Let's Change FEMA to MAMA!
Today's headline from Florida: Long Lines and Short Tempers.
Floridians are complaining because "The Government" is too slow in providing relief for them.
Floridians are repeatedly told to stockpile enough food and water to last at least 72 hours. They ignore that advice.
Floridians are told to evacuate the area in a hurricane's path. With much bravado they refuse, pointing out that they have survived other hurricanes.
Then, when the accurately forecast hurricane knocks out power and water, they run screaming into the streets for "The Government": to take care of them.
Mama! I have no food, no water, no gasoline.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Thursday, October 27, 2005
The Real Protectors Of Freedom
Recently someone wrote a letter to our local newspaper stating that at a recent job fair, the biggest crowd was around the military recruiting desk. The reader was alarmed.
I was delighted.
I was 13 years and 1 month of age on December 7, 1941. In the weeks after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, thousands of young men flocked to recruiting stations to join the military. I ached to join with them.
In 1942, we read of American losses, American deaths, and Japanese conquest of Pacific islands. The news was most disturbing to me. When I returned to school in the fall of 1942, it seemed as if no one knew about the war. The most important event was the pep rally for the Friday night football game.
I endured this atmosphere for some weeks, but soon it overwhelmed my desire to remain in school. During the Christmas break, a man from a nearby dairy farm came to our house and explained that their milk route helper wanted to leave his job to join the military service. He wondered if I would be interested in taking his job. Hours were 5:00 a.m. until about 3:00 or 4:00 p.m., salary was $2.00 per day.
To me it was a way I could help with the war effort. I took the job. During the next year and into 1944 and 1945, I watched as many of my friends celebrated their 18th birthday by joining the military. One friend, Leonard Reeves, joined the Army, finished basic training and was shipped to the Pacific. He was killed in the invasion of Okinawa.
The Japanese surrendered in August of 1945 - I was 16. About the time of my 17th birthday (November) the Army lowered the enlistment age to 17. With my parents permission, I joined the Army.
After I was inducted, and before I hustled off to basic training, I saw my parents one time. My father, an Army veteran from World War One, told me to stand straight, shoulders back and stomach in. "A lot of good men have died wearing that uniform", he said, "you owe it to them to wear it with pride." Boy, did I ever!
Hundreds of thousands of combat veterans were overdue to return home, and someone needed to take over their job. I and a lot of other 17-year-old high school dropouts did just that. I was and still am proud of my small contribution.
Now, when I read about a cowardly roadside bomb killing Americans in Iraq, and I hear about young men and women crowding the military recruiters desk at a job fair, I understand.
And I am so grateful for these young patriots who care more about their country - and our freedom - than their personal safety. (And, once again, I ache to join with them.)
Recently someone wrote a letter to our local newspaper stating that at a recent job fair, the biggest crowd was around the military recruiting desk. The reader was alarmed.
I was delighted.
I was 13 years and 1 month of age on December 7, 1941. In the weeks after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, thousands of young men flocked to recruiting stations to join the military. I ached to join with them.
In 1942, we read of American losses, American deaths, and Japanese conquest of Pacific islands. The news was most disturbing to me. When I returned to school in the fall of 1942, it seemed as if no one knew about the war. The most important event was the pep rally for the Friday night football game.
I endured this atmosphere for some weeks, but soon it overwhelmed my desire to remain in school. During the Christmas break, a man from a nearby dairy farm came to our house and explained that their milk route helper wanted to leave his job to join the military service. He wondered if I would be interested in taking his job. Hours were 5:00 a.m. until about 3:00 or 4:00 p.m., salary was $2.00 per day.
To me it was a way I could help with the war effort. I took the job. During the next year and into 1944 and 1945, I watched as many of my friends celebrated their 18th birthday by joining the military. One friend, Leonard Reeves, joined the Army, finished basic training and was shipped to the Pacific. He was killed in the invasion of Okinawa.
The Japanese surrendered in August of 1945 - I was 16. About the time of my 17th birthday (November) the Army lowered the enlistment age to 17. With my parents permission, I joined the Army.
After I was inducted, and before I hustled off to basic training, I saw my parents one time. My father, an Army veteran from World War One, told me to stand straight, shoulders back and stomach in. "A lot of good men have died wearing that uniform", he said, "you owe it to them to wear it with pride." Boy, did I ever!
Hundreds of thousands of combat veterans were overdue to return home, and someone needed to take over their job. I and a lot of other 17-year-old high school dropouts did just that. I was and still am proud of my small contribution.
Now, when I read about a cowardly roadside bomb killing Americans in Iraq, and I hear about young men and women crowding the military recruiters desk at a job fair, I understand.
And I am so grateful for these young patriots who care more about their country - and our freedom - than their personal safety. (And, once again, I ache to join with them.)
Sunday, October 23, 2005
That Radio Nightmare
I was on the air in radio from 1949 until 1974. At the first station where I worked, we had no recording equipment for recording commercials. Tape recorders were not yet available, we could not afford a disk recorder. As a result, all commercials were read "live".
When I was hired by a station in Kansas City, we had a disk recorder that would record onto blank acetate disks. We used it for recording commercials as well as program intros, promotional announcements, etc.
The disk jockey worked with four turntables. At any given moment, one would be playing the current record on the air. The next would have the first commercial disk cued and ready. The third turntable may be loaded with a recorded station break jingle, and the fourth with a second commercial.
When the music record ended and the disk jockey finished his comments, he played the recording of the first commercial. While it was playing, he took the music record off the first turntable, replaced it in the file, and cued whatever recording was to follow the last record already cued. With station break jingles, weather report intros, recorded commercials, contest promotion recordings, etc., a deejay may play five or six recordings between music records. Most commercials were recorded at 33 1/3 RPM, our music was either 33 1/3 or 45 RPM, so it was vital that each turntable be set at the correct speed.
It was a mad rush of loading disks on turntables, removing and filing other disks, and making whatever live comments required - such as the current time and temperature. That was why we were called disk jockeys, we really jockeyed stacks of recordings.
There could be no "dead" air, so to play a disk, we had to load it on a turntable, set the needle in the first groove, switch the turntable to a "Cue Amplifier" and spin the turntable until the first sound was heard. then the disk was stopped, backed up about a quarter turn, and switched back to an on-air position. When the turntable was switched on, the sound would start almost immediately. We had other tricks, such as "slip start" to help prevent dead air.
When we finally got the next music record on the air, we had to check our program log and get everything ready for the next break... plus, write in the program log the time each commercial was aired, etc. It was a job that required absolute concentration, and the worst possible situation was to be caught unprepared. For example, you play a weather jingle recording, then suddenly realize you had forgotten to check for the current temperature.
It has been over 30 years since I retired from radio broadcasting. Yet, every now and then, I dream I am on the air and everything has gone wrong. The next commercial disk I need is out of reach. I am trying to ad lib something on the air so I cannot leave my chair and find the disk.
Or, perhaps I have neglected to keep my program log up to date and cannot remember for sure if I played every commercial that was on the log. I wake up, literally shaking.
For years, I thought I was some sort of nut. Then, recently I was visiting with another retired radio man. I mentioned something about my dreams and he said, "Oh, the radio nightmare", and admitted he had those dreams also.
I was on the air in radio from 1949 until 1974. At the first station where I worked, we had no recording equipment for recording commercials. Tape recorders were not yet available, we could not afford a disk recorder. As a result, all commercials were read "live".
When I was hired by a station in Kansas City, we had a disk recorder that would record onto blank acetate disks. We used it for recording commercials as well as program intros, promotional announcements, etc.
The disk jockey worked with four turntables. At any given moment, one would be playing the current record on the air. The next would have the first commercial disk cued and ready. The third turntable may be loaded with a recorded station break jingle, and the fourth with a second commercial.
When the music record ended and the disk jockey finished his comments, he played the recording of the first commercial. While it was playing, he took the music record off the first turntable, replaced it in the file, and cued whatever recording was to follow the last record already cued. With station break jingles, weather report intros, recorded commercials, contest promotion recordings, etc., a deejay may play five or six recordings between music records. Most commercials were recorded at 33 1/3 RPM, our music was either 33 1/3 or 45 RPM, so it was vital that each turntable be set at the correct speed.
It was a mad rush of loading disks on turntables, removing and filing other disks, and making whatever live comments required - such as the current time and temperature. That was why we were called disk jockeys, we really jockeyed stacks of recordings.
There could be no "dead" air, so to play a disk, we had to load it on a turntable, set the needle in the first groove, switch the turntable to a "Cue Amplifier" and spin the turntable until the first sound was heard. then the disk was stopped, backed up about a quarter turn, and switched back to an on-air position. When the turntable was switched on, the sound would start almost immediately. We had other tricks, such as "slip start" to help prevent dead air.
When we finally got the next music record on the air, we had to check our program log and get everything ready for the next break... plus, write in the program log the time each commercial was aired, etc. It was a job that required absolute concentration, and the worst possible situation was to be caught unprepared. For example, you play a weather jingle recording, then suddenly realize you had forgotten to check for the current temperature.
It has been over 30 years since I retired from radio broadcasting. Yet, every now and then, I dream I am on the air and everything has gone wrong. The next commercial disk I need is out of reach. I am trying to ad lib something on the air so I cannot leave my chair and find the disk.
Or, perhaps I have neglected to keep my program log up to date and cannot remember for sure if I played every commercial that was on the log. I wake up, literally shaking.
For years, I thought I was some sort of nut. Then, recently I was visiting with another retired radio man. I mentioned something about my dreams and he said, "Oh, the radio nightmare", and admitted he had those dreams also.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Caring America
Americans care about their fellow man. Look at the American response to the Indonesian tsunami, the gulf coast hurricanes, the Pakistan earthquake, and any other natural or man-made disaster you can recall.
Americans are compassionate to everyone - everyone, that is, but Mexicans. What is it that drives this never ending animosity. Is it because we once fought Mexico in a war? The Marine Corps still sings about taking a boy's military school in Mexico City, which they call the "Halls of Montezuma". We fought a long, bloody war with Japan, now they are a close ally. We fought a similarly long, bitter war with England, now our very closest friends.
Why do we coddle "Native Americans" endlessly? Because we stole this land from them?
Well, we stole a lot of land from Mexico, too. Land we now call Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Southern California, etc. Why aren't Mexicans, like Indians, credited with being here first?
You may have lived your entire life on the dole - a welfare recipient from birth. You may have contributed nothing to mankind. But if a natural disaster places you in harms way and you refuse to flee to high ground, someone should risk their own life saving you. You are a "victim" and are entitled to continue receiving the handout you have enjoyed all your life.
If you are an unemployed Mexican father surrounded by hungry children in a home built of shipping crates and you slip across the border to spend a day in the hot sun picking chiles for an American farmer, you are not a caring father willing to sacrifice for his family. You are an illegal, a criminal deserving only to be arrested and transported out of the country.
How about the single mother of several children, who gets pregnant again by her live-in boyfriend so she can draw yet one more check from ADC? We reward her with our sympathy as well as our dollars.
But if you are a pregnant Mexican teenager in labor, who enters a U.S. hospital, wanting only for your baby to receive the medical care it could not receive at home, you are not a victim... you, too, are an illegal, a criminal, and deserve only to be sent packing back to Mexico.
I could write on this subject endlessy because fresh examples of America's prejudice against Mexicans appear every day.
But, sadly, I would be drowned out by the constant rantings of the media screaming for an impenetrable wall across our southern border!
The next time you hear some media elite raving about America's generosity and compassion, just add these four little words... "unless you're a Mexican."
Americans care about their fellow man. Look at the American response to the Indonesian tsunami, the gulf coast hurricanes, the Pakistan earthquake, and any other natural or man-made disaster you can recall.
Americans are compassionate to everyone - everyone, that is, but Mexicans. What is it that drives this never ending animosity. Is it because we once fought Mexico in a war? The Marine Corps still sings about taking a boy's military school in Mexico City, which they call the "Halls of Montezuma". We fought a long, bloody war with Japan, now they are a close ally. We fought a similarly long, bitter war with England, now our very closest friends.
Why do we coddle "Native Americans" endlessly? Because we stole this land from them?
Well, we stole a lot of land from Mexico, too. Land we now call Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Southern California, etc. Why aren't Mexicans, like Indians, credited with being here first?
You may have lived your entire life on the dole - a welfare recipient from birth. You may have contributed nothing to mankind. But if a natural disaster places you in harms way and you refuse to flee to high ground, someone should risk their own life saving you. You are a "victim" and are entitled to continue receiving the handout you have enjoyed all your life.
If you are an unemployed Mexican father surrounded by hungry children in a home built of shipping crates and you slip across the border to spend a day in the hot sun picking chiles for an American farmer, you are not a caring father willing to sacrifice for his family. You are an illegal, a criminal deserving only to be arrested and transported out of the country.
How about the single mother of several children, who gets pregnant again by her live-in boyfriend so she can draw yet one more check from ADC? We reward her with our sympathy as well as our dollars.
But if you are a pregnant Mexican teenager in labor, who enters a U.S. hospital, wanting only for your baby to receive the medical care it could not receive at home, you are not a victim... you, too, are an illegal, a criminal, and deserve only to be sent packing back to Mexico.
I could write on this subject endlessy because fresh examples of America's prejudice against Mexicans appear every day.
But, sadly, I would be drowned out by the constant rantings of the media screaming for an impenetrable wall across our southern border!
The next time you hear some media elite raving about America's generosity and compassion, just add these four little words... "unless you're a Mexican."
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Is It Really Harriet Miers?
Okay, I have to have an opinion on this Supreme Court nomination if I claim to be an opionated old man.
People are talking about lack of judicial experience, etc., etc.
What they are really talking about is abortion.
I can't even imagine the mental agony of a woman contemplating having an abortion, so let's take them out of the equation. Of what's left (all of us), it is hard to imagine anyone who really wants to see a woman have an abortion.
Well, perhaps some will justify abortion for some medical reason. Like, is it "good" to force someone into a lifetime likely to be filled with pain and misery?
I think the religious right believes abortion is murder and is never justified. I think the liberal left believes in a woman's right to choose, but never actually visualizes an aborted fetus. And, never mind that the "right to choose" was usually on the table before she was on the bed.
There is a group that worries about non-professional procedures - the coat hanger syndrome. These folks are cut from the same cloth as those who pass out hypodermic needles. They say some folks are going to shoot up anyway, so let's keep them from spreading AIDS.
The religious right wants a supreme court that will overturn Roe v. Wade. They believe that in filling the O'Connor vacancy, President Bush could give them that. But, in nominating Harriet Miers they believe he is missing that opportunity. That is where all the flack is coming from.
The liberals aren't sure of what is going on. They are like a hunter who was prepared for a lion to charge him from the brush, only to see a small kitten emerge. Should he go ahead and shoot? Pick the thing up and pet it?
The Senate Judicial Committee. meanwhile, is just watching from the sidelines, in a bit of shock.
No one really knows what George W. Bush is thinking.
Pay attention to this one. It will all be in the history books some day.
Okay, I have to have an opinion on this Supreme Court nomination if I claim to be an opionated old man.
People are talking about lack of judicial experience, etc., etc.
What they are really talking about is abortion.
I can't even imagine the mental agony of a woman contemplating having an abortion, so let's take them out of the equation. Of what's left (all of us), it is hard to imagine anyone who really wants to see a woman have an abortion.
Well, perhaps some will justify abortion for some medical reason. Like, is it "good" to force someone into a lifetime likely to be filled with pain and misery?
I think the religious right believes abortion is murder and is never justified. I think the liberal left believes in a woman's right to choose, but never actually visualizes an aborted fetus. And, never mind that the "right to choose" was usually on the table before she was on the bed.
There is a group that worries about non-professional procedures - the coat hanger syndrome. These folks are cut from the same cloth as those who pass out hypodermic needles. They say some folks are going to shoot up anyway, so let's keep them from spreading AIDS.
The religious right wants a supreme court that will overturn Roe v. Wade. They believe that in filling the O'Connor vacancy, President Bush could give them that. But, in nominating Harriet Miers they believe he is missing that opportunity. That is where all the flack is coming from.
The liberals aren't sure of what is going on. They are like a hunter who was prepared for a lion to charge him from the brush, only to see a small kitten emerge. Should he go ahead and shoot? Pick the thing up and pet it?
The Senate Judicial Committee. meanwhile, is just watching from the sidelines, in a bit of shock.
No one really knows what George W. Bush is thinking.
Pay attention to this one. It will all be in the history books some day.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
TEXAS!
Texas gets a lot of bad press, none of it deserved. Sure, Texans brag a lot about their state, but they should. Texas is an amazing state.
Driving across Texas - which takes about two days - reveals an amazing variety of scenery. Far west Texas is desert country. Southeast Texas is a whole different world. In between is some of the world's greatest grasslands, and crops of every nature.
Along the Rio Grande, southeast of El Paso, a major crop is pecans... thousands of acres of pecan orchards. Up in the panhandle it is beef country with feed lots that seem too big to be true.
But Texas can hardly be regarded as primarily an agricultural state. It's major urban areas are as metropolitan as any cities in the world, and a good deal more vibrant than most of the world's large cities.
In many areas, around Midland-Odessa and around Houston, to name two, petroleum is big business. They do it all in Texas, from drilling to refining. They live with the smell and pollution 365 days a year so the elites of New England, California and elsewhere can cruise around in their luxury cars and breathe clean air.
Petroleum isn't the only energy source that is big in Texas. In several areas - western Crockett Country, for one - you will see hundreds upon hundreds of wind generators, providing clean, renewal energy.
Texans could build a wall around their state and continue to do very well. I question whether the remainder of the country could long do without Texas!
It is true that Texas was stolen from Mexico, along with what is now a good portion of the southwestern United States. But, what Texans have done with the stolen land is phenomenal.
I am not a Texan. Have never lived in Texas. And when I visit Texas, I am always happy to leave and go back home. But I admit (a bit grudgingly, perhaps) that Texas is truly bigger and better than most bragging Texans claim.
Texas gets a lot of bad press, none of it deserved. Sure, Texans brag a lot about their state, but they should. Texas is an amazing state.
Driving across Texas - which takes about two days - reveals an amazing variety of scenery. Far west Texas is desert country. Southeast Texas is a whole different world. In between is some of the world's greatest grasslands, and crops of every nature.
Along the Rio Grande, southeast of El Paso, a major crop is pecans... thousands of acres of pecan orchards. Up in the panhandle it is beef country with feed lots that seem too big to be true.
But Texas can hardly be regarded as primarily an agricultural state. It's major urban areas are as metropolitan as any cities in the world, and a good deal more vibrant than most of the world's large cities.
In many areas, around Midland-Odessa and around Houston, to name two, petroleum is big business. They do it all in Texas, from drilling to refining. They live with the smell and pollution 365 days a year so the elites of New England, California and elsewhere can cruise around in their luxury cars and breathe clean air.
Petroleum isn't the only energy source that is big in Texas. In several areas - western Crockett Country, for one - you will see hundreds upon hundreds of wind generators, providing clean, renewal energy.
Texans could build a wall around their state and continue to do very well. I question whether the remainder of the country could long do without Texas!
It is true that Texas was stolen from Mexico, along with what is now a good portion of the southwestern United States. But, what Texans have done with the stolen land is phenomenal.
I am not a Texan. Have never lived in Texas. And when I visit Texas, I am always happy to leave and go back home. But I admit (a bit grudgingly, perhaps) that Texas is truly bigger and better than most bragging Texans claim.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Pussies!
Two news stroies caught my attention today. A story of terrorists planning 19 backpack bombs to be deployed on New York subways.
And a story of 90 senators voting for a John McCain amendment aimed at insuring humane treatment of captured enemy combatants.
Want to know what this old man thinks of those 90 senators?
Read my headline!
Two news stroies caught my attention today. A story of terrorists planning 19 backpack bombs to be deployed on New York subways.
And a story of 90 senators voting for a John McCain amendment aimed at insuring humane treatment of captured enemy combatants.
Want to know what this old man thinks of those 90 senators?
Read my headline!
Saturday, October 01, 2005
How Do You Measure Success?
Years ago a colleague of mine answered that question by saying he looks at a man's children to see if he is successful. You are successful if your kids turn out "right".
I agree - largely because my kids are so terrific! All have a college aducation. All worked and paid their own way through college with no handout from Mom or Dad. The oldest of my brood, my twin girls Debra and Denise, both have degrees in education. Next oldest daughter, April, has a degree in computer science and is an IT engineer for a big company.
Our oldest boy, Lance, has a Master's Degree in Political Science (Government) and a Master's Degree in Education. Our youngest boy, Sam, has a Ph.D. in Mass Communications and Cognitive Science.
How did we make all that happen? I have no idea! We were just lucky, I guess, and I claim no credit for their successes. But.... I do love my kids!
Years ago a colleague of mine answered that question by saying he looks at a man's children to see if he is successful. You are successful if your kids turn out "right".
I agree - largely because my kids are so terrific! All have a college aducation. All worked and paid their own way through college with no handout from Mom or Dad. The oldest of my brood, my twin girls Debra and Denise, both have degrees in education. Next oldest daughter, April, has a degree in computer science and is an IT engineer for a big company.
Our oldest boy, Lance, has a Master's Degree in Political Science (Government) and a Master's Degree in Education. Our youngest boy, Sam, has a Ph.D. in Mass Communications and Cognitive Science.
How did we make all that happen? I have no idea! We were just lucky, I guess, and I claim no credit for their successes. But.... I do love my kids!
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