizens. They keep their dogs quiet, clean up after them and obey leash laws. They are also a minority. The smallest one. Too many others put their dogs in their back yard, close all the windows and crank up the air conditioner and the TV - oblivious to their dog's incessant barking. The next morning they leave for work and we listen to their dog all day.

Goodbye, old friend.

Fred Charles Sullivan, an old friend of mine, died yesterday. His death was not a surprise as he had been in ill health for some time. Charlie's recent acquaintenances knew nothing of the accomplishments of his life, but knew him only as an old man who was ill. Too bad.

As a young man, Charlie was fascinated by the business of broadcasting, and in about 1951, started hanging around the radio station where I worked. I eventually left that station to chase a career, and while he and I did communicate for a time, we eventually lost track of each other. (Our friendship was renewed when I moved back to New Mexico in 1994.)

Charlie's interest in broadcasting never waned, and he moved to Los Angeles where he started hanging around KNBC-TV. Eventually he was employed by the station. He always said they hired him to get him out of their face. His first job was dragging cables behind studio cameras. The cameramen had to concentrate on instructions from the director, and needed someone to look after the cables from their cameras to be sure they did not become entangled and impede their camera moves.

Eventually Charlie became a producer for NBC and was sent on many assignments around the world. He did some time in Viet Nam shooting film of the war for NBC. On rare occasions he spoke of his acquaintance with such NBC luminaries as Tom Brokaw.

A lifelong Democrat, Charlie was enchanted by the Kennedys. When Bobby Kennedy ran for president, Charlie became very active in the California campaign. He had a box full of old photographs, some of which showed him with Kennedy.

After his father died, Charlie left California to return to New Mexico to help his mother sort out his father's business affairs. He heard the news of Bobby Kennedy's assasination while he was on the road.

Charlie never really got over the loss of the Kennedy brothers, and in later years his living room was more or less a shrine to Jack and Bobby, with large portraits of each on the wall, along with numerous other memorabilia of the era.

Charlie became a significant part of the business community in our city, and enjoyed financial success until he suffered two brain aneurysms. He survived, but with a significant loss of memory.

He lost most of his business enterprises during that period, and became quite embittered. Until his death, he believed he had been cheated by his friends and associates. I will never know what actually happened.

Charlie was married three times and has two daughters by his first marriage. They love their father, of course, but live on the east coast and have little connection with our city.

Charlie and I frequented the same barber shop and our barber, Mike Ortega, was one of Charlie's friends. When Charlie became too ill to vist the barber shop, Mike went to Charlie's home and cut his hair.

When I heard of Charlie's death, Mike was the first one I called. He said he would call another friend, a distant relative of Charlie, and tell him Charlie had died. I asked who else he would call. Mike thought a moment, but could think of no one else to call.

There was no notice of his death in this morning's newspaper.

On labor Day Weekend I participated in one of the numerous New Mexico festivals. Bands played throughout the day, and I found it interesting that so much classic rock was played - hit songs from the 1950s and 1960s. I was a part of that era in that I was a disc jockey from 1949 until 1974.

Today nearly every major city has at least one station that plays the Golden Oldies, hit songs from that period. Today they are played by young people who were not even born when the songs were first recorded. Reading from notes assembled for them by some rock historian, they tell you a lot about the artists and the songs. Things we never knew when we introduced the records to our listeners.

There were no CDs in those days. We played 78 rpm records until about 1953, then 45s and 33 1/3 rpm albums. Many of our commercials were read live, others were recorded on acetate disks. By the mid-60s, commercials were recorded on tape cartridge. Usually we worked with four turntables and every record had to be "cued".

Many times we also had to read our own five-minute newscasts and weather reports during our show. And, we had to maintain a Program Log, recording the time of every commercial, every station identification. We did not just sit and listen to the music! We were so busy that in some cases we never really heard the lyrics of a song. Today I occasionally hear a record that I first played on the air some 50 years ago and I will ask my wife if that lyric is the same as on the original recording.

Sometimes the lyrics were actually changed. On Jimmy Dean's "Big Bad John", he originally ended the song with the line, "at the bottom of this mine lies a hell of a man, Big John." But, a lot of radio stations refused to play the record so he re-recorded the ending, saying, "at the bottom of this mine lies a big, big man... Big John."

Thankful For Mandated Modesty

About 25 years ago, my wife and I attended a business conference at the Frenchman's Reef Resort at St. Thomas, U.S.V.I.

One afternoon we went to the beach to enjoy the sun and water. Two young women came to the beach, found a sunny spot away from the crowds and spread a blanket on the sand. They laid on their stomachs and unfastened their bikini tops so they could tan their backs with no white lines.

Soon a security guard came along and made the ladies refasten their tops. Topless bathing was forbidden on that beach. I thought that was ridiculous because they were not flaunting nudity or even exposing their bare breasts to view. Anyway, it seemed silly that of all the species of living things which may visit that place, only humans were required to keep some parts of their bodies covered. For years I ranted about what I considered dumb customs.

But, recently, I have often found myself in a place where I see streams of pedestrians wander by. So many are obese! Huge stomachs overhanging men's belts. Women with monstrous wide hips and abnormally fat legs.

Boy! How I admire the wisdom and foresight of that astute person who originated the custom of covering the human form in public. And, a special thanks to everyone who enforces the custom.

When is looting okay?

As I interpret the current news, much of the world is shocked by the widespread looting in New Orleans.

People who steal guns, electronics and other valuable items are nothing more than criminals taking advantage of the inadequate law enforcement. Their actions are no surprise. But other looters are actually getting a bye from television reporters. "They are taking only food or water, things they need for survival, and they are sharing with others" is the way one reporter described what he saw.

One might argue that any food left in grocery stores or restaurants after the flood of filthy water could not be sold and would have to be destroyed. Or, you may reason that the business owner is going to be reimbursed by his insurance company, whether his inventory is stolen or just sits in the store and rots.

Does this justify the looting? It is still stealing someone else's property.

My father taught me that there is never justification for stealing. There is no such thing as part time honesty. A man is honest or he is dishonest. He cannot be both. I can still hear my father saying, "If a man doesn't have his word, what does he have?"

In my opinion, not much.

Are Gas Prices Really High?

When I was a kid, in the 1930s, regular gasoline was 10 cents a gallon. During World War Two I worked at a filling station when gasoline sold for 15.9 cents - a price fixed by government controls. My salary was $17. a week, which computes to 42.5 cents per hour. For one hour's work, I could buy about two and two thirds gallons of gas.

Yesterday I filled up for $2.89 a gallon. To compare that to 1944, I would have to earn only about $7.73 and hour to buy the same amount of gas for one hour's work.

In 1944, I drove a 1930 Model A Ford. I do not remember how many miles per gallon that car delivered, but I don't think it was any better than the 21 or 22 miles I get from a gallon in my present car.

I feel better already!

The headline on our local newspaper this morning reads "City Decends Into Anarchy" - speaking, of course, about New Orleans. My first urge was to go out into the city, find a policeman, and thank him for his service.

We all shudder when we are speeding down the highway and suddenly spot a policeman running radar. In fact, we usually regard them as enemies instead of protectors.

Today's events in New Orleans prove that we could not survice without law enforcement.

We celebrate our military veterans who have fought for our freedom. We should likewise celebrate our law enforcement officers who daily safeguard that freedom.

Thanks, Officer... wherever you are!

I spent 25 years in radio broadcasting (1949 to 1974). Following my radio career, I started a small advertising business, specializing in television advertising. Thirty years later I am still making TV commercials, but now only for remodeling contractors.

I have a lot of opinions about broadcasting and about commercials, in particular. Radio used to be a great medium for keeping a local audience informed about local events. But the FCC has destroyed that. Today the once local radio station is owned by some conglomerate whose only interest is the bottom line.

They broadcast national disk jockeys or national talk shows. No more local events.

During the 1960s I operated a small town radio station. It you heard a siren anywhere in our town, you could tune to our station and in a few moments you would know who was operating the siren, and why.

That was a local service that satellite radio can never duplicate. Too bad.

Commercials used to be information about products or services that may benefit you. They were delivered in a lucid format that everyone could understand. They told you how and where to buy the advertised product or service.

When I first started in radio, I was often handed a proof of a newspaper ad by a local grocer and told to ad lib a commercial. When I stopped by the grocery store on the way home, the grocer thanked me if the ad worked, and chewed me out if it did not. I soon learned what it took to get customers into his store.

Today when I listen to the radio or watch TV, I often sit through a commercial, then ask "What were they advertising?" We used to say "salesmanship is king and creativity is its servant". Today, special effects are king and salesmanship is rarely considered. Why do advertisers keep paying for this?

An old time ad man once told me he would much rather make a presentation to a vice-president in some large company than to make a presentation to the owner of a small business. His reason? The vice-president will buy your campaign rather than admit he doesn't know what you are talking about!