One more scream!

I get a little tired of hearing young TV pundits state that "seniors" want to cut spending until you mention Social Security, then they scream. Well, friends, they have a right to scream.

We didn't ask for Social Security. When I turned 13 and took my first job away from the family farm, I was told I had to have a social Security Card... and, it was FREE! So the government tapped into every paycheck I ever earned... for fifty years. As employers most of our adult life, my wife and I paid both the employee and the employer half to FICA.

"But, you are drawing more than you paid in!", they insist. My friend, the dollars we paid in were closer to real, unlike the dollars we're being paid today. In 1941, one of my dollars would buy over six gallons of gasoline. It would buy 12.5 quarts of milk. Or 24 White Castle hamburgers. Or 3 hot roast beef sandwiches.

And we worked hard for those dollars! My first job was pruning and tying tomato plants for 8¢ per 100 plants. Then I worked a dairy delivery route (5:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m.) for $2. a day. Until I entered the Army, no job ever paid more than 42¢ an hour.

Also, as an employer, I paid thousands out of my pocket in state unemployment compensation. The only time I ever drew unemployment pay was when I was discharged from the Army. They offered me $20 a week for a maximum of 52 weeks. Today people get 99 weeks - almost two years at something near their last full pay.

In 1941, it took $33.85 to buy an ounce of gold. Today it will take $1,430 to buy that ounce. That is how much the government has devalued the dollar. If my monthly Social Security check were divided by that same ratio, it would be about $28.! Still sound like I am drawing more than I paid?

All those dollars we paid Social Security were supposed to be safely locked in an interest-bearing account. We trusted the government to invest those dollars wisely. Instead they stole our money to buy votes. Then they borrowed trillions more, to buy more votes. Now they want us to "sacrifice" to pay back their debt.

I know it is not going to happen, but I would like to see hundreds of politicians thrown in jail for armed robbery. Yes, armed! Refuse to pay your taxes and see who comes to call! They will be armed.

Beans.

An elderly friend was recently released from the hospital following surgery. One of his daughters drove him home and offered to cook dinner for him and for her mother. His choice? Beans and cornbread. That made me smile as my request would have been the same! I love beans!

Years ago I heard someone interview Louis Armstrong. Asked to name his favorite meal. In his husky, gravely voice, Armstrong replied, "Red beans and rice".

Rice was not all that common where I grew up in Missouri, beans certainly were. Plentiful, cheap and delicious. And dry beans are so easy to store and transport.

A friend once told me a story from the depression era. When he and his wife were married, they found a job on a large farm. The job was for the entire year and part of the job was a small cabin in which to live while employed. The cabin had rudimentary furnishings, a wood-burning kitchen stove, a few pots or kettles and some dishes. Someone gave the newlyweds a big sack of beans, and my friend had a dime. 10 cents! He walked several miles into the nearest town and bought 10¢ worth of salt pork. The couple lived on beans, flavored with the salt pork, until their first payday when they could buy some additional groceries.

As a kid in a country school, I and other farm kids, often brought cold bean sandwiches for lunch. A big pot of beans, kept overnight in the icebox would become stiff enough to spread on a thick slab of homemade bread to make a sandwich.

When I started my first business, a businessman mentor advised me not to worry if success was not immediate. "You grew up on beans", he said, "you can always go back to beans if things get slow." They did get slow at times, and I did go back to beans. But, I still love a big pot of beans, even when things are going well!

Today my preference is for pinto beans, soaked overnight in cold water, then cooked all day in a Crock Pot with some ham hocks. Serve them with lots of fresh, chopped onions and a couple of spoons of hot salsa! Cornbread tops off the meal. Wow! I truly feel sorry for people who never learned how much simple pleasure is found in a big bowl of beans!

Lies, damned lies and statistics

Mark Twain is credited with first uttering those words. I'll buy that. But I want to talk only about damned lies.

My great disappointment today is that so many Americans are totally ignorant about history... and have no particular interest in learning the facts.

The other day I heard someone, speaking on behalf of the Wisconsin labor unions in their dispute with Wisconsin Governor Walker, that America owed the forty-hour work week to labor unions.

Sorry, folks! That is a damned lie.

In 1913, Henry Ford brought the moving assembly line to his fledgling factory for building Ford Model T cars. The assembly line worked well, but it was tough on workers. If a worker paused a moment to catch his breath, the car he was working on moved on down the line, minus the part or adjustment he was supposed to make. The frustration was so great, many workers just quit their job.

Henry Ford brought in new workers. but these new people did not know how to do the job and more problems resulted. So, Mister Ford changed things.. he doubled... yes doubled the pay to workers on the line, reduced the day to eight hours, and reduced the work week to five days... the forty-hour week! 1914! Henry Ford!

(Toyoto, after meeting with Henry Ford, later further improved on the problem by giving workers the ability to stop the line for a moment!)

So, when the spokesman for organized labor says America has the union movement to thank for the forty-hour week... it is just.... yes... a damned lie!

Remembering A Sweet Fishing Spot

About sixty years ago, a fellow employee, a guy named Otis Miller, introduced me to his favorite fishing hole. It was on the Rio Grande River. Otis was the oldest member of our radio station's staff, and we naturally called him "Pop".

About a mile below the big power generating dam that formed the Elephant Butte Reservoir, the river took a sharp right turn. Just before the turn, a hiway crossed the river. In building the bridge, the engineers had dumped huge rocks on both banks, to reinforce the abutments to the small bridge.

When the Bureau of Reclamation was generating power at the dam, and the river was at full flow, the clear, cold water was well up into these rocks, causing a rapid swirling of the water. This action of the water upended small shad and other forage fish. Largemouth bass hung on the downstream side of these rocks and easily nabbed the disoriented fish.

Just around the curve, the opposite bank was solid rock. Water crashing against this rock embankment had scoured out the bottom and the water ran still and deep. Lots of people liked to sit on top of this embankment and fish the still water below, using live minnows as bait. But Pop knew more about game fish, and knew that was not the spot.

You couldn't use minnows as bait on the turbulent side of the river under the bridge, as the swirling water would tear them from your hook. So, Pop Miller found an artificial bait called a Crippled Shad. when cast into the rocks, this bait perfectly duplicated the action of real shad, thrown about in the water.

The first time Pop took me to his sweet spot, I quickly caught a bass. Pop was an avid photographer, and insisted on taking a picture of me with my fish. He instructed me to hold it at arms length toward the camera, to make the fish look bigger! (Maybe the camera doesn't lie... but fishermen do!)


(Those are not UFOs in the upper left corner. Pop made this print for me and one of my two-year-old twins did what babies always do.. she chewed on it!)

In the months after this picture, I caught many more fish at the sweet spot, but I never saw another fisherman fishing the turbulent water in the big rocks.

Recently I had occasion to drive to the old sweet spot. Alas. A new bridge had been built alongside and downstream of the old bridge, completely changing the character of the river banks. At the time, the flow from the dam was closed, but you can see a recent high water mark on the other bank of the river.


Wooden pilings of the old bridge are visible under the new bridge. You can even see a few of the remaining big rocks that created the sweet spot.

Yes, the new bridge is nice. But this picture makes me sad.

Wisconsin

Union busting? I hope so! I have been openly opposed to the activities of labor unions since I was about seven years old. At that time - the mid 1930s - my father was employed by a major oil refinery. Having experienced a period of homelessness at the onset of the depression, he was very grateful for his job. He worked hard, sometimes long hours, for a flat weekly salary. He believed the company was fulfilling it's end of the bargain and he was determined to fulfill his end.

Then, along came the Oil, Chemical and Atomic Workers union. They promised shorter hours, higher wages. But it concerned my father that they were totally one-sided. Every consideration was for the worker - no consideration was given the employer. No concern for the need to keep the company profitable in order to maintain its work force.

What concerned him more was the tactics of the union leaders, always a threat of force to achieve their goals. Never an approach that held fairness an objective. Only anger and a mean spirit.

The Union succeeded in organizing the work force and the shorter hours and better pay followed. But the relationship with the company was never again the same. No longer were they all on the same team. Now it was a perpetual adversarial atmosphere. Work became decidedly less pleasant.

As a footnote, the refinery where Dad was employed is no longer in operation.

I have never forgotten the way the union affected my father.

Years later, as a radio announcer, I experienced an attempt by the American Federation of Television & Radio Artists to organize the announcers at the station where I worked. One of the Union organizers spoke of breaking the legs of the station manager if he failed to grant their demands. That so angered the announcers that the attempt to organize our staff failed.

In the ensuing years I have witnessed an unending stream of corrupt activities on the part of union leaders.

Today, union supporters are claiming credit for things like the forty-hour week, overtime pay, sick leave, and so forth. They deserve no such credit.

The true credit goes to the free market and smart business practices. Once, on a talk program, our station interviewed a member of the famous DuPont family. He said his company had proven to themselves that retention of quality employees was profitable to the company. They granted many concessions toward that end, even paying for the further education of great employees who had reached the limits of their abilities, all while keeping them on the payroll.

In the 1960s, as chairman of a Chamber of Commerce committee charged with attracting new business to our community, I headed research into what inducements companies sought when considering expansion or relocation. Topping the list was a quality lifestyle in the community. Time and again, we were told that companies would have to send top leadership employees to launch a branch in a new community. Under no circumstances would they risk sending their best people to a place where they would be unhappy and possibly quit their jobs. Tax inducements and other financial perks were desired, but parks, theater, quality schools, low crime rates and affordable housing came first.

The days of the sweatshop ended long ago. So did the need for organized labor.

In the case of public employees, the employer is "the people", whereas the person negotiating with the unions on their behalf is often a politician whose election was financed by the very union with which he is to negotiate. What more evidence could you want for ending collective bargaining for public employees?

On registering as an Independent.

...or not!
There are occupations which make it difficult for a person to declare their political party affiliation. Take a news reporter. Everyone already thinks people in the news business are biased. Why give them "proof"?

Beyond that, I have never understood the reason for registering as an Independent. There is one. A late, long time friend was an unyielding Democrat. In the latter years of his life he became disillusioned with some of the Democrats policies, but said "My father would turn over in his grave if I became a Republican. Voila! Register as an Independent! No one will ever know which lever you pulled on the voting machine and you have not become a Republican!

But, it all boils down to the same reason... to mask your political preferences. Except for the privilege of voting in a primary, your party affiliation does not affect your vote. On election Day you vote your preference - any party. And nobody knows how you voted.

Having said all that, there is a reason not to register as an Independent. When you next enter a booth to vote for POTUS, there will be two viable choices, a Republican and a Democrat. When you cast your vote (unless you throw it away by voting for Donald Duck, or some out-of-contention candidate), you will vote for a Republican or a Democrat.

If you are registered as an Independent, you will have had no voice in choosing the major candidates. By joining either the Republican or Democrat Party, you can participate in all the preliminary events leading to the nomination - including primary elections. Why not participate in that effort?

Finally, as suggested in the bible, "luke warm" is worthy only of being spewed out of ones mouth. (Rev. 3: 15-16) I like backbone. I like people who stand up for what they believe. Decide which political party's platform most closely matches your beliefs. Then join them. Help shape and support them.

Living in Literalville.

When I first heard that term from radio talk show host Rush Limbaugh, I instantly affirmed that I was a proud citizen of Literalville.

Not just in things political - in many other areas as well. Years ago I was in a gallery of some sort and saw a painting that depicted a farmer working with a single horse and a walk-behind cultivator. It seemed like the work of a gifted artist, but when I took a close look, I laughed out loud. When a horse is pulling any farm implement, it is fitted with a padded collar that fits snugly against the animals chest and shoulders. Tough leather straps, called traces, are attached to this collar and to the implement to be pulled.

To help the farmer control the animal, it is also fitted with a bridle, equipped with a steel bit which fits in the horse's mouth. Attached to the ends of the bit are light weight leather straps called reins. With a gentle pull on either strap, the farmer can guide the horse to move to the left or to the right. In the aforementioned painting, it was the reins, not the traces attached to the implement. No horse would ever be called upon to pull a cultivator with its tender mouth! Obviously, that artist was not from Literalville.

Now it is TV commercials that drive me nuts. In a commercial for Pictsweet vegetables, the spokesman deplores the fact that so few know of the company. Behind him, a man passes on a tractor, down rows of plants that stand at least three feet high. The spokesman refers to the man on the tractor as Bob, their marketing manager, and says Bob has some ideas to change all that as soon as he finishes "plowing". To anyone who has ever been anywhere near a farm, which is just about everyone west of the Hudson River, it was clear the man was cultivating well established crops, not plowing!

In a commercial for Lipitor, a man standing on a foot bridge talks about the folly of his youth when he skated on "that" ice. The camera pulls back to reveal thin ice on the stream beneath the bridge. That stream appears to be, on average, about six inches deep and littered with impediments to ice skating.

Both commercials are instant turnoffs to folks from Literalville.

Living in Literalville sometimes has disadvantages... if it prevents you from enjoying an otherwise fine painting; or blocks the message intended in a TV commercial. But when a politician espouses a policy that is instantly recognized as pure baloney, it is a gift shared by all my neighbors in Literalville.

Ronald Reagan was right...

government IS the problem - any government - every government! Not only that, governments START all the problems!

Russia is a long, long way from our Southwest desert, but from all I can tell, the Russian people are decent folks. Hard working, struggling against all odds to maintain their families, just as we do. Their government? Well, to be frank, it sucks!

But, all through the Cold War, our government kept trying to convince us that "The Russians" were our mortal enemies. Not their Communist government--- The Russians!

Now it's the Chinese. From the masses who build highways with their bare hands to brilliant professionals who excel at medicine and technology, the Chinese are exceptional people. The Chinese government, unfortunately, also sucks.

But we are often reminded that "The Chinese" are our enemies.

Yes, like Ernie Ford sang in his 1950s hit, Sixteen Tons, "We owe our soul to the company store", that "store" being the Chicoms. Why is this so? Because of the foolish behavior of our real enemy... our own government.

There was a time when people realized the failure of governments as they then existed and decided to form a nation where the people were the government. It worked beautifully, until people who yearned to gain, hold and exercise power worked to reach their goal.

Why old guys sometimes smile.

I grew up a poor kid on a subsistence farm. Sort. of. Actually my Dad also had a paycheck producing job, but much of our food came from the farm.

In those days before health czars demonized fat, lard was a staple in every kitchen. Every home cooked with lard. Lard was cheap and was sold everywhere. But if you lived on a farm and butchered your own hogs, you also made your own lard.

In the butchering process, the meat was trimmed of fat to the extent practical and desirable. When trimming, some bits of lean meat were trimmed along with the fat. In keeping with the old hog butchering rule that you use everything but the squeal, these trimmings were not discarded. They were the raw material for the making of lard.

The process was pretty simple, actually. The pork scraps were heated in a big kettle until all of the fat melted. Fat was then drained off and filtered through a cloth. This clear liquid was poured into tins - lard cans, if you will - and allowed to cool. That, then was lard, ready for frying, etc.

What was left in the kettle were the scraps of lean pork, now largely fat free and cooked to a crisp. We called them "cracklings". Actually we said "cracklin's", and found them to be tasty snacks.

Here in the Southwest, where Spanish language is in common use, the word for "Crackling" is "chicharron". And, mistakenly, they refer to them a "pork skins". As a kid, we first skinned our hogs and that skin had its own use. We sure didn't eat it!

Now, no longer a by-product of making lard, in New Mexico Chicharrons have become a specialty food, and people who "cook" them call themselves Chicharroneros! Imagine!

Saturday morning, they actually had a "chicharron cook-off" a competition to see who made the best chicharrones! And more such cook-offs are planned around the state! I wonder what they did with the lard, which has now become the by-product?

It kinda reminds me of when we drained the whey from the curds of sour milk. We fed those curds to our poultry on the farm. It helped fatten the turkeys for our holiday feasts. We usually saved some curds, added a little fresh cream and a bit of salt and called it cottage cheese. Today, cottage cheese has become another specialty food and is a staple for people not wanting to be fat!

Makes this old guy smile!

China has a new stealth fighter plane!

Wow! How'd they learn to do that? Don't know. But we also learned that the Pentagon computers undergo an attack by some ultra smart Chinese hacker 1,000 times a day. What? Do they have hundreds of computer geniuses (genii, if you prefer) sitting at their keyboards searching for access to Pentagon computers?

Maybe.

Hell, I can solve that problem.... just unplug the Pentagon computers from the internet. End of problem? Maybe not.

This summer I had a pacemaker implanted. A pacemaker is a compact little computer, actually implanted in my upper chest, with a couple of wires threaded down an artery into my heart muscle. Mine is programmed to see that my heart beats at least 60 times per minute. If my heart fails to beat at that rate, the pacemaker sends a little pulse down the wires to my heart muscle and makes it beat.

Last week I went in for my first pacemaker check. While I chatted with one tech about the operation of the thing, another tech placed some kind of sensor over my chest, near where my pacemaker was implanted, and did something on his computer. He then announced that he had changed the threshold (??) and added time to the life of my pacemaker battery. I now have ten years of battery life remaining! (To myself, I wondered if I could bring my digital camera in and have him work some magic on its battery!)

Then, I see a news report that unscrupulous persons can pass you on the street and, with the right equipment, read the data from your credit card - which is inside your purse, or your billfold. Whoa!!!

For all I know, the Chicoms could float a satellite high over Washington and hack the Pentagon computers as they pass by!

Maybe. Maybe not. But who knows?

High in the Sacramento Mountains,

just across the Tularosa Basin from where I live, is Sunspot, a solar observatory. I have no idea how the thing actually works, but it is a big deal. On a visit to Sunspot a few years ago, the scientist in charge pointed out that he has international students, doctoral candidates from around the world who come to New Mexico to study solar flares, sunspots, and whatever else they can see with telescopes trained on the sun.

My understanding is that, from deep underground, a long, narrow tube follows the sun. Telescopes pointing through this long tube offer a view of the sun shielded from extraneous light from all directions. I often think of Sunspot when I hear news from Washington, as it seems that some politicians look at the world through a long, narrow tube, seeing nothing but their image of what lies straight ahead.

They are blind to inevitable "side effects" as the pharmaceutical companies call those "unintended consequences" lurking just off to one side. And, of course, they are completely blind to what is behind them... that something called history.

These politicians persist in the belief that they are the first ever to advance their current idea - despite the fact that the same idea has been tried and has failed in the past.

After decades of government watching, I am no longer surprised by young fools who believe in ideas that old fools scrapped long ago. The failed ideas, they may believe, need only their magic touch to succeed.

Not surprised. Only saddened.

One week ago, today,

there occurred an event in Arizona that became known as "Tragedy in Tucson". There has been a lot of news coverage of the shooting of a member of Congress, a federal judge, a small girl, and numerous others. A lot of coverage.

There has been an outpouring of grief for the victims and their families. Like all Americans, I am likewise grieved.

Now I am wondering if I am the only person saddened by the hurt caused a couple of other people - two scarcely mentioned by news reporters, and not at all by the President in his memorial speech. They are the parents of the shooter.

We may never know if the mother and father of Jared Loughner were good parents or poor parents. We may never know if their actions, knowingly or unknowingly, contributed to that young man's mental state. But can you imagine the crushing pain they must now endure, knowing that their son, the child they nurtured, committed that terrible act on January 8? That their child is universally hated by millions of people? That their child may well be put to death by their fellow Americans?

I have always believed that mentally impaired persons are granted scant sympathy in our culture. We visually identify people with a severe physical impairment, and we cut them a world of slack. Not so with mental illness. We can't see it - so we don't excuse it. We talk of hate and anger. We rarely wonder what sort of demons had come to reside in that poor, afflicted brain.

It will take better brains than mine to resolve this problem. I just hope they can and will.

The Sad Evolution of Christmas

During my childhood, Christmas was a joyous time. There were two Christmases, in a sense. At the little country school, we always had a Christmas play of some sort. I remember one year when I played the part of a shepherd. My mother made my costume from old burlap bags. I have no recollection of my dialogue... but the play was obviously the story of Jesus' birth. Every child in the school received a small box of hard candy. Loved that!

At church, Christmas was a more serious service, of course, but everyone was happy and we kids usually got another candy treat.

Those things represented one Christmas.

The other Christmas was what came to be known as the commercialization of the holiday.

At home, we had a small Christmas tree. One year my dad came up with a can of aluminum paint and my sisters made ornaments by dipping various objects in the silvery paint. A few days before Christmas, the family went "Christmas shopping" at a dime store... Woolworth's or Kresge's, I think. Each of us kids was given a dollar with which to buy eight gifts... one for each sibling, for mom and dad, and for two female cousins with whom we exchanged gifts.

Parts of the city and many stores were decorated for Christmas. Christmas music was everywhere. Everyone said "Merry Christmas".

But many were not satisfied with those joyful Christmases. The religious wanted to end, or at least contain the "commercial" part. "Put Christ back in Christmas" was their cry. That, of course, infuriated the non-religious. They fell back on the manufactured "religious discrimination" argument and insisted upon an end to bias and prejudice. After all, we had to maintain that Separation of Church and State!

The absurd took hold.

As Thomas Sowell pointed out, not the Bible, the Torah or the Koran mentions Christmas trees, yet it has been determined that a Christmas tree is a religious symbol and must be banned!

The other day I said "Merry Christmas" to an employee in a retail store. He replied, "Happy Holiday"! Dare not offend anyone!

How I long for Christmas Past!

The Big Show (December 20-21, 2010)

Today is the winter solstice. The day the tilt of the earth and the point in its rotation around the sun are such that the rays of sunlight strike us at the lowest level they will achieve during the year. Beginning tomorrow, the sun light will start to reach us at a slightly steeper angle each day.

More simply put, today is the shortest day - daylight hours - of the year. Interestingly, today is also a full moon. And, there was a total lunar eclipse shortly after midnight our time... at the very beginning of this shortest day!

At sunset on the first day of winter, the point on the horizon where the sun disappears is at its farthest point south. Beginning tomorrow, the sun will set a tiny bit farther to the north. I wanted to mark that point on the horizon, and took this picture:

Unfortunately for my original purpose, all those pretty clouds obscured the sun just before it disappeared below the horizon, so I'll try again today. But, Monday it was so colorful, I decided to zoom in a little and narrow the shot:



Big deal? You bet!

Later, the full moon lit up our yard and cast distinct shadows. I went to bed before the eclipse happened, so I missed that. But I'll bet it looked exactly like this earlier eclipse!



That's cheating, I know... but I was sleepy!

Shortly before 7:00 a.m. (MST) I sat in my kitchen watching that big moon chase the earth's penumbra toward the horizon. Some of those same sunset clouds remained in the west, and it was fun watching the moon peek in and out as though playing hide and seek with the sun which was about to rise behind the higher mountains to our east. The sun responded by turning the clouds pink, just above the setting moon.

No pictures this time. No matter how much you love photography, sometimes you just have to leave the camera and enjoy the show! Especially, when you know the performance will not be repeated in your lifetime.

Remembering Juarez, MX

I just saw a news report revealing that 3,000 persons have been murdered in Juarez, Mexico this year.

I am saddened.

I first visited Juarez, Mexico sixty years ago. At that time we walked across a short bridge over the Rio Grande river, the dividing line between Juarez and El Paso, Texas. Young Mexican boys stood in the knee deep water, facing the bridge. They had fashioned sort of paper funnels and attached them to long, bamboo fishing poles. They pointed their devices toward the bridge where passersby tossed coins. Many times the boys caught the coins with their devices. If they missed, they immediately went to their knees and felt for the coins in the muddy river bottom.

We found the people of Juarez friendly, welcoming to Americans, and anxious to sell something. We bought things. Tequila, leather goods, and all sorts of craft items. We enjoyed delicious food at unbelievably low prices.

Through the years I returned to Juarez many times. The short bridge is gone, as are the coin-catching boys. The muddy bottomed river replaced with a concrete-lined canal in which the water is swift and dangerous. There are three bridges today, long, modern bridges which carry large numbers of pedestrian and auto traffic.

News reports today describe Juarez as being "just south of El Paso". In reality, Juarez and El Paso are one large city, separated by a small river. For generations - centuries, actually - residents of the two cities have passed back and forth. Many have married persons from the other side of the border, so there are numerous families split by the border.

At one time the total metro area was entirely in Mexico. In 1854, the U.S. needed a better route through which to build a railroad toward the west. In the Gadsden Purchase, land between the then existing U.S. border and the Rio Grande were purchased from Mexico, and the border moved south. Remembering this makes it easier to understand why many local residents oppose construction of a fence along the border.

Going south you just drive into Mexico. Vehicles are selected randomly to check for what is being brought into Mexico.

On the U.S. side, U.S. Customs has a much more rigid inspection system. The state of Texas demands payment of taxes for any liquor brought into the state.

We visited Juarez to dine, shop, and just to have fun. We made friends with Mexicans at the big Mercado where we bargained for the wares of Mexican artists and craftsmen. Naturally there were some rip-offs among the many great deals. But prices were low so no one was ever hurt too badly.

I went to Mexico for Dental work performed entirely to my satisfaction at perhaps 80% lower than U.S. prices.

We can not go to Juarez today. It is just too dangerous. I often wonder about the fate of some of the people we once knew. I wonder about the many small businesses which depended on American tourist trade.

Not surprisingly, I get angry when I see Americans smile as they confess to using illegal drugs. I know they just think the are outsmarting the DEA. But there is so much more to the story.

Perhaps decriminalizing drugs would solve the problem. I don't know.

What I do know is that a tragedy has befallen a lot of good, decent people who happen to reside in the path of drugs moving north and cash moving south.

When will it end?

Stay calm...

I was going to write today about the accidental inclusion of distractions in the making of TV commercials. I have been making TV commercials for over 35 years. An ongoing dread is that your finished commercial will contain some viewer distraction that will negatively impact your commercial message. Years ago I made a commercial that included the word "gauge" (as in rain gauge) in an on-screen graphic. Today, on-screen graphics are created on a computer and are easily corrected. Back then, if you wanted an on-screen message, such as "50% off every item", an artist lettered the message on a piece of art board. In the studio, this board was shot by a video camera and the resulting video included in your commercial.

Either my artist or I misspelled "gauge" as "guage". Our sponsor received scores of calls correcting the spelling, but virtually no sales.

Currently I notice a commercial for a language learning program called Rosetta Stone. A user of the product taped a testimonial in which he said he had tried other "mediums" without satisfaction. Mediums? Did he mean media? Or had he actually tried consulting fortune tellers?

Another current commercial, for Taxmasters, asks the viewer with the help of an on-screen graphic, if the IRS is "garnishing" their wages. Garnishing? Does that mean a sprig or parsley attached to your paycheck? Did they really mean "garnishee"? Or has the accepted definition of the word garnish changed since my dictionary was published?

Doesn't matter. In both cases I was so distracted I missed the remainder of the message!

I've had commercials include a picture of a person wearing a lettered T-shirt. It is very hard to look at such a commercial and not try to read the lettering on the guy's T-shirt. Big distraction!

That is what I was going to write about. Then I heard that the President had signed into law the "CALM Act". It stands for Commercial audio loudness mitigation, or some such nonsense.

Wow! As I wrote on October 1, that concept is "Dumb and Dumber". It is also impossible. The commercials I make may air in all sorts of programs. Programs in which the audio level may range the entire gamut from a whisper to a scream. Will the TV station's engineers have to adjust the audio level of every commercial to match the surrounding programming? Should I be happy that engineers in many different stations will be tinkering with the audio level on my commercials?

Think about it! How stupid are the people who are making our laws?

Watching TV with the missus.

Watching TV with my wife is always a trip. Imagine it's a news broadcast and an important foreign diplomat is about to answer a pointed question. I strain to understand him.

Wife: "Oh, No!"

Me: "What? What did he say?"

Wife: "It's his tie! That is a horrible tie!"

I strain to focus on the tie. Looks okay to me. Nice green and pink stripes.

The TV host thanks his guest for his opinion and goes to another story. Rats. I missed his comment.

The camera cuts to the female co-anchor who will introduce a second guest.

Wife: "Finally!"

Me: "What did she say?"

Wife: "She didn't say anything, but she finally pickled a dress that makes her look slimmer!"

Me: "She's wearing a dress???"

They go into a commercial break and the commercial is for Jeep Grand Cherokee.

Me: "Now, that is ridiculous!"

Wife: "What happened?"

Me: "Nobody drives like that. Can you imagine some idiot paying thirty thousand for a vehicle then go speeding up a canyon over boulders, like he wanted to tear the suspension out of it?"

Wife: "Oh.... I wasn't watching."

Still I wouldn't miss a minute of it. Especially when she makes popcorn and scoots closer on the sofa to share!

Wikileaks

Everyone's talking about Wikileaks. Almost everyone. We are not hearing from president Obama. Does that mean he is okay with releasing restricted government documents?

My turn.

1. Foreign diplomats should confer in secret. Imagine if Saddam Hussein had confessed to Colin Powell, "Look, I do not have any WMDs, not trying to get any, but my bluff is all that protects me from hostile neighbors. Don't blow my cover and I will cause no trouble for the west." There may not have been an Iraq war!

2. There is no excuse for those confidential documents having been unguarded. During World War Two our restricted communications were encoded. Once decoded, they were heavily guarded. what happened?

3. Private Bradley Manning. As a United States soldier, he swore an allegiance which he appears to have broken. If so, he should be punished severely. When you swear to abide by certain rules, then renig, sorry isn't good enough.

4. Julian Assange. No whistle blower he. He obtained someone's private property. Was asked to return it, but refused. Who needs this guy?

Don't Ask, Don't Tell!

Operating from the position of "I was a soldier; I am a soldier; I will always be a soldier", I feel entitled to express my opinion in this current debate.

I believe we should keep the rule in place... but broadly extend it to all military personnel. Simply put, I won't ask your sexual orientation... because I don't give a damn. Don't tell me your sexual orientation... because I don't give a damn! And, my sexual orientation is none of your business.

I don't know what fantasies roar through your brain when you get horny! I don't want to know. So please don't make my knowing a part of the equation.

If we are soldiering - which at 82 I will be doing only in my own fantasy - let's think, talk and act soldiering.

If we are off on leave and you have the chance to hook up with someone, go for it, but let me do my own hooking up, according to my own orientation. I'll see you tomorrow when we fall out for reveille. I won't share my details with you. Please don't share yours with me.

The thought of an intimate encounter on my part, according to my sexual orientation, may seem very exciting, indeed. The thought of my soldier buddy having a sexual relationship with anyone regardless of gender, is disgusting. It's not something I would deny you. I just don't want to know about it... think about it!

I won't ask. Please don't tell.

Jay, meet Adolph!

I was just a little kid, not yet in school, when the Nazis staged their big 1934 book burning in Berlin. Obviously I do not remember the actual event, but I have heard it demonized all my life. Today, the very concept of book burning - the literal attempt to destroy the ideas of persons who disagree with your own ideas - is a horror to me. I don't like MSNBC, or the Huffington Post, but let them exist! They are their own worst enemy.

You can then imagine my shock and surprise this week when a United States Senator, Jay Rockefeller of West Virginia, actually said he wanted the F.C.C. to shut down MSNBC and Fox News Channel. Of course, he really meant to say only Fox News Channel. Comcast is about to acquire NBC - and MSNBC - so the fate of that cable network, as we know it, is already sealed.

Sure, I meet people who demonize CNN and MSNBC. But they are not United States Senators!

I think the good people of West Virginia, loyal Americans beyond a doubt, should demand that their Senator apologize for his Nazi-like comments.

Once again... Thanks, F.D.R.; Thanks, Harry!

It really began in February, 1945. In that month, Churchill, Stalin and F.D.R. met at Yalta to discuss post-war plans for the world. That was scarcely two months short of Roosevelt's death, and he was hardly well enough to travel, much less plan the fate of the world. Some diplomats in attendance reported that the American president, old, weak and senile, sat nodding, drooling, as the others talked.

The three men divided Germany amongst them, then turned to Asia. Although Russia had played no significant part in the war with Japan, they decided to give the Soviets half of Korea - the other Allies (meaning the U.S.) the lower half.

Stalin installed a puppet Communist government in Korea, and essentially washed his hands of the peninsula. Within about three years, Kim Il-Sung was North Korea's ruling dictator.

Five and one-half years after Yalta, 60 years ago this past summer, I was working at WLDY, a small radio station in Ladysmith, WI.

On June 25, 1950, the bulletin bell rang on the Associated Press teletype machine at WLDY and we received the notice that North Korean forces had invaded South Korea. What followed is well recorded. American forces then in Korea consisted in large part of young, lightly trained men and women, there to help rebuild a nation - not to fight a war. The U.S. did little to reinforce these people. Instead, General Douglas MacArthur amassed a large fighting force and invaded the peninsula far behind North Korea's front line. They quickly swept across the peninsula, trapping North Korea's forces. America easily pushed all the way to the Chinese border. Everyone thought the war was over.

The Chinese Communists owed their very existence to Harry Truman's refusal to help Chiang Kai Shek resist their revolution. They showed their appreciation by attacking the American forces by air, from bases behind the Chinese border. General MacArthur knew the Chinese were weak and wanted to take out the offending Chinese air bases. Truman refused and relieved MacArthur of his command.

Emboldened by Truman's timidity, Chinese ground troops crossed the border to help the North Koreans. Fighting dragged on, claiming 36,576 American lives, plus many lives of other U.N. member nations and multiple times that number in Korean and Chinese lives.

When Harry Truman left office and Dwight Eisenhower was elected, Ike immediately went to Korea and arranged a cease-fire. I believe that the Koreans feared that President Eisenhower, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces which had won the war in Europe, would bring a terrible retribution if they continued their hostilities.

And so, for 57 years, the cease-fire has held. But, again America is displaying Truman-style timidity. And again, North Korea is reaching out for their dream of a unified Korea... under their control.

NSSAR

Yesterday I was formally installed as a member of the National Society of the Sons Of The American Revolution. The SAR is a patriotic fraternal organization, membership in which is by virtue of direct lineage of descent from someone who contributed in a meaningful way to the founding of our nation. In my case, it was a French man who came to America and became a member of General Washington's Army, fighting with him at Valley Forge and beyond.

As members of SAR, we claim no credit for the accomplishments of our ancestors. Rather, we pledge to uphold the principles which led them to forsake a life in their native land, arriving in America with their worldly possessions in hand, dreaming of a society based on equality for all men.

Personally, I feel blessed to have descended from a long line of such patriots, and hope it is in my genes to protect and preserve their dream, and all they did to further that dream. I consider it my responsibility to study the Constitution those founders forged for us. I believe I should learn what was wrong with the governments they left behind and what problems they hoped they had solved by forming the government they gave us. And, I hope I will be able to share that knowledge with others.

A Gift From The Heart!

When I dressed this morning, I grabbed a printed T-shirt from the shelf. After I pulled it on, I stepped in front of a mirror to read the message it conveyed. Turns out it was from United Blood Services, and I remembered it as a gift for some landmark number of blood donations.

I started donating blood in 1964 when I was a Red Cross volunteer. Being heavily involved in promoting Red Cross bloodmobiles, I was usually first in line for each of their visits. In appreciation, the Red Cross informed me that I had been granted lifetime eligibility - whatever that meant.

In 1970, I returned to Kansas City and became a blood donor at the Community Blood Center. A friend of my wife belonged to some woman's organization and I learned that her organization would be credited if I donated blood in their behalf. I don't think I ever knew what their credit would be, but I wanted them to earn maximum benefit. I donated as often as permitted - every six weeks, I think. The Center used to mail reminders and I complied when possible. When the HIV/Aids scare erupted, I once went in for a donation and they asked if I had recently had sex with another man. That made me angry and I quit donating for a short time. Then someone told me they were required by law, or some regulation, to ask, so I relented and resumed donations.

In 1992 I moved to Phoenix and began donating blood at United Blood Services. In 1994, I moved to New Mexico, also served by U.B.S., and continued donations.

One day, while on a lounge donating blood, a nervous young college girl was brought to a lounge near mine for her first donation. In an effort to reassure her, I struck up a conversation. She asked how many times I had given blood. I told her it was some gallons, but I did not know how many.

That aroused my curiosity and I decided to see if I could learn how many pints of blood I had donated. I called the American Red Cross Blood Center in Wichita, Kansas - the people who had operated the bloodmobiles in Salina in the 1960s. They regretted they had no records of blood donations from that long ago. (Oops... I guess they also have no record of my "lifetime eligibility"). Next I called the Community Blood Center in Kansas City. Same result. No records from that period!

United Blood Service credits me with 50 donations - which would take about seven years. Since I did donate at U.B.S. for longer than that, I suppose it is possible. In reality, I am where I was during that conversation with the college girl. I do not know how many times I have donated blood.

Shortly before my 75th birthday I was refused as a donor because I was anemic! Wow, that had never happened. My doctor did some tests, agreed I was anemic and suggested I should no longer donate blood. I didn't like that, but was told they cut off donating at age 75 anyway. My nearly 40 years of donating blood were over.

During the time I promoted blood donations over the radio, I said, "Someone, somewhere, has experienced a severe accident or illness or is about to undergo surgery. Your gift of blood could save their life." I believed it then. I believe it today.

Donating blood is, truly, a gift from the heart!

About Juan Williams Comment.

Everything has been said about what NPR did to Juan Williams. Not a lot said about seeing people in Muslim garb.

In TV news reports, I see American women in Muslim countries wearing head scarves. While I do not necessarily agree with that practice, I do not fault them for trying to be agreeable. When I see Muslims in America wearing Muslim garb, I see a visitor who does not wish to be agreeable; or I see a resident who refuses to assimilate. It is that attitude that makes me nervous. Are they sending me a message? (Then again, maybe like the guy who goes into a restaurant and sits eating his dinner with a ball cap on his head, they are just ignorant.)

As for Juan Williams and the NPR CEO's psychiatrist comment, listening to Juan and Bill Kristol exchange, I sometimes think Juan needs to see a psychiatrist. And, I guess there are times when Juan thinks Bill should see a psychiatrist. Isn't that what makes Fox News Channel so great? You get to hear opposing views almost every time! Fox calls it Fair and Balanced.

Down with brevity!

When I was doing news on local radio stations, I always hated the time constraints. It you were reporting local news, you couldn't really give details on any story. No time. If you were reading news wire reporting, you shuffled through stacks of stories, selecting only those very few you would have time to use. I envied newspaper reporters who could sometimes use several columns to tell their story.

Apparently, few people share my interest in details, as brevity is urged at every turn. In blogging, or even in writing a comment letter to a television news program, you are constantly reminded to be brief. But it has gone beyond that. Using full words is discouraged. If something is real funny, we LOL. If something is shocking, we write (or text) OMG! On Facebook, the comment is often only "Like." Huh? Is it Tweets that should be limited to 140 characters?

When I was in the Army, some soldiers were drafted in the Selective Service System. Others, like me, enlisted. Enlistees were said to be members of the Regular Army, abbreviated RA. Hence, my serial number began RA171..., and we remained soldiers until the end of our term of enlistment. Soldiers who were drafted were on a status of something like "the duration of the conflict.

The other day I saw a TV commercial for some medication for RA. Thinking only of the old Regular Army, I asked my wife if she knew what the medicine was for. "Rheumatoid arthritis", she translated. Is it bad to say rheumatoid arthritis on television?

During the Iraq War reporters often talked about the 4th ID. What? The fourth identification?? No, they were talking about the Fourth Infantry Division. Americans serving in the proud Ivy Leaf Division made a significant contribution to winning World War II, and most every other American military conflict. Are they not entitled to more than "4th ID"?

In my radio days we adhered to the old code of "Tell 'em what you're gonna tell 'em; tell 'em; then tell 'em what you told 'em". In other words, make sure your listeners knew what you said. Today, it's more like "Mumble mumble mumble and three persons were killed. Kansas State Police are investigating. Meanwhile, in Europe..." and you are saying, "What happened? Where in Kansas? Who was killed?" Forget it. You will not know until you hear it or read it from another source. Please, my friend, tell me what you told me!

Obviously the United States Congress also hates brevity. We now have laws that are thousands of pages long. Thousands of pages! Just to describe one law! William L. Shirer's "The Rise And Fall Of The Third Reich", a complete history of Nazi Germany, is only 1140 pages and I thought it was a long book!

President Campaigns For Dems

So read the headline in many newspapers this week. Hmmmm!

Have you ever been any place where any U.S. president visited? Let me tell you about one such visit.

When President Eisenhower died he was buried in his boyhood hometown of Abilene, Kansas, location of the Eisenhower Presidential Library. Then-president Richard Nixon attended the funeral. Abilene is a small city. The airport there will not accommodate Air Force One. The president would have to land at Salina, Kansas and helicopter to Abilene, 24 miles away.

Some days before the funeral, the government commandeered the largest hangar at the Salina airport, flew in three large helicopters and put them in the hangar. All private aircraft normally hangared there were moved and a 24-hour guard was placed at the hangar.

Near the hangar, the telephone company installed a special telephone line. They placed on a table an encrypted telephone of some sort, connected to the line. Two areas were set up for reporters. One, to which I was assigned, was for reporters covering the "event"... the arrival of the president. The other was for reporters covering the president. There job was to report anything that may happen to the president. All reporters were subjected to careful background checks.

A carpet was laid out on the ground, running alongside the table with the phone. Before Air Force One landed, the three helicopters were brought out of the hangars, one parked at the end of the carpet. When the president's plane landed, the pilot taxied up to the other end of the carpet.

I stood next to a reporter from some national publication. He explained the purpose of the phone. On Air Force One, the president has extensive communications facilities. Ditto on the helicopter. But, during the walk from the plane to the helicopter, he would have neither. thus the phone on the table.

Members of the White House Press Corps deplaned first boarded two of the helicopters. Then President Nixon deplaned. He waved to the crowd, walked along the carpet, past the telephone table and boarded one of the helicopters. Why three helicopters, I wanted to know... could the reporters not make the 24-mile trip by bus. "Decoys ", I was told. I laughed. Anyone could watch which chopper the president boarded. "Watch", I was advised. Then the helicopters took off. They flew very low over the hangars and other buildings at the airport. Like a huge, airborne shell game, the three identical aircraft circled and dipped behind the buildings. One moment all were out of sight. Then you saw one. Then another... or was it the same one again? Finally they rose and all three headed for Abilene. "Now which helicopter is the president on?" my new acquaintance asked.

When the helicopters left, an armed guard surrounded Air Force One. They remained in place until the funeral ended and the three helicopters returned to the Salina airport. When the president left his helicopter, he again walked back past the telephone on the table and boarded Air Force One.

When the President's plane took off for Washington, the helicopters were returned to the hangar. I don't know how long they remained, I didn't stick around.

The point being, it costs tens of thousands of dollars to bring a sitting U.S. president in for any event. Think how that is multiplied if he is to visit multiple cities. At each point, all sorts of people are brought in to do all sorts of security checks. If the event is not at the airport, special arrangements must be made to transport the presidential party from the airport to the event.

Once, President George W. Bush visited Las Cruces. A special large plane brought the president's fully secure, communications capable limousine in to transport the president to the event. In that case, that heavy aircraft damaged the runway and the Air Force paid the city $10,000 for repairs.

How much of all this is paid by the president's political party and how much is paid by taxpayer dollars, when the event is purely partisan political in nature? I don't know. But, regardless of party, I think it should all be paid by the political party.

American Industry: R.I.P.

Have you noticed TV ads for tractors by Mahindra? For power tools by Husqvarna? The tractors come from India. The tools from Sweden.

When I was growing up on a farm we could not afford a tractor or power tools. We had horses, and In my teens, I spent many hours dragged along behind the team on a cultivator called a "go-devil" or on a wagon. For cutting firewood we used cross-cut saws and axes. For cutting tall grass, a scythe.

The tractors I did see bore the names "Farmall", "Allis Chalmers", "John Deere", "Case" and other American brands.

Now, I have nothing against India or Sweden. I am happy for them developing manufacturing capacity. But why does it make more sense for an American farmer to buy a tractor shipped from India than one from Iowa? I cannot answer that, but it saddens me! Like hearing of the death of a nice guy you once knew.

Numbers (...again)

I love numbers. Especially since the decimal system (the metric system - and our currency) is about the only place where tens play a role. We have 60 minutes in an hour, 24 hours in a day, seven days in a week, 365 or 366 days in a year. That throws everything into wacky patterns.

I was born on presidential election day, November 6, 1928. In my 82 years since then, the presidential election has fallen on my birthday only twice! 1956 and 1984. The reason is leap years. In a leap year, November 6 falls on Tuesday only if January 1 falls on Sunday. In leap years, that happens only every 28 years. Next time will be 2012. (Each time the presidential election has fallen on my birthday, a Republican won: Hoover, Eisenhower, Reagan. Hmmmm!)

In non-leap years (mid-term elections) November 6 falls on Tuesday only if January 1 falls on Monday. That has happened only three times in my 82 years: 1934, 1962 and 1990. Again, once every 28 years, and, again, it is because of leap years.

Think how different things would be if the earth were a little faster and made its trip around the sun in exactly 365 days?

Math teachers love this kind of thinking. Others scratch their heads and give me a strange look. If you have decided I am a nerd's nerd, it doesn't mean I am out of the mainstream... it only proves you are not a math teacher!

Come see the Southwest!

For most of my life, I have heard people rave about the fall foliage displays in America's Northeast. One year, my wife and I spent a week in New England, and the raves were justified. The fall foliage was beautiful. At one point, my understandably proud host remarked, "You've never seen anything like this in Kansas!" Wrong. Much of Kansas is hilly and hardwood forests are abundant. Fall foliage there is as spectacular as anywhere else.

Now, I declare that foliage in the Southwest is also worth the trip. It is true that our tall mountains, (we think of New England mountains as foothills) are mostly populated with conifers that do not change colors, but there are lots of hardwoods, principally aspen, which turn beautifully gold each fall.

In this photo from New Mexico's Gila National Forest, groves of aspen in the distance leave the appearance of spilled gold paint.

In addition, New Mexico offers many other visual surprises. Like the Cliff dwellings, also in the Gila National forest:


And there is the huge Chino copper mine near Hurley, New Mexico.


Plus, such strange and wonderful geological wonders as New Mexico's City of rocks!


I have wandered and photographed New Mexico for over 60 years. This truly is "The Land of Enchantment". That is our state slogan... it is also a fact!

Remember, too, that by the time Europeans (principally from England) settled New England, other Europeans (principally from Spain) had occupied the Southwest for a century.

From Carlsbad Caverns to the oldest continuously occupied government building in America, New Mexico is a visual feast. And there are many other western states to explore.

Come see us!

Never Dos

Life has taught me things I should never do! Here are a couple of them:

1. Never buy a piece of clothing for your wife. Years ago, on a bitter cold winter day, I spotted a ladies' corduroy coat that was sheepskin lined. I thought it would keep her warm on the coldest winter day, and she would look cute as a bug in that big, cuddly coat. I bought it. She hated it and would not wear it - finally sold it in a garage sale! Another time I bought her a pair of PJs from Victoria's Secret. They truly looked fabulous. She said the bottoms were cut wrong for comfort and refused to wear them.

2. Never recommend a restaurant. Years ago, at the Kansas City stockyards, there was a restaurant called The Golden Ox. Their steaks were cooked on a real charcoal grill and they were absolutely the best. I bragged about them to a friend in Connecticut. Finally he had occasion to visit Kansas City. His plane was an evening flight and he arrived hungry. I drove like a fool to get him to The Golden Ox before they closed. Being late in the evening and near closing time, they must have run out of prime beef and butchered an aged ox. The steaks were bad and my friend was forever convinced that I didn't know a good steak from shoe leather.

Dumb & Dumber

The U.S. Senate has passed a bill ordering that TV commercials must be no louder than the programming. The U. S. House has the same thing under consideration.

This is such a stupid waste of time and money, so void of logic, that ONLY the U.S. Congress could make such an effort.

First, understand that "loudness" from your TV is dependent on several factors. First, of course, is the level of the signal on the recorded commercial - or on the live program. But, whether the audio originates from microphones in the studio, from a network signal, or from a recording of a commercial or a program, it evolves to an electronic signal sent to the station's transmitting equipment. On the way it encounters a piece of equipment called a "limiter" which controls the maximum volume. If a signal is too strong, it lowers the level. It is automatic and it is required by FCC regulation.

The next factor is the nature of the audio. If it is an announcer describing a product, that announcer will be speaking directly to his microphone as clearly and distinctly as possible. If that is not the case, believe me, the announcer will have to re-record his/her lines. His signal will come across at full permissible volume.

If it is a dramatic program, where a small voice is sobbing into a handkerchief, or an actor mumbling as he/she turns away from the microphones, that voice will be lower in volume. If it is a car chase with screaming sirens and screaming mood music, it will be maximum loudness.

Finally, and often the deciding factor, are the speaker(s) on your TV set. If the speaker(s) and their associated audio amplifier are such that they are more sensitive to higher frequencies, commercials or programming such as music, which contain predominantly higher frequencies, will sound louder on your TV.

I make TV commercials. How can I control the sound to match all the possible variations in the volume level of TV programming? I cannot. How can I control the sound to match all the possible speaker configurations of the nation's TV sets? I cannot.

Can the TV station do that? Of course not. Listening on high quality TV station monitors, the station engineer may hear something much different than you hear coming from the small, inefficient speaker(s) on your TV set.

Let's compare the audio level to the picture level on your screen. Should every twilight scene be adjusted to match every bright sunlit scene - or vice-versa? Absurd.

The last thing a TV broadcast station wants is to broadcast anything that viewers will find offensive; that may drive viewers to another channel. If the problem could be easily solved, it would have been, long ago.

Congress go home. Quit trying to fix things that are not fixable!

Blinders

Occasionally we hear reference to someone wearing "blinders". In this modern age, does anyone still remember blinders?

Well into the 1940s, horses were used to move freight short distances in large cities. Teams of two, four or more large horses pulled huge wagons. Usually this freight was moved only a few blocks from one factory dock to another. I remember, as a teen, being cautioned not to pet the horses! These were not gentle ponies. They were huge working animals and, perhaps expecting food, were inclined to bite any hand extended near their faces.

I remember a lot of noise associated with this activity... steel wagon wheels clattering on brick or cobblestone streets, teamsters shouting, and so forth. No teamster wanted his horses distracted or frightened, and efforts were made to isolate the big animals from the surrounding bustle. Blinders helped. Attached to the horses bridle, the blinders totally blocked the view to either side, allowing the horse to see straight ahead only.


People are accused of wearing blinders when they see only one point of view and are blinded to any other. It is a way of saying the person's vision is blocked by some external object, as with the horse. It is a perfect metaphor. And, it is a bit more polite than accusing someone of being too stubborn to see another point of view.

Oh, My Papa

Eddie Fisher has died. I am saddened.

I was never a big fan of Eddie Fisher. As a matter of fact, I never very much cared for his work. But I kinda liked the guy. In the Army, it seems everywhere you went there was a guy from Philly. He was always sorta loud, a bit overbearing in the eyes of a shy Midwestern farm boy. Fisher was from Philly. He seemed to fit the mold. But in an okay way.

I admired Fisher's success in the music industry. I pitied him in his multiple failed marriages.

In the early 1950s I was a disk jockey at a Kansas City radio station. One time Eddie Fisher was booked into a a Kansas City nightclub, for perhaps a week. As was the custom in those days, the record distributor for the visiting star arranged for Fisher to visit all the deejays in the city. So, we had had an opportunity to visit with Fisher and he was nice enough.

I am a little fuzzy on dates and details. People ask "How could you forget?". You must remember that in the early 1950s (perhaps also today) thousands of young singers and musicians were trying to make it in the industry. The vast majority failed. Being in radio, we met many of them. None were terribly impressive at the time. Most we just forgot outright. Those few who did make it remain somewhere in our memory, but dimly.

Anyway, Fisher had been in the Army in Korea. As I recall, he talked of a U.S.O. show coming to his Army unit to entertain. Maybe he participated - can't remember. Anyway, Debbie Reynolds had been part of the show, and he fell for her big time. That's all he talked about in Kansas City. So, we were not surprised when he courted her and persuaded her to marry him. In fact, we thought that was great.

But, their marriage broke up. Then came Elizabeth Taylor. We thought she was hotter than Debbie. Did fisher agree? But that marriage also broke up, and I lost track of Fisher's marriages.

Eddie Fisher was a scant three months older than me, born on August 10 before my birth date on November 6 - same year. Don't know what kind of husband he was. As a visiting entertainer, I thought he was a nice guy. When the Korean War broke out, he did not shirk his duty, which made him a patriot in my eyes.

Rest in peace, Eddie Fisher.

Diamonds From the Sky

Yesterday afternoon we had a beautiful sun shower.

Growing up in Missouri and Kansas, I don't remember sun showers. When it rained there, it was usually cloudy from horizon to horizon, gray skies in every direction.

Here in the high desert Southwest, that is not always the case. Often on a sunny day, a small patch of clouds will pass overhead and it will start to rain. I have driven down a highway and seen rain pouring off to one side while the sun was shining off to the other side.

Sun showers happen in the afternoon when the sun is lowering in the west. At our high elevation (4,300 feet) skies are especially clear. The sun, at a lower angle, shines brightly with blinding light. Then, a patch of cumulus clouds moves overhead and it starts to rain. Big clear drops of water pour from the cloud. The sun, shining under the cloud, illuminates those drops of water and they sparkle. Like diamonds from the sky! That is what we call a sun shower.

There is another angle to the diamonds description. In the desert, water is precious. As of the first day of fall, our 2010 rainfall has totaled only 8.94 inches. Through all those weeks... through all of winter, spring and summer, our rainfall has totaled less than nine inches. Believe it or not, we are a little ahead of normal this year and everyone is talking about how green the desert looks! Those raindrops truly are diamonds!

Independents?

I find it hard to be excited about people who have a wishbone for a backbone. I place "Independents" in that category. People say they are not a Republican or a Democrat... they are an Independent. My, my.

I am a Republican. I largely adhere to the principles of the Republican Party. Certainly I do not agree with all Republican politicians, party leaders or spokesmen. Some who wear the Republican label are far removed in their beliefs from those beliefs I hold. I am still a Republican.

I don't know any person today who is a true Democrat as I once knew Democrats to be... one who believes their first goal to be the advancement of the working man. Every "Democrat" I know today is really a liberal... a politically correct, environmentally agitated, apologist blinded to reality by their beliefs.

I do not personally know anyone who claims to be an Independent. That's good. Because I view Independents as people who don't quite have enough courage of their their convictions to stand up for them.

They hide behind a meaningless label to pretend they are above the fray of political discourse. Or, maybe they just relish the label, thinking they are one of the special voters the political parties will have to woo.

Labels.

We've been taught... Don't judge a book by its cover. Yet we do. People form judgments based solely on labels.

Some 30-odd years ago I first read the book "The New Left - The Anti-Industrial Revolution" by Ayn Rand. A friend walked into my office just as I was looking at the cover of the little paperback. I held up the book and made some remark about it being a great book to read. My friend saw only the words "The New Left", and immediately declared he would not read such a book. I didn't know my friend's ideology (still do not) and he did not know what was in Rand's book. But he had made a firm judgment, all the same.

We frequently hear someone say America was founded on Judeo-Christian principles. Some non-religious people I know cringe at that label. Neither Jew nor Christian, they nonetheless have deeply held principles and resent being told their principles are founded in a religion they do not follow.

If their problem is with only the label... not the principles, where did those principles originate?

I believe that when the earliest humans began to live in social groups, they surely discovered that their peaceful existence depended on the acceptance of certain rules of conduct. Further, I believe those rules evolved and became more perfect over time.

The early Jews and Christians clearly articulated those time-honored principles and recorded them in written language.

If you are troubled by the Judeo-Christian label, try the Greek Philosophy label. In about 300 B.C., the Philosopher Epicurus said (translated here), "Justice never is anything in itself, but in the dealings of men with one another in any place at any time it is a kind of compact not to harm or be harmed."

Not to harm or be harmed. Sounds like The Golden Rule to me.

Ancient traditions are traditional because they have stood the test of time. If you want to label your traditions, your moral principles, fine. If you do not want to say your beliefs sprang from an ideology with which you do not always agree, fine. Reject the labels. Not the traditions. Not the principles.

Mosque building - Koran burning...

Someone keeps telling us... "Be tolerant - it is the American way".

Someone keeps telling us... "Don't put our troops in further danger by insulting Islam"

Now, I want to tell you, it is time to back off and look at the big picture! And, just in case you missed the big picture, Michelle Malkin redraws it for you. Here is her column today, reprinted without permission, because every American must read it:

The Eternal Flame of Muslim Outrage

by Michelle Malkin

09/10/2010

Shhhhhhh, we're told. Don't protest the Ground Zero mosque. Don't burn a Koran. It'll imperil the troops. It'll inflame tensions. The "Muslim world" will "explode" if it does not get its way, warns sharia-peddling imam Feisal Abdul Rauf. Pardon my national security-threatening impudence, but when is the "Muslim world" not ready to "explode"?

At the risk of provoking the ever-volatile Religion of Perpetual Outrage, let us count the little-noticed and forgotten ways.
Just a few months ago in Kashmir, faithful Muslims rioted over what they thought was a mosque depicted on underwear sold by street vendors. The mob shut down businesses and clashed with police over the blasphemous skivvies. But it turned out there was no need for Allah's avengers to get their holy knickers in a bunch. The alleged mosque was actually a building resembling London's St. Paul's Cathedral. A Kashmiri law enforcement official later concluded the protests were "premeditated and organized to vitiate the atmosphere."
Indeed, art and graphics have an uncanny way of vitiating the Muslim world's atmosphere. In 1994, Muslims threatened German supermodel Claudia Schiffer with death after she wore a Karl Lagerfeld-designed dress printed with a saying from the Koran. In 1997, outraged Muslims forced Nike to recall 800,000 shoes because they claimed the company's "Air" logo looked like the Arabic script for "Allah." In 1998, another conflagration spread over Unilever's ice cream logo -- which Muslims claimed looked like "Allah" if read upside-down and backward (can't recall what they said it resembled if you viewed it with 3D glasses).
Even more explosively, in 2002, an al-Qaida-linked jihadist cell plotted to blow up Bologna, Italy's Church of San Petronio because it displayed a 15th century fresco depicting Mohammed being tormented in the ninth circle of Hell. For years, Muslims had demanded that the art come down. Counterterrorism officials in Europe caught the would-be bombers on tape scouting out the church and exclaiming, "May Allah bring it all down. It will all come down."
That same year, Nigerian Muslims stabbed, bludgeoned or burned to death 200 people in protest of the Miss World beauty pageant -- which they considered an affront to Allah. Contest organizers fled out of fear of inflaming further destruction. When Nigerian journalist Isioma Daniel joked that Mohammed would have approved of the pageant and that "in all honesty, he would probably have chosen a wife from among them," her newspaper rushed to print three retractions and apologies in a row. It didn't stop Muslim vigilantes from torching the newspaper's offices. A fatwa was issued on Daniel's life by a Nigerian official in the sharia-ruled state of Zamfara, who declared that "the blood of Isioma Daniel can be shed. It is abiding on all Muslims wherever they are to consider the killing of the writer as a religious duty." Daniel fled to Norway.
In 2005, British Muslims got all hot and bothered over a Burger King ice cream cone container whose swirly-texted label resembled, you guessed it, the Arabic script for "Allah." The restaurant chain yanked the product in a panic and prostrated itself before the Muslim world. But the fast-food dessert had already become a handy radical Islamic recruiting tool. Rashad Akhtar, a young British Muslim, told Harper's Magazine how the ice cream caper had inspired him: "Even though it means nothing to some people and may mean nothing to some Muslims in this country, this is my jihad. I'm not going to rest until I find the person who is responsible. I'm going to bring this country down."
In 2007, Muslims combusted again in Sudan after an infidel elementary school teacher innocently named a classroom teddy bear "Mohammed." Protesters chanted, "Kill her, kill her by firing squad!" and "No tolerance -- execution!" She was arrested, jailed and faced 40 lashes for blasphemy before being freed after eight days. Not wanting to cause further inflammation, the teacher rushed to apologize: "I have great respect for the Islamic religion and would not knowingly offend anyone, and I am sorry if I caused any distress."
And who could forget the global Danish cartoon riots of 2006 (instigated by imams who toured Egypt stoking hysteria with faked anti-Islam comic strips)? From Afghanistan to Egypt to Lebanon to Libya, Pakistan, Turkey and in between, hundreds died under the pretext of protecting Mohammed from Western slight, and brave journalists who stood up to the madness were threatened with beheading. It wasn't really about the cartoons at all, of course. Little-remembered is the fact that Muslim bullies were attempting to pressure Denmark over the International Atomic Energy Agency's decision to report Iran to the UN Security Council for continuing with its nuclear research program. The chairmanship of the council was passing to Denmark at the time. Yes, it was just another in a long line of manufactured Muslim explosions that were, to borrow a useful phrase, "premeditated and organized to vitiate the atmosphere."
When everything from sneakers to stuffed animals to comics to frescos to beauty queens to fast-food packaging to undies serves as dry tinder for Allah's avengers, it's a grand farce to feign concern about the recruitment effect of a few burnt Korans in the hands of a two-bit attention-seeker in Florida. The eternal flame of Muslim outrage was lit a long, long time ago.

History: re-writing or just ignoring?

Growing up on the farm, we had no TV and precious little radio, our rural address was beyond the delivery limits of a daily newspaper - which my parents could not afford anyway. So my early education in current affairs came from listening to adult conversation and observing firsthand the grinding poverty of the depression.

Dollar bills were so rare that when we did get our hands on one, we read it! A fun riddle was "How many ones are on a $1 bill?" If you got hold of one, you counted the ones... both the numerical version and the spelled-out version.

I also remember that those old $1 bills did not say "Federal Reserve Note". Instead, they said it would be exchanged for a silver dollar, on demand!


Can you count the 14 "ones" on the Silver Certificate above? (Sorry - I could find no picture of the greenback side)

One thing I did learn from the $1 bill of my childhood was that Henry Morgenthau was Secretary Of The Treasury. His signature was there on the front of every $1 bill. Morgenthau was appointed by FDR in 1934 - the year I turned six years of age and entered the first grade of school. He served until 1945, the year I turned 17 and entered the U.S. Army. $1 bills with his signature lasted a lot longer. (The $1. bill on the bottom (above) was printed when Andrew Mellon was Secretary of The Treasury. Mellon was appointed by Warren Harding and served through most of the Hoover Administration.)

I knew his name, but I didn't know anything about Morgenthau. I realize he must have been an important part of the FDR New Deal, by simple virtue of the fact that FDR kept him in the cabinet until his (FDR's) death.

In the ensuing years, I have learned a lot about the New Deal, details I did not hear or understand as a kid when I listened to adults complaining that the policy was a total failure.

One gem came from the heart of the New Deal, from the mouth of that man whose signature was on the front of every $1 bill: Henry Morgenthau. Reflecting on the New Deal in 1939, Henry Morgenthau said:

"We have tried spending money. We are spending more than we have ever spent before and it does not work. I want to see this country prosperous. I want to see people get a job. I want to see people get enough to eat. We have never made good on our promises. ... I say after eight years of this administration we have just as much unemployment as when we started ... and an enormous debt to boot!"

So, how do today's progressives view that fact? They say Roosevelt should have spent more. Can any intelligent person believe that? Agree with that? Morgenthau said "It does not work." Do today's experts know more than the guy who was at the heart of it?

Apparently, if history does not support your point of view, the history must be wrong!

A Rose By Any Other Name
Would Smell As Sweet...
-Wm Shakespeare

Former Wyoming Senator Alan Simpson got himself in trouble for saying Social Security was like a cow with 300 million tits.

No, they did not object to the reference that the program was indicative of a nanny state. They did not seem to resent his inference that millions were being sustained at the public trough.

They were mad because he used the word "tits".

Raised on a dairy farm, I spent many morning (and afternoon) hours on a three-legged stool pulling on cows tits, filling a bucket with warm milk. And tits is exactly what we called them. It was a nasty job sometimes, especially in rainy weather when the cow had been lying in a muddy barnyard. And when she slapped you up the side of the head with a cockle burr-filled tail.

Even my patient, tolerant wife was offended by Simpson's remark. Said the word tits was degrading. Even if Simpson was talking about a cow.

Now, wait a minute!

I see quail hens lead their chicks to our back yard to scratch in the dirt for seeds we spread for them. Robins and other birds pluck a worm or a wiggling bug from the grass and carry it back to their nest to cram it, alive and dirty, down a gaping throat. A hawk kills a mouse and tears the tiny creature apart to stuff pieces of raw meat into the beaks of her young. Other creatures, like sea turtles, lay their eggs in the sand and swim away leaving hatchlings to fend for themselves.

But not mammals! From the body of the mammal mother comes a clean, precious, complete food... untouched by hands, hoofs or paws, fed directly into the mouth of her offspring, snuggled warmly against its mother's loving body! In addition to nourishment, and unlike the bird's germ laden bug or diseased mouse, mother's milk also imparts her immunities, protecting her offspring! How fantastic is that?

Degrade mammary glands? Impossible! An entire class of creatures are named for them. We (humans, at least) are not named for our five-toed feet, our opposing thumbs or any other physical feature... we are mammals... named for those miraculous mammary glands.

What an incredible possession for any mammal mother... be it a cow, a doe, a sow... or a human! And, in the case of the latter, those breasts are also alluring, a thing of beauty, proudly displayed to accentuate femininity!

As a child we chanted. "Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never harm me". So call them breasts or boobs, tits or teats, jugs or hooters - doesn't matter. Nothing can degrade this miracle of mammalian life.

Sacred Honor

I first read (or heard) The Declaration Of Independence many years ago. Can't remember exactly when, because it didn't have much impact on a young farm boy. I've read it many more times down through the years. That long list of grievances against the King of England always lost me. It was foreign to my sphere of knowledge. It read like some sort of legal document: a lot of verbiage on the peripheral of my comprehension.

In recent years, I have come to understand that, apart from the list of reasons for declaring independence from the King, that document contains powerful and beautiful language: ...all men are created equal... unalienable rights... Governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed... precious words, indeed!

The signers concluded with another powerful statement; we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor. Get that? Our sacred honor! To these men, their honor... their integrity, their honesty, their truthfulness, were sacred! How many of us today believe that?

In a business transaction where you suddenly discover a hidden fact, or a mistake, that would unfairly benefit you - would you consider it your sacred obligation to point out the error? You are walking down the street and find a billfold containing cash and other items, would you consider it your sacred obligation to restore it to its owner?

I once had a business partner who often repeated the slogan "There is no part time honesty!" Think about that. You are not an honest man because you are honest 99% of the time. One dishonest action, makes you a dishonest man.

My Dad used to say, "If a man doesn't have his word, what does he have?"

It doesn't matter how much money you have, how big your house, how luxurious your automobile... you could lose all those things in the blink of an eye. Your honor is your truly valuable possession, because no one can take that from you. It is yours alone, to keep or lose. Keep it sacred!