Dueling Memos: Just Another Day at the Sausage Factory

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Congressman Devin Nunes, the Republican Chair of the (oxymoron alert!) House Intelligence Committee, has apparently penned a memo that castigates the FBI for allegedly targeting the Trump circus during the 2016 presidential campaign.  The memo, which has not been released to the public as of yet, supposedly lambastes the FBI for targeting Carter Page, a Trump foreign policy advisor, as a person who was subject to manipulation by Russian spy agencies.

This week the House Intelligence Committee voted to send the four-page memo to Trump with the ultimate aim of him making it public as a part of his on-going war with the FBI.  Trump is reportedly eager to release the document, and has even told some members of Congress that it will be released, but he is currently having it reviewed to insure that the document's release poses no security threats to the country.  Some see this procedural delay as little more than a suspense-building drum roll for the memo's ultimate dissemination.

Democrats on the committee who voted to oppose the memo's release were quick to note that the memo is based on documents that Devin Nunes, the author, reportedly did not even bother to read.   One Democratic congressman on the committee asked Nunes during a stormy closed-door hearing if he had worked with the White House on drafting the memo, and Nunes refused to answer.

So, to recap, for the past ten days or so House Republicans have been touting an "explosive" secret memo which they wrote, one which will reportedly make the FBI look like it is pursuing an on-going vendetta against Donald Trump, and a memo which the Trump White House more than likely helped to draft.

And we are supposed to be impressed?  America must now hold its collective breath in silent anticipation of this revelation that will reset the Trump presidency and paint it with the soft pastels of victimhood?   The Russian subornation of our democratic electoral process will cease to be relevant, or even real, because Nunes and the Trump White House managed to bang out a four-page document aimed at proving the FBI targeted one Trump advisor as a possible spy - at a time when Trump surrogates were flitting around Russia like so many fleas on a bear?

Who is the enemy here - the FBI or the Russian government of Valdimir Putin?

(The Trump administration gave its own answer to that question this week when Trump declined to impose sanctions against Russia, sanctions which were passed almost unanimously by Congress last year - while at almost the same instant floating a suggestion that the Justice Department should prosecute Robert Mueller.)

Now, Rep. Adam Schiff, the Democratic Vice Chairman of the House Intelligence Committee, has authored a rebuttal memo to the one prepared by Nunes.  Schiff's memo, a ten-page retort, lays down challenges to the material hammered together by Nunes and the White House.

The House Intelligence Committee voted along partisan lines not to release Schiff's memo.

That's seems fair, now doesn't it?

At the end of the day it's all sausage and counter-sausage.

Happy at Home!

by Pa Rock
Weary Traveler

I made is safely back to The Roost early this afternoon.  Rosie was so happy to see me that she did a triple back-flip and then curtsied!  Riley also appeared happy to have his household back to full strength.  The cats rushed forward to convey their greetings, and the geese gathered at the car door to join in the excitement.  One of the geese bit the back of my leg as I was dragging stuff to the house, and while geese are known for their ill tempers, this was the first time that one has ever bitten me.  I suppose he just got carried away in all of the excitement!

It took the rest of the afternoon to sort and unpack, and the next task on the list is laundry.  We did laundry at Valerie's in Honolulu, so I actually wound up taking more clothes than I needed.

This week I saw five of my six grandchildren within a two-day span.  Life doesn't get much better than that!  They all seemed to enjoy the presents that Pa Rock brought from Hawaii.

The trip was fun, but Dorothy was right:  "There's no place like home!"

The Personalities of Airports

by Pa Rock
Flying Brontosaurus

Frequent flyers know that there are some airports where they will be hassled.   TSA at Kansas City International, for instance, always goes out of its way to complicate the process of boarding a plane.  More personal items get thrown away at the Kansas City airport than perhaps at any other airport in America.  Sky Harbor at Phoenix is another where the boarding experience is often frightful.  Sky Harbor has tried to rebrand itself as  the "world's friendliest" airport, but that effort is all stuff and nonsense.  The Phoenix airport is one place where you can expect to have to kick off your shoes and walk across carpet that is older than John McCain and stickier than the front row at a Gallagher performance.  

Kansas City and Phoenix both pale, however, with the mistreatment and abuse that we had to endure to board a flying cattle car in Honolulu.  That airport is in a league of its own.  I expect we would have received more courteous treatment checking into a prison.

This morning things are markedly better. We are at the airport in Portland, Oregon (PDX) awaiting a flight to Kansas City.  I have always liked this airport ever since the time several years ago when I encountered a TSA official wearing a turban.  Portland is a bit weird - and proud of it!  As we arrived today we were ushered through with ease and convenience.  There was no removing of shoes - or belts.  We did not have to empty our pockets or remove computers from their cases.  There weren't even any dogs sniffing luggage and butts.  The only concession that I had to make to the system was to take my cellphone out of my pocket and put it in my briefcase for the screening.  The process could not have been more simple.

I grew up in small towns where the local cops were often "grown-up" school bullies who were unable to find success in the real world, or perhaps unwilling to give up the pleasures of petty power.  Sadly, many TSA officials seem to be of the same mindset.  It's not about keeping anyone safe, its about following rules and stroking a sad person's power complex.   But in Portland it is more about courteous interactions and getting people onto airplanes in an orderly manner.

It's nice to be able to end this excursion on a positive note.  Thanks for that, PDX.  You rock!

Oh, the Things That I've Seen!

by Pa Rock
Globetrotter

I am spending the second day with my Oregon grandchildren, and as I look around their child-centric home, I am amazed at the wide array of clever electronic gizmos and intelligent toys that grab their attention and spur their creativity.  The world is speeding well beyond my grasp.

My own grandfather, Dan Sreaves, was just a boy when he rode into Missouri in a wagon at the beginning of the twentieth century.  His final trip out of the state was on a jet plane seven decades later when he and his wife flew to California and fulfilled a life-long dream of wading into the Pacific Ocean.  During Granddad's lifetime he witnessed two world wars, a great depression, and the Korean and Vietnam wars, all while scratching a living out of the hard Missouri land and raising seven children.  He moved into Missouri before radio was even invented, and by the time he passed away he was the proud owner of a color television set!

I was fortunate to know my grandfather for twenty-two years before he died.   He was one of the best people that I have ever encountered.

Although my family acquired its own television at about the time I started school, I can remember the evenings when my mother and I sat and listened to programs on the radio while waiting for my dad to come home from work.  Color television was becoming common by the time I left home and headed to college, and a year or two after that I took my first ride on an airplane.

We brought home our first computer, a Commodore 64, while my kids were in grade school.  and by the time they graduated it was not uncommon for homework to be completed with the aid of computers and hand-held calculators.  As the kids moved off and started their own lives, email was coming into fashion and proved to be the easiest way to keep the lines of communication open.  Cell phones rode in on the electronic wave and everyone suddenly had a personal means of communication that they could carry around with them.

Today I am driving a car that locks and unlocks electronically - at the push of a button - and starts and stops without a key.  I fly from city-to-city and across oceans on jets that carry hundreds of people (albeit uncomfortably), and move across airports on conveyor belts and escalators.   I have a device in my house that hears everything I say and responds to requests for information and music, and my television is streamed in over the internet allowing me to watch entire seasons of a particular show in just a couple of sittings.   Many of my meals go from frozen to piping hot in just a couple of minutes in a machine that sends "microwaves" of energy through the food.  My telephone, which I carry in my pocket, allows instant communication with friends as far away as Japan - and it also warns me of impending natural and man-made emergencies.

And in my spare time I sit down and preserve my thoughts in a blog.

God only knows what my grandchildren will see and do in their next several decades!  As my adventure winds down, theirs is only beginning.

The Horrors of Flight

by Pa Rock
Weary Traveler

We are in Salem, Oregon, and preparing to head out for a quick breakfast before visiting my grandchildren who live here:  Sebastian, Judah, and Willow.  Sebastian has already emailed wanting to know what time we would be at his house.

Getting out of Honolulu was a fiasco.  Patti and I were each singled out by the TSA's sniffing dog and had to go through a special check and pat-down that took quite a bit of time.  We weren't carrying any contraband, a reality that seemed to disappoint the TSA gropers, and eventually we were sent on our way - without apologies.  When I write my letter of complaint to TSA later today, I will dwell on two outrages.  First, the poor dog has not been properly trained.  One bully in uniform told me that he goes off on people for all kinds of reasons other than finding whatever it is that he is looking for.  If the dog can't do his job, then the dog needs to go to retire and go to the farm.  Second, my wallet, which contained all of my vacation cash, was removed from my line of sight on numerous occasions.  I used to work for the federal government, and I know those guys are underpaid.  Tourist victims need to have visual contact with their belongings at all times - particularly their money.

The flight itself was more god-awful than even I could have anticipated.  We were stuffed into the back of the plane within a tight circle of crying babies and screaming kids.  A nanny sitting in front of my middle seat decided that she should be able to lean her seat back and put her head in my lap - a situation which I quickly remedied.  As I was exiting the plane she gave one of her young wards a speech about how she didn't want him to grow up and be rude, "like some people."  While I admired her dramatic effect, I declined to applaud. 

But, I will soon be playing with my grandchildren, so things will be better!

The Homeless of Honolulu

by Pa Rock
Observer

I wrote about seeing the homeless encampments along the beaches on our first day in Honolulu, and now, as the trip draws to a close this morning, I thought the subject might be worth one more mention.  (I am a social worker, after all!)  There are many pervasive descriptors of this energetic city - with natural beauty and laid-back attitude ranking high on the list.  But Honolulu is also a city where homelessness seems to constantly rub up against affluence.

The governor of this great state, David Ige, received some criticism this week because he addressed Hawaii's citizens and kept his focus on the recent ballistic missile scare - when many residents felt that he should be focusing his attentions on the situation of the street people who lack permanent housing.  The homeless are everywhere on the island of Oahu, but they seem to gather in particular proximity to the public beaches where they can lay down and relax and try to blend in with the tourists.  Most beaches also offer showers, a health and welfare necessity.  Food is brought in by numerous relief agencies and churches.

I remember hearing a few years ago that Hawaii had chartered a cruise ship and sent a boatload of homeless individuals to California.  That is a practice that social workers refer to as "Greyhound therapy."  That cruise to California may have helped temporarily, though it certainly did not help California, but mostmof those who were relocated have probably drifted back by now.  People who appear to have little to nothing in the way of real assets still manage to make their way to the warm climate and ocean breezes of beautiful Hawaii.

(And if a person does not have a dwelling to call home, it just makes sense to live somewhere with good weather.)

I had two up-close-and-personal encounters with homeless individuals here in Hawaii that both occurred at the McDonalds just down the street from our hotel.   That business establishment has no restrooms, probably an attempt to keep the homeless at bay (there are public restrooms across the street on Waikiki Beach), and there are signs posted telling people that they can only refill their drinks if they remain inside the building to eat.  You cannot bring a drink cup in from off of the street and fill it - even if the cup is from McDonalds.

A couple of nights ago I stepped into that local McDonalds to get a cup of iced tea.  A homeless man was inside filling his McDonalds' coffee cup with water.  The cup was a bit on the grungy side and was obviously one that he had carried around for awhile.  However, the homeless man was not the problem.  There was a loud and obnoxious fellow yelling at the homeless man.  "Hey, you can't do that!  That's against the rules!"  And then as the poor man, who remained quiet throughout the ordeal, got his drink and headed to the door, the tourist bully continued, "You're spreading germs in here, that's what you're doing!"  Pa Rock, never one to mind his own business, stepped up to loudmouth and remarked, "You are pretty rude, aren't you?"  He responded, so loudly that I figured he was in the process of blowing a gasket, "That's right!  I am pretty rude!"  We weren't in Missouri, so no guns were pulled.

This morning I was at the same McDonalds getting breakfast when, as I was leaving, I encountered a homeless lady walking down the sidewalk pushing her cart.  She was screaming, "Get away from me, evil doers!  Get away from me, evil doers!"  Of course most of the "evil doers" were laughing at her.  Why is it that in the richest country in the world we often look to the hardship of others for our entertainment?

All of which leads me to ponder if it is the homeless who are the problem - or the rest of us?

Homelessness in America is a very real problem, one that impacts and defines us all.  It is something a Christian nation would address with compassionate solutions.   It is on our street corners, our beaches, and scuttling along in the cold shadows of our wealth.  It is here, it is now - and it is not fake news.

Parrots a'Plenty!

by Pa Rock
Friend of Animals

One thing that I have been constantly reminded of on this trip is how much I love and miss the animals at Rock's Roost, from the dogs, Rosie and Riley, who are almost human, to the cats, Fiona and her son, Magoo, to the noisy and demanding geese, to the independent peacocks, to the chickens and roosters  (especially little Bobby), to the guineas, and even to the extremely tame deer who would wander into the house if I left the door open too long - all of the creatures at Rock's Roost are family and do their part in making the little farm a home for us all.

I decided early in the visit to Hawaii that I would add a few pigeons to the menagerie at the farm as soon as I get home and unpacked.    These sweet birds like to sit on my arm and eat from my hand.  They are as comfortable with me as I am with them.    Last night, at the luau, I added another critter to my bucket list.   There was a photographer at the event staging pictures with several parrots who seemed to be on his payroll, and I suddenly realized how much I have always wanted to have a parrot.  The fellow had two large blue McCaws, one of which sat on my fist and tried to eat the shell necklace that I was wearing.  He also had a smaller yellow parrot that liked to sit on people's heads while the boss took pictures, a larger green one that layed in cupped hands like a sleeping infant, and a red parrot named Scarlet who basically did whatever she wanted to do.  They are such smart birds!

Also, in just a few weeks is when everybody goes to the local feed stores to place their chick orders.  Pa Rock is thinking spring!

Hawaii has been a blast, but fortunately not one having to do with a North Korean ICBM!  We are flying to Portland later this morning, a city that is proud to be just a little weird!  I always feel right at home in Portland!

Aloha, Hawaii.  Peace and love!

Things to Do in a Pretty Shirt

by Pa Rock
Beach Lion

Thursday morning and the start of our last full day in beautiful Hawaii.

I have already been out on the street buying a few last minute souvenirs and starting the process of saying goodbye to all of my pigeon friends on the island.  After that first excursion I came back to the room and packed - to make sure that I could stuff all of the treasure into the maw of my suitcase.  The good news is that it fits.  The bad news is that the bag now weighs almost as much as Donald Trump!

One of the things that I bought this morning was a pretty Hawaiian shirt to wear to the luau tonight.  It has so many splashy colors that a few Kahlua pig stains and dribbles from rum drinks will probably go unnoticed.    February is just around the corner and time to start thinking about mowing.  The new shirt will be a lovely addition to the Ozark landscape as I race across the yard chasing the geese and peacocks on my monster mower.  It will also make fine river wear, and because it is a roomy 2XL, a homeless family could live under it should I ever tire of my Waikiki Beach purchase!

Recycle, recycle, recycle!

Somewhere nearby a pig with my name on it is cooking ever so slowly beneath the coals of a beach fire!

Aloha!

Everything from Don Quijote's to Kahlua Pig

by Pa Rock
Pacific Warrior

Last night I sat downstairs at the hotel and read for awhile.  Not long after I got comfortably situated, a group of airline employees (pilots and stewardesses) gathered around me to await their shuttle to the airport.   Being surrounded, I listened to their chatter.  One stew told of renting a bicycle for four hours and then racing off to Diamond Head, mastering the trail up and down the mountain, and then hurrying back to Waikiki where she had rented the bike - all in just under four hours.  (If that had been me, a day later I would still be huffing toward Diamond Head!)  She then told the others about her trip to Don Quijote's - the large Japanese grocery store.  Valerie and I had also gone to Don Quijote's, one of the things any serious visitor to Hawaii must do - and, in fact, we are talking about a second trip there this evening.

Valerie and I visited Joint Base Pearl Harbor and Hickham (PHH) this morning where I got my retired military I.D. renewed for eight more years.  At some point that card's expiration date will exceed my own!  Will it be this time, or will I be good for another renewal?   Patti stayed at the hotel recuperating from her bout with the flu.  We also visited a large flea market where I bought tee-shirts and other tourist crap, and then toured "Punchbowl," the military cemetery of the Pacific.  Punchbowl is located in an inactive volcanic crater.  The names of more that 28,000 U.S. servicemen whose remains were never located are inscribed on the walls of the memorials at Punchbowl.

Interestingly, at least to me, the famous fictional detective, Charlie Chan, along with his wife and seven children, lived in a small home near Punchbowl Cemetery.  World War II journalist, Ernie Pyle - who was killed during the Battle of Okinawa - is one of the many thousands of people who are interred there.

Tomorrow night will be our last evening in Hawaii.  We have tickets for a genuine Hawaiian luau -  bring on that Kahlua pig!

(I was informed this evening that the Japanese grocery spells its name "Don Quijote" instead of the literally correct "Don Quixote."  The pronunciation, however, is the same.)

It's Not a Vacation Until . . .

by Pa Rock
Vacationeer

My niece, Dr. Heidi, is a pediatrician and the mother of two adorable young girls.   She and her family travel whenever they have an opportunity.  One of Heidi's favorite sayings is:  "It's not a vacation until you visit the ER."  Well, as of today, Patti and I are officially on vacation!

(All is well now, but Patti was diagnosed with the flu earlier today.   Everything is under control.)

While we were at the Straub Medical Center, a small hospital in Honolulu, we made friends with a nurse, a physician's assistant, and a doctor.  The nurse chatted about how underpaid staff is here and that it is necessary for most to hold two jobs in order to survive.  She is about to take a second job as an airline hostess.  A nurse/stewardess - what an interesting combination!

On the way home Valerie stopped at a gas station to fill her tank.  I went inside to buy my first Hawaii lottery tickets.  The lady at the counter told me that Hawaii does not have lottery sales.  I suggested to her that was a good thing because people at home crush up against the quick stop counters buying tickets by the fistful and acting like they are at a casino.  Then, if they have any money left over, they rush off to Walmart to try and get rid of it on junk imported from China.

Valerie told me that when most of the locals out here go on vacation, they head to Vegas where they can gamble.  She believes that Hawaii has some kind of agreement with casino states that it will stay out of the gambling trade.

Viva Lost Wages!

On the Beach at Waikiki

by Pa Rock
Beach Bum

A few more notes from Honolulu:

Gas here seems to average around $3.29 a gallon, a bit less than I expected yet still plenty high enough.  Perhaps the price will come down after Trump’s friends in the oil industry start erecting oil derricks along the coasts of Hawaii’s beautiful islands.

Yesterday we had a late breakfast in a restaurant called Anna Miller’s which is essentially a Denny’s on steroids.  I had Banana/Macadamia Nut pancakes with a side order of bacon.  (Everything is better with bacon!)  The pancakes were delicious!  Then in the afternoon we did the tour of Pearl Harbor.  One of the guides told us that it would be closing on Monday due to the government shutdown, and that the U.S. Navy personnel conducting our Sunday tour were doing so as volunteers.  The tour, including a film, was quite memorable, especially the boat ride out to the USS Arizona memorial.   That was an awe-inspiring experience.

Later Valerie took us over to Ford Island where she works.  Ford Island sits across the bay from Pearl Harbor and is actually much closer to the memorial – with great views in every direction.

One souvenir that I bought at Pearl Harbor was a large book containing biographies of every serviceman (mostly sailors) who died aboard the Arizona.    Most of the short biographies list dates of birth, hometowns, rank, service numbers, and the names and addresses of the surviving parents and/or spouses.   Some also share amusing anecdotes about the childhoods of those who died.  I read one which told of the young man and his brother, who, as boys, disassembled a neighbor's Model T Ford and reassembled on top of the poor guy's barn - as a Halloween prank!  The bodies of the young men who died aboard the Arizona were left entombed in the ship, so many of the biographies indicate that the deceased “continues to serve” aboard the USS Arizona.

Later in the day we drove across the main campus of the University of Hawaii.  It’s a nice campus with many modern buildings and lots of lush foliage.    One of the departments that I noticed was an Institute of Oceanography.  (Valerie has a thing about college campuses.  She and I have done walking tours of the University of Taiwan and the University of Guam.)

Today Patti and I are on the beach at Waikiki.    The water felt warm to me, but Patti begged to disagree.  I walked out along one of the breakers where I was able to watch surfers up close and personal, and saw many crabs scuttling along the breaker.  A pirate ship was quietly drifting along not too far out to sea, and the horizon was also dotted with colorful sailboats and helicopters ferrying rich tourists who didn’t want to roam the beach with mere mortals and get sand in their sandals.

(If Trump was welcome in Hawaii, I’m sure that he would also opt to fly the beach in his taxpayer-funded helicopter.  I've not seen one Trump-Pence sticker anywhere.  It's so nice to be among civilized people for a change!)

Patti had some peanuts in her bag, and I quickly made many friends as I broke them up and fed them to the pigeons.  Some of the birds sat on my arm as I fed them, and others would eat from my hand.  I may have to get some pigeons for the farm.  The fun ended when a homeless fellow came up and asked for something to eat - and Patti gave him the rest of the peanuts!

So now it is Monday and the shutdown has ended.  Schumer buckled (flinched, rolled over, capsized, capitulated, bent over, etc)  like we all knew he would, and the GOP terrorists reign supreme.    In a few weeks we will dance again, but, until then, decency and civilization hang precariously in the balance.  Stay strong, Dreamers - God loves you even if the Republican Party doesn't!

It's eighty degrees under blue skies along Waikiki beach!  Aloha!

The Smoke and Mirrors of a Government Shutdown

by Pa Rock
Veteran of the Last Shutdown

Yesterday Donald Trump celebrated the one-year anniversary of his first elected job by presiding over a federal government that was shuttered, out-of-order, shut down - a situation brought on largely by his fundamental lack of leadership abuility.  Could there be a more moronic, yet apropos, culmination to year one of the Trump debacle?

Speaking as someone who lived through the last government shutdown back in 2013 as a federal employee, I thought this might be a good opportunity to share some of my memories of that event and perhaps shed some light on what a shutdown really amounts to.

2013 was a hard year for me.  I had gone through a major heart surgery that spring, an event which, although covered by my insurance, still left me with many deductibles and surprise payments to deal with, not to mention the loss of substantial amount of "sick leave" time, days which I had planned on being able to sell back to the government on the occasion of my retirement the following year.  I was well into the mode of saving every available penny in anticipation of that retirement.

And then the shutdown came along.

My civilian boss at Luke Air Force Base was also a retired military veteran.  When it became apparent that the shutdown was actually going to happen, I went to him in a panic.  From the reports I saw on the news and heard around the base, it meant that I was likely to be sent home for the duration of the shutdown, without pay, and not earning any time toward retirement.

"Calm down," Jim assured me.  "There is nothing to worry about."  He then explained that the military would keep right on operating, shutdown or not.  Some civilians, he said, would be deemed "mission essential" and paid to remain at their posts.  Others, the "non-essentials," would be sent home.  I would be in the second category.

That did nothing to reassure me, so I pressed on.  "What about my pay?"  I blubbered.

Again he told me not to worry.  "Non-essentials" would get a vacation, and after it was over Congress would revisit the matter and insure that all employees who had been laid off would get their back pay for the surprise vacations.

And that is exactly what happened.  The "essential" employees worked and got paid for their time, and the rest of us, the ones who sat home and relaxed during the break, also got paid.

From the military point of view, it was a phony shutdown, all smoke and mirrors - and that is exactly what will happen this time.  In fact Congress went to great pains before the shutdown to let Americans know that it would not impact the military or the sending out of social security checks.

There are shutdowns and then there are shutdowns - and the U.S. military does not shut down.  A nation with an undependable military would impact the bottom line of our most important citizens - the large corporations and billionaires - political donors with whom Congress will not mess.

One thing that did stick with me regarding the last government shutdown was the very large numbers of government civilians on base who were deemed "non-essential" - four out of every five at a minimum.  If that many folks at every U.S. military base aren't "essential" to the mission, why are they hanging around drawing paychecks? 

Some may even be closeted Democrats.

It almost smacks of being a government welfare program.

The whole situation  sounds like something the "fair and balanced" bottle blondes at Fox News should investigate.

(Note to Paul Ryan and Mitch McConnell:  If you layoff the air traffic controllers during this phony government shutdown, you can start sending my social security checks to the islands.  I will be residing in a tent on Waikiki Beach until the planes start flying again!  Aloha!)

A Beautiful Day In Honolulu

by Pa Rock
World Traveler

We arrived safely in Honolulu yesterday afternoon and were met at the airport by my friend of many years - and several workplaces - Valerie.  She greeted us with beautiful orchid leis, a very thoughtful gift which are still adding a heady fragrance to the air in our hotel room.   Our room has a view of Waikiki Beach - if you step out onto the narrow balcony and look for it.

Honolulu has changed markedly in the past forty years since I was last here.  The airport was unrecognizable with parking garages where grassy slopes and palm trees once reigned, and the downtown area near Waikiki is a mass of high-rise buildings, most apparently hotels.  A majority of the tourists appear to be Japanese, something which did not surprise me, and quite a few of the others are from the mainland United States.  We did sit next to a nice couple from Romania on the flight over from San Diego, so Central Europe is represented here as well.  Honolulu has traditionally been a melting pot of peoples and cultures.

There are lots of homeless in Honolulu.  Valerie showed us some encampments in the parks along the beaches.  Most of the beaches have showers which the homeless can use, and several relief agencies bring in a regular supply of meals.  Valerie belongs to a church that has a mission of helping to feed the homeless, an act of which I suspect Jesus would approve.

I walked a few blocks this morning to find some sandals to wear on the beach and to procure breakfast for my lady and myself.  The meals were acquired from a local Starbucks (for Patti) and a Burger King for this weight-challenged blogger.  As a card-carrying descendant of the Starbucks family - with lineage going back into the 1600's - I feel that I have a moral authority to state my views regarding their retail footprint in the twenty-first century.  Starbucks, the company, is obviously not as big of a waste of space as Walmart,  but the pseudo coffee shops serve little actual purpose other than to give pretentious people a stage on which to showcase their irritating behaviors.  Society would be just as well served, if not better served, from Starbucks vending machines placed along the sidewalks.

Valerie will be coming by early this afternoon and taking us for a drive along Oahu's north shore.

Is it still bitterly cold in the Midwest?  (Just curious.)  It's sunny and in the eighties here - a beautiful morning in Honolulu!

Aloha!

Another Day, Another Airport

by Pa Rock
Weary Road Warrior

It's Friday morning (I think) and Patti and I are at the San Diego Airport (of that I am fairly certain).  Our flight to Honolulu boards in half-an-hour.   Valerie plans on meeting us at the airport and will spirit us over to our hotel near Waikiki.  It will be so nice not having to drive for awhile.

This morning I had the route to the rental care return center carefully mapped out.  Five seconds out of our hotel parking lot I found that the base exit that led to the first necessary turn was closed, so the whole plan went out the car window like so much litter.  Eventually we found another way off of the base and were able to reconnect with our original planned route.   Beyond that, no problemas.

Soon sunny San Diego will be in our rear-view mirror.

Adios California - Aloha Hawaii!

San Diego Adventures

by Pa Rock
World Traveler

Patti and I are completing our second full day in San Diego.  So far the trip has been anything but dull.

Our flight from Kansas City yesterday at oh-dark-thirty made it to California on time and without incident.  However, San Diego was fogged in so our pilot, wanting to show us some of the high points of the state that tourists often miss, headed north to the Los Angeles area where he parked our plane at the airport in Ontario for an hour or so.  We eventually made it to San Diego and were on the ground and out of the plane by nine-thirty in the morning.

Twenty-six people on our flight were heading on to Hawaii that day and had to run to make a connecting flight.  That was a small victory for Patti and me because our flight to Hawaii was forty-eight hours into the future.

We picked up a rental car and I prepared to show Patti my superior knowledge of the city of San Diego (population 1.3 million).  It only took me two hours to find the Navy Lodge where we were staying!  After unpacking and settling in for a few minutes, we headed out to explore the city, and I quickly learned that I was not the expert on the local highways and byways that I thought I was.  Eventually we gave up the quest to find the Coronado Bridge, a structure so immense that we spotted it easily from the air as we were flying in, and pulled into an IHOP to chow down and regroup.

While we were at the IHOP I asked a young sailor at the next table about how to get to Coronado Island (which is, in actuality, a peninsula).  Not only did he look it up for us on his cell phone, the uniformed lad wrote up detailed directions on how to get there!

On Coronado I showed Patti the beach where my daughter, Molly, married Scott eight years or so ago.  We also walked through the famous Del Coronado Hotel (Where "Some Like It Hot" was filmed) and strolled the hotel's beautiful grounds.  Later we drove down to my favorite California city, Imperial Beach (the locale of the short-lived Showtime series "John from Cincinnati"), and then returned to the Navy Lodge.

I have stayed at Navy Lodges on several occasions and the experiences have always been great.  As a card-carrying retired (oxymoron alert) military civilian, I am entitled to stay in those facilities if rooms are available.  Normally when in San Diego I stay at the one on Coronado, but this time there were no rooms available at that facility, and they booked us into one at the Naval Station in San Diego instead.  The experience, so far, has been a bust.

I am blogging from a hotel for service members across the street from where we are staying because the wifi at the Navy Lodge has been down since we arrived.  Yesterday after two phone calls to their world-wide help center I was told that the service must be temporarily off-line and to try again later.  This afternoon I called again, and this time was told that the service is down for an undetermined amount of time due to maintenance being conducted on our building.

Now, please bear with me as I expound on that building.

When we checked in, the sweet ladies at the desk (located in another building) failed to tell us that our room was on the third floor and there were no elevators!   I'm spry and can make it up three flights of stairs - eventually, but it's no cake walk when dragging luggage for a two-week trip!

The Navy Lodge rooms that I have stayed in before have been exceptionally nice.  This one failed that test.

Then, this morning, after crawling out of bed at a healthy 7:00 a.m. I was surprised to find that there was no electricity.   I called the desk to inform them that our power was out, and the sweet lady who answered the phone told me that it was a planned outage due to building maintenance that would last from 7:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m.   After voicing my polite irritation about not being told about the "planned" outage when we checked in, the lady assured me that there was a sign posted (somewhere) on the outside of the building.   When I suggested that a rent rebate might be in order, she excused herself to talk to her supervisor and then returned to the phone to say that a rebate would not be happening.

There were no windows in the bathroom which made shaving and other daily ablutions quite challenging.   Fortunately Patti, ever the Girl Scout, packed a flashlight!

As we headed out this morning I stopped by the desk and picked up a customer comment card.  They know why.

But, all of that craziness aside, we had a wonderful lunch with dear Aunt Mary and my cousin Linda and her husband, Dave.   Mary is ninety-two, whip-smart, and as bouncy and vibrant as a nineteen-year-old.  She recently became a great-great-grandmother when Linda's granddaughter gave birth to twin girls.

Linda told an hilarious story about our grandmother, Hazel Macy, killing and cooking chickens at their home in San Diego when Linda was a little girl!  I will write it up for the family history.  I especially don't want to forget the part about the headless chickens flopping around in the yard and smearing the family's rosebushes with blood and feathers!

Cousin Janet was ill today and could not join us.   She missed a long and fun-filled lunch.  Patti seemed to hit it off quite well with my California relatives.

Tomorrow we board an early flight to Honolulu.  Heading out to the fiftieth state on an airline named after the forty-ninth!

Safe flights and happy trails!

Pre-Dawn Boarding

by Pa Rock
Globetrotter

Miss Patti and I are waiting at the loading gate at Kansas City International Airport preparing to board a direct flight to beautiful San Diego.   We should be getting on the plane in just a few minutes.  It is still dark outside.

Aunt Mary called from San Diego yesterday.  She is anxious to see us and has a luncheon planned at one of the city's better known fish houses tomorrow.  My two cousins and their husbands will be there.   Over the next two days I will Patti a cook's tour of the city.

Friday we will on to Honolulu

The Winning Playbook

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The lead article on this morning's "The Hill:  Tipsheet" is titled "Dems Search for Winning Playbook," and it is adorned with photos of the three Democratic congressional leaders:  Senator Charles Schumer of New York, and Representatives Nancy Pelosi of California and Stenny Hoyer of Maryland.   The first line of the article reads:

"Democrats are feeling increasingly confident about their chances of winning back the House and Senate in the 2018 midterms."

(Oh we are, are we?)

The piece then goes on to discuss strategies that were put forth by several members for taking back both houses of Congress.

Strategies, strategies.

One of the strategies mentioned was to not always rush to try and find a compromise with the forces of darkness that control the White House and GOP leadership.  Another was to work on recruiting good candidates and develop a solid ground game.  Those are both excellent strategies, ones that could turn the tide and make a difference, but why are they suddenly being thought about and developed.  Why haven't we been aggressively pursuing the strengthening of the Democratic Party with substantive actions like these all along?  Is it because we have been too comfortable living under the heavy hands of graying politicians like Chuckles and Nancy and Stenny - and Debbie Wasserman Schultz?

The Democratic Party needs to revitalize itself, and the best way to do that is to turn the old nags out to pasture and make room in the stable for some young, snorting thoroughbreds.  Change is coming, but it can and will come a hell of a lot faster when we let the young dynamos break through and lead us to victory.

That is the winning playbook!

Monday's Poetry: "Folsom Prison Blues" (with a bit of Japanese color)

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Forty-five years ago this spring my wife and I took a military "hop" from Kadena Air Base on Okinawa, the island where I was stationed with the U.S. Army, and flew to a military air base on mainland Japan.  We were there, as tourists, for about a week.

The most interesting thing that we did that week was to visit Hiroshima, the city that suffered the first atomic bomb attack.  We rode the "bullet" train south from Tokyo to a point somewhere beyond the old capital of Kyoto, and were then herded (literally) onto one of the infamous "cattle" cars where young men stood at the doors of seat-less train cars and pushed an shoved people aboard, packing us in as tightly as possible.  We watched helplessly as out luggage passed by overhead on a sea of moving arms.  (We were eventually reunited with the suitcase.)

We departed the train in the bustling city of Hiroshima, expecting to encounter some Americans who could help us find lodging.  Although the streets were crowded with pedestrians, none appeared to be American.  We finally corralled a young policeman who took us to the police station and then telephoned a lady who spoke English.  She then called a "mama-san" who had a room for rent, and the mama-san came down and collected us.   The simple room she took us to had no bed, but she brought a pot of green tea which we enjoyed while she rolled out the various mats that made a pallet on the floor.

The next day as we toured Peace Park, the monument-laden center of the old city located around Ground Zero, a young Japanese man named Hiroshi approached us and asked to be our guide (for free) so that he could practice his English.  It was a most interesting day as we walked through the history and horror of one of the final days of World War II.  That evening we walked into town and played pachinko at some of the city's many pachinko parlors.

After two days in Hiroshima we returned to Tokyo where we walked the streets of the Ginza late at night and were completely safe.   (Tokyo was and is larger than New York City, but the Japanese people do not walk around armed-to-the-teeth like Americans.)   One of the major attractions of the Ginza was a McDonalds.  (There were none on Okinawa at that point.)  The McDonalds in the Ginza was a window on a busy sidewalk where customers walked up and placed their orders and then consumed their burgers and meals on the sidewalk.  I was in heaven as I enjoyed my first McDonald's Filet of Fish in nearly two years!

Our room in Tokyo was at the very nice Daichi Hotel where one of the fellow guests was a very large fellow from Hawaii named Jesse who was the new world champion sumo wrestler.  We shared an elevator with him at one point, and it almost felt as crowded at the "cattle" car on the train!  While in Tokyo we also took a bus tour of the city where we visited businesses, Shinto shrines, and gazed at the Imperial Palace from across the moat.

One other thing that we did in Tokyo that was interesting was to take the subway across Tokyo to the Ueno Zoo - quite a challenge for a pair of non-Japanese speakers!   Our goal at the zoo was to see the Pandas, but sadly they were not available for viewing that afternoon.

All of which brings mo to the connection with today's poetry selection, Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues."

I have an American friend who lives in Japan where he works as a psychologist for the U.S. military.  In an email this morning he mentioned that he had been in Tokyo and had visited the Ueno district where the zoo is located.  In his email my friend was talking about the street musicians who make their music in the Ueno district, and he said that he had been particularly impressed with one young lady, about eighteen, who was playing guitar and had a very "sweet voice."  As my friend drew nearer he recognized the song that she was singing:  Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues."

That song has been rattling around in my head all day, so now I will try to purge it by sharing.  Please enjoy as you remember the late, great Johnny Cash and one of his signature compositions.


Folsom Prison Blues
by Johnny Cash

I hear the train a comin'; it's rollin' 'round the bend,
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when
I'm stuck at Folsom Prison and time keeps draggin' on
But that train keeps rollin' on down to San Antone

When I was just a baby, my mama told me, "Son
Always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns"
But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die
When I hear that whistle blowin' I hang my head and cry

I bet there's rich folk eatin' from a fancy dining car
They're prob'ly drinkin' coffee and smokin' big cigars
Well, I know I had it comin', I know I can't be free
But those people keep a movin', and that's what tortures me

Well, if they freed me from this prison, if that railroad train was mine
I bet I'd move on over a little farther down the line
Far from Folsom Prison, that's where I want to stay
And I'd let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away

In-Coming!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

At 8:05 a.m. yesterday a friend of mine, a social worker who lives and works for the U.S. military in Honolulu, was at home and on the phone dealing with a client when an emergency text message suddenly arrived on her cell phone.  The emergency alert read:

"BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."

My friend said that she completed her work with the client and then went and laid down.  "I knew there was nothing I could do about it," she later told me over the phone.  "I just wondered what it would sound like."  Fortunately for her and all of the other residents and tourists who were seeking safety and shelter in our fiftieth state, the alert by the Hawaii Emergency Management Agency proved to be a false alarm, and normal life slowly resumed in paradise.

The all-clear officially sounded thirty-eight minutes after the initial warning.  During that brief period of time all hell apparently broke loose around the islands as people rushed to-and-fro trying to figure out how to shelter safely.

Hawaii was in a panic mode, and for good reason.   For the past year the Trump administration and the government of North Korea have been exchanging careless boasts and threats.   The North Koreans had made threats regarding the U.S. Territory of Guam, and Trump had promised a response of "fire and fury" should North Korea launch an attack.  Recently there had been an exchange of insults between Trump and Kim Jong Un of North Korea regarding the "size" of the nuclear buttons on their respective desks.  Clearly the threat of an incoming missile to Hawaii was not that far-fetched!

Governor David Ige of Hawaii said that the incident occurred when someone at the emergency management agency pushed the wrong button during a shift change.  The Federal Communications Commission is one of the government entities looking into the incident.  Congresswoman Tulsi Gabbard of Hawaii took the lead in reassuring citizens that the alarm was false and they all were safe.  Donald Trump was playing golf at his club in Florida at the time of the alarm - and the White House has yet to weigh in on the incident calling it a "state" matter.

Some pundits are suggesting that it was probably a good thing that Trump was preoccupied with golf at the time of the incident.

One thing that the false alarm did point out was that our government has been woefully negligent in preparing the public to respond to a nuclear threat.  No one seemed to know where to seek shelter and panic ensued.  One report that I read this morning said that it would take a ballistic missile just twenty minutes to travel from North Korea to Hawaii, and that people on the islands could expect a maximum of a twelve-minute warning.

My friend in Honolulu mentioned that she heard one hotel in the Waikiki area had herded its guests into a basement.  Apparently no passenger planes were diverted during the alert, and aircraft continued to land at the Honolulu airport.  She commented to me about how scared passengers on arriving planes must have been when they turned on their cell phones and learned that a ballistic missile was headed in their direction!   My friend said that Facebook was going absolutely nuts during and after the incident.

Hawaii, here's another in-coming threat for you:  Pa Rock and his lady will be arriving this Friday.  If you have a missile crisis while we are there, I plan to plant myself on the beach with a jumbo Mai Tai and wait for it!

Aloha, cruel world!

Trump's Ugly Underbelly

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

(Blogger Note:  As 2017 was closing out I made a vow in this space to refrain from becoming caught up in the Trump stink in the New Year by limiting coverage of Donald John to just one day a week, a practice that I have since initiated and labeled "Trump Dump Thursday."  Please let the record show that I made it all the way up to the 13th day of January before I felt absolutely compelled by circumstances beyond my control to break that vow.  Please bear with me as I spend a second day this week discussing our continuing national embarrassment:  Donald John Trump.  I acknowledge the personal weakness on my part and beg your forbearance.)

Is the President of the United States a racist?

Who would have even thought that in twenty-first century America it would be necessary to ask such an awful question?  The President is elected by the American people (usually) and is generally expected to operate in such a manner as to be held in high esteem by a large preponderance of the population.  Whether we voted for that person or not, he or she is generally regarded as a living representation of our country, and, as such, the embodiment of American ideals.

America had such a leader in Barack Obama, a man who generated massive crowds wherever he appeared in this country and around the globe.  When people saw Obama, they were looking at a sociological miracle, a bi-racial young man who emerged from modest circumstances, achieved a first-rate education, and built a life and a career of helping others.  He was the personification of the American ideal, and he represented that vision with humility and dignity on the world stage.  Barack Obama was - and he remains - an inspiration.

And then came Trump.  

The son of a racist slumlord, Donald Trump inherited not only a fortune from his father, but also his open disdain for people of color.   America's angry whites, many of whom had lived economically and intellectually impoverished lives for generations, managed to blame all of their troubles on the outgoing black President and showed their rage and discontent by voting for Donald Trump, a man that many of them recognized as basically unfit for office.  Trump lost that election by three million actual votes, but through a quirk in the geographical distribution of those votes, he was elected to the presidency by the "electoral college" provision in the Constitution.

And so here we are.

This past Thursday Donald Trump exhibited his racism with all flags flying.  While at a meeting with senators and representatives in the Oval Office in which immigration reform was being discussed, Trump interrupted the presenter, Illinois Democratic Senator Dick Durbin, as the senator was explaining how the proposed agreement would impact people from Haiti.   Trump snorted:

"Haiti? Why do we want people from Haiti here?" 

Moments later when Africa came up in the presentation, Trump seemed to have had all he could handle.  He stormed:

'Why do we want these people from all these shithole countries here? We should have more people from places like Norway."

Later Republican Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, a man who can make sense when pressed to do so, stepped into the fray and admonished Trump, telling him that "America is about an idea, not about race."

Senator Durbin said that Trump used the derogatory and racist term - shithole - "repeatedly" during the remainder of the session.    The Illinois senator lamented:  “I cannot believe that, in the history of the White House in that Oval Office, any president has ever spoken the words that I personally heard our president speak yesterday.”  Trump's use of the word "shithole" to describe Haiti and countries from Africa was also reported by Republican Senator Jeff Flake of Arizona.

Remarkably, Republican Senator Tom Cotton who was also in that Oval Office meeting said that he could not recall hearing the word used.    Senator Cotton, who has aspirations of becoming the next Director of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), might do well to have his hearing checked before tackling a position with that intelligence-gathering organization.

Trump and the White House, for their part, declined to comment for a day or to answer specific questions about Trump's reported use of the word "shithole."  On Friday he posted a non-denial denial on Twitter which read:

“The language used by me at the DACA meeting was tough, but this was not the language used.”

Huh?  Funny how the same individual can speak quite clearly when he wants to, but can also babble incoherently when that suits his purpose.

Is Donald Trump a racist?  Is it even necessary to ask after his record as a slumlord and his defense of the White Nationalists in Charlottesville - and now with this crack about "shithole" countries - countries which also happen to be predominantly black - and his preference for immigration from predominantly white Norway?  A white guy born to wealth who maintained and enhanced his wealth through actions and policies that were detrimental to people of color?  A politician who reaped votes by intentionally stirring age-old racial prejudices?  Of course he is a racist - and as a racist he should either resign the presidency or be impeached and removed from office.

Is Donald Trump an embarrassment to our country?  Daily.   Constantly.  The Washington Post has tabulated over two thousand lies that he has told during his first three hundred days in office.  He's a racist and an inveterate liar, and he uses the White House like a self-absorbed huckster peddling his wares on infomercials.  Trump is an embarrassment and a national disgrace - and for those reasons he needs to resign or be impeached and removed from office.

Godspeed, Robert Mueller!

Missouri GOP Family Values on Display: Nude, Bound, and Blindfolded

by Pa Rock
Missouri Citizen Journalist

Young political outsider, Eric Greitens, ran for and was elected governor of Missouri last year based on a single qualification:  he was a former Navy SEAL.  Greitens, who raised more that five million dollars from wealthy donors nationwide for that gubernatorial contest, ran as a down-home, family values type of guy showcasing his attractive young family in political ads.  It was a very vanilla campaign.

Eric Greitens was a clean-cut young man who was destined for greater things.  He had been buddying-up with state and national leaders for several years preceding his entry into the governor's race, and had, in fact, reserved the website "EricGreitensforPresident.com" way back in 2009.

One of Greitens' first acts as governor was to change-up the traditional photo of the governor that hangs in the state offices.  Instead of the traditional head shot, young Eric chose to use a shot of his family gathered in an outdoor setting:  the governor, his pretty young wife, one toddler, and an infant.

Greitens spent much of his first year striving to impose a modicum of integrity into the state legislative process and wean state legislators off of the kindnesses - and gifts - of lobbyists, a crusade that offended more legislators than it inspired.  He was establishing himself as a bit of a reformer, someone above the  grease and grime of working politics.

Eric Greitens was crafting an image - but that image cracked and crumbled a couple of days ago when a St. Louis television station aired a lurid story about the sexploits of Missouri's young governor.   Station KMOV rocked the state's GOP political establishment with an account of a sexual liaison that allegedly occurred between Greitens and his hairdresser in 2015 at a time when he was only considering the race for governor.  Greitens, however, was married to his current wife at the time of the extra-marital sexual encounter.

The ex-husband of the hairdresser provided the television station with a tape of his wife talking about the incident.  The wife reportedly did not realize that she was being taped when she told the tale.   During the sex-capade Greitens supposedly bound the woman, who was nude, with tape, blidndolded her, and then photographed her.  He then allegedly told her that if she ever told anyone about the incident he would make the photographs public.

Governor Greitens and his wife issued a joint statement in which Greitens admitted straying from his marriage vows.  The couple said they have worked through the issue.  The governor's lawyer has denied that photographs were taken and also denied the blackmail allegations.

If Greitens chooses to do the honorable thing and resign, he will be replaced by Lt. Governor Mike Parsons, also a Republican.   Parsons is not expected to have the zeal for reform that Greitens exhibited, and that is likely to be just fine with the state's Republican legislators.

Trump Dump Thursday: Golf, Lies, and Executive Time

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

As America's nightmare continues and Donald Trump closes in on the end of his first year in elective office, this appears to be as good of a time as any to focus on the changes that Dear Leader has brought to our country:  polluters are back in charge of the environment, profit-driven hucksters are dismantling American education, unrestricted use of the internet is in peril, marijuana is becoming re-criminalized, private prisons are on the up-swing, big corporations are once again the unquestioned authorities on acceptable business practices and the proper treatment of workers, white nationalists and other assorted groups of racists and hate-mongers are now seen as having at least equal footing with once-revered civil rights groups, immigrants are predominantly portrayed as rapists and drug smugglers, a good supply of paper towels can rebuild Puerto Rico, Republicans are only guilty of sexual abuse if they are stupid enough to admit it, diplomacy is best conducted by tweet, Russians make better friends than Californians, and its perfectly alright to peddle hats, jewelry, taco bowls, and hotel rooms from the Oval Office.

But perhaps the most significant thing that we, as a nation, have learned under Trump is this:  if the truth is going to make you look bad, then make something up.    I recently saw one piece of research which claimed that Donald Trump had told just over two thousand lies in public during his first three hundred days in office - or, nearly seven good ones a day.  He seems to have elevated that art of lying to a level that would make a divorce attorney blush.

And then there's golf.  We have heard about presidents playing golf since the time of Eisenhower, but none have played as much as Trump.  Golf, golf, and more golf!  Much of it is played in the seclusion of his own private golf clubs, where reporters can't gain access and disrupt his golfing mood.  Recently some of Trump's people (with at least the tacit approval of the Secret Service) arranged to park a big box truck next one of those private courses so that the press would not be able to photograph the presidential leisure activity.

News reports also indicate that Donald Trump has a penchant for wolfing down fast food - with a particular fondness for Kentucky Fried Chicken - and chugging Diet Cokes.  It has also been noted that he watches several hours of cable news on television each day.  And then, of course, with his pistons firing from all of the Diet Coke and his anger flaring from the cable news, he devotes big chunks of time to tweeting out his wrath, picking needless and useless fights with politicians, world leaders, athletes, celebrities, ordinary people, and even members of his own administration.  Nothing is too petty to escape Donald Trump's notice or revenge.

And when all of that presidential stuff (see above) starts to drag down El Jefe, he has now developed a dodge from working that he and his staff refer to as "executive time."  It's not entirely clear what "executive time" consists of, but we, as a nation, must trust that he washes his hands when he is finished!

Tales from the Crypt: Senator Joe Arpaio

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Joe Arpaio is at it again.    The eighty-five-year-old former sheriff of Maricopa County, Arizona, was forcibly retired in 2016 when voters turned him out of the office that he had run like a desert fiefdom for twenty-four years.   But, to paraphrase someone, it's hard to keep a good con-man down.

Last summer Arpaio was convicted on "contempt of court" charges for failing to follow a court order to stop his infamous "immigration roundups" and continuing to detain and harass persons of Hispanic descent without obvious reason to do so.  He was convicted in federal court in July, but received a presidential pardon for his crime before sentence could be imposed.

And after that infamous pardon, Old Joe slunk back to his casa magnifica in Fountain Hills and began having to suffer through news cycles in which he did not figure prominently.  Obscurity, for Joe, was a fate worse than prison.

But hey, now he's back!

Joe Arpaio, who has a long history of threatening to run for offices other than sheriff and then never following through, stepped up his game yesterday with an announcement that he was officially running as a Republican (of course) to replace the retiring Jeff Flake in the U.S. Senate.  According to a commentator on the NPR station (KJZZ) in Phoenix this morning, the sudden entry of Arpaio into the race has shaken things up.

Arpaio does have some obvious strengths in the race:  he has a name recognition of 97% among Arizona voters, and at eighty-five he is the approximate age of the average Arizona voter.   Old Joe is also a perennial favorite of the state's white nationalists and assorted racist groups.

Conservative State Senator Kelli Ward, who lost last year's senate race to incumbent John McCain, was leading the field of contenders and likely contenders for the upcoming primary, but Arpaio's entry cut directly into her base of support.  Now, according the Arizona pollster interviewed on KJZZ, Ward, who is backed by Steve Bannon, is suddenly at the rear of the procession, Arpaio is a strong second, and the more conventional Congresswoman Martha McSally, who is expected to enter the race tomorrow, is leading the pack.    Arpaio is posturing as the candidate of the White House, and McSally is widely believed to have the support of Mitch McConnell and senate GOP leadership.

It almost feels like Alabama all over again!

Whoever the Republicans eventually nominate, that person will still have to overcome a seismic obstacle in the person of presumed Democratic nominee, Congresswoman Kyrsten Sinema.

Some Arizona skeptics who doubt Arpaio's sincerity in pursuing the Senate seat, note that his announcement was accompanied by an appeal for donations.  Some are even hinting that his run for the Senate may be no more than a personal enrichment scheme.  And Old Joe, ever the showman, is undoubtedly planning to fleece the rubes like he always has, but even more important than the new income stream will be Arpaio's re-emergence into the daily news cycles.

Any press is good press on Planet Arpaio.

The Case for Workhorses

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I didn't hear Oprah's much-ballyhooed speech at this week's Golden Globe Awards, but I did read the transcript and waded through much of the press coverage of social media responses regarding her eloquent and uplifting remarks.  Her speech appears to have captured a moment in the American experience, and it is not unprecedented for such stirring appeals for human decency to alter the arc of national politics.  One has to only look back to Illinois State Senator Barack Obama's speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention to get a sense of the power that one well-crafted and flawlessly-delivered speech can ultimately accomplish.

Oprah gave a kick-butt speech that shined a light on the absolute awfulness of the Jim Crow era while, at the same time, served to inspire America's youth, and especially its female youth, on toward a more just tomorrow.  She was more than a candle in the darkness of the times, she was a floodlight sweeping across the purple mountain majesties and the fruited plains of a better America.

Oprah was inspiring at a point in time when most of us had given up on the notion of ever being inspired again.  She  was defiant, courageous, and very, very hopeful.  She showed a significant portion of America who they could hope and dare to become.

Oprah was so good, in fact, that Twitter, our collective national psyche, immediately began promoting the notion that not only could she be President, but that Oprah, in fact, should be President.   That brief speech at the Golden Globes was her Barack Obama moment.

All of which led to a bit of national discourse on whether "celebrity" should be a desirable route for election to our nation's highest office.  If we have entered an era where our leadership is determined by some malignant mutation of American Idol, or The Apprentice, or even Funniest Home Videos, Oprah would certainly be far better than most candidates which would likely be coughed up by the crap hole of reality television  - and head-over-heels better than He-whose-name-I-will-only-mention-on-Thursdays!   She is ferociously bright, well spoken, and comfortable navigating through every strata of American society.  We could do, and have done, far worse.

But do we really want to morph into a nation where crafting policy becomes conflated with banging out tweets?  A country where daily ratings supersede the long-term public interest?  A place where our politicians and policymakers kowtow to people whose professional training and background was as entertainers?

Oprah would likely be a great President, and  God knows she would be an immense improvement over what we are currently stuck with, but would electing another "celebrity" President really be in the best interest of the United States?  Yes, she would be exceptional, no doubt about it, but what about a few years down the road when another wannabe decides that being on Duck Dynasty is qualification enough to lead the free world.  It could happen - and it could happen here!

(And even Oprah is not without fault.  She was, after all, the one who foisted Dr. Phil on the world.  Imagine how many books he could sell as Secretary of State!)

I like Oprah, but I suspect the country would be wise to return the office of President to people who have had actual experience in legislating and crafting policy, people who have been tempered by the fires of political campaigns and having to face the people whose lives they have impacted through programs and laws that they helped to bring into effect.  Oprah would very likely make a superb President, but electing her would be a signal to young Americans that the best path to the Oval Office comes out of Hollywood and not through government service.

Enough with the show horses!

We have other options, good ones like Kamala Harris, Elizabeth Warren, Chris Murphy, and Kirsten Gillibrand - and others - all of whom know how government works and what it means to actually represent voters.  Our Democratic workhorses have a deep love and understanding of the Constitution - and they even know the words to The Star Spangled Banner!

Wouldn't that be a nice change of pace!

Monday's Poetry: "If I Can Dream"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

The "King" of Rock and Roll, Elvis Presley, would have turned eighty-three-years-old today.  The hip-swinging, teen idol from the mid-twentieth century was born in Tupelo, Mississippi in 1935, and died much too young in Memphis, Tennessee, in 1977. 

In looking for something appropriate to mark this special day, I first sought to find some songs that Elvis had written, only to learn that even though he "suggested" ideas for a couple of songs, he never actually wrote any.  Friends commented that Presley never had the patience to sit down and write a song.    Once Elvis sang a song, however, it often became such a singular masterpiece that it was forever associated with the singer.

"If I Can Dream" was one such song.  It was written by Walter Earl Brown in 1968 with Elvis in mind.  After Presley's manager, Colonel Tom Parker heard it, he told Brown that it was not the type of song that Elvis would sing.   The young Presley who was standing in the back of the room begged to differ and said that he wanted to try it.

The song was written and recorded in the summer of 1968, shortly after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King.  It contains snippets of statements by Dr. King.  After first hearing "If I Can Dream," Elvis reportedly declared,  "I'm never going to sing another song I don't believe in. I'm never going to make another picture I don't believe in."

Elvis put such power and feeling into the initial recording of the music that the three back-up singers who accompanied him on the number were said to have had tears in their eyes at the end of the session.   Even though the song is not "gospel," Elvis's performance of the material was so intense that it is often included in collections of his gospel songs.

"If I Can Dream" was first released to the public as the finale of Presley's '68 comeback Tour.

And now it's coming around again.

Happy birthday to the King!


If I Can Dream
by Walter Earl Brown

There must be lights burning brighter somewhere
Got to be birds flying higher in a sky more blue
If I can dream of a better land
Where all my brothers walk hand in hand
Tell me why, oh why, oh why can't my dream come true
Oh why

There must be peace and understanding sometime
Strong winds of promise that will blow away
All the doubt and fear
If I can dream of a warmer sun
Where hope keeps shining on everyone
Tell me why, oh why, oh why wont that sun appear

Were lost in a cloud
With too much rain
Were trapped in a world
That's troubled with pain
But as long as a man
Has the strength to dream
He can redeem his soul and fly

Deep in my heart there's a tremblin' question
Still I am sure that the answer gonna come somehow
Out there in the dark, there's a beckoning candle, yeah
And while I can think, while I can talk
While I can stand, while I can walk
While I can dream, please let my dream
Come true, ohhhhh, right now
Let it come true right now
Oh yeah

Stars of Classic Sixties Sitcom are Twinkling Out

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Comedic actor Jerry Van Dyke died this past Friday at his ranch near Hot Springs, Arkansas.  He was perhaps best known as Craig T. Nelson's sidekick and assistant on the television show "Coach" which ran from 1989 through 1997.  He also once famously turned down a role in "Gilligan's Island" so that he could instead star in "My Mother the Car," a short-lived (one season) show which TV Guide  famously rated as the second worst program in television history.   (Top honors for that achievement went to "The Jerry Springer Show.")

Jerry Van Dyke was also known for being the younger brother to comedian Dick Van Dyke - a native of my town, West Plains, Missouri.)  My first memory of the younger Van Dyke brother was when he guest-starred on the elder brother's hit television series, "The Dick Van Dyke Show" in the early 1960's.  In the four episodes in which he appeared, he played Stacey Petrie, the younger brother to Dick's character, Rob Petrie - and he played a mean banjo in those episodes!

Jerry Van Dyke was eighty-six when he passed away.  Older brother, Dick, now ninety-two, still survives in California.

Less than two weeks ago another cast member from "The Dick Van Dyke Show" died.  Rose Marie, a former child actress in the days before Shirley Temple, died at home in California at the age of ninety-four on December 28th.  She played comedy writer Sally Rogers on the show.

Mary Tyler Moore, the actress who played Dick's wife, Laura Petrie, also died in 2017 - in January - at the age of eighty.

Morey Amsterdam, who played Sally Rogers' writing partner, Buddy Sorrell, passed away more than twenty years ago, as did Richard Deacon who played the bald and hapless producer, Mel Cooley.

Only three of the main cast members of the classic television sitcom, "The Dick Van Dyke Show," now survive:  Dick Van Dyke,  Carl Reiner, the show's creator and one of its stars (currently ninety-six), and Larry Mathews who played the Petrie's son, Richie.   Little Richie is now sixty-two-years old.

"The Dick Van Dyke Show" premiered in 1961 and ran through the 1966 television season.  It was one of the most watched shows on television the entire time that I was in high school, and it was one of the few programs that my family would gather regularly to watch.  It was more than a funny show, it was cutting-edge funny, expanding well beyond where Lucy and Desi had dared to take television comedy.  Its clever premise of comedy writers sitting around an office swapping ideas and insults as they came up with skits for a weekly television comedy series provided endless opportunities and targets for humor.   Rose Marie once told an interviewer how she rushed to get to work because working on the show was so much fun - and that fun came across to those of us who were at home watching!

The program was awarded truckloads of Emmys.

The people who starred in "The Dick Van Dyke Show" were true stars - and now they are quietly twinkling out.    But as long as my generation hangs around, those stars represent one constellation that will not be forgotten!

Dean Pushes Older Democratic Leadership to "Get the Hell Out of the Way!"

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

A couple of mornings ago Howard Dean, the former Governor of Vermont,  was interviewed by Rachel Martin on National Public Radio (NPR).  Martin began the interview by quoting a line that Dean had used on Morning Joe a few days prior.  She said that Dean had stated that his generation (of Democratic leadership) needs to "Get the hell out of the way."  She then asked Dean, who is also the former Chair of the Democratic National Committee, to expand on that remark.

Dean took the ball and charged full-throttle into his passionate belief in the importance of  fully utilizing the vigor and vision of young Democrats in running the political party.  He declared, in part:

"The most important age group for us is people under thirty-five. They elected Barack Obama in 2008.  But now it's time to let them take over, and they're going to have to take over on their own terms. We have tons of talent in our party. We do not need to rely on my generation anymore.  And these kids think differently.  They're more respectful of each other.  They're willing to listen to each other's ideas and work things out.   They're entrepreneurial.  They're more conservative than we are economically, than the left-wing of the Democratic Party.  They're mostly libertarian.
 
"I just think this is the future of America.  They are diverse.   They value immigration.  They value different kinds of people.  They believe that gay rights is the civil rights issue of their time.  They care deeply about the environment.  We need a real change in this country and the only way to do it is for us to get out."

Amen, Brother Dean!

After Dean's impassioned plea for for fully utilizing the young elements of the party, Martin then took the conversation in a more specific direction and asked about replacing Nancy Pelosi (age 77) as the House Minority Leader.  Martin  sought to learn if Dean felt Pelosi should resign her leadership post. Instead of charging forward in his righteous campaign for youth leadership, the good doctor prevaricated and refused lob a shot at the still powerful Pelosi.  Instead he slathered praise on the former House Speaker while avoiding the opportunity to strengthen his argument about the need to oust the old timers and bring in "the kids."

Man up, Howard, because you are basically right.  Your generation (and mine) does need to get the hell out of the way and let the young people take up the reins of Democratic leadership.  There will still be plenty of organizing work and other more mundane chores to keep us old farts feeling useful.

If Nancy Pelosi's California constituents want to keep sending her to Congress, that's their prerogative, but maintaining her party leadership post is a national concern which impacts us all.

It's time to tune-up the jalopy and get it back on the road - and it's definitely time to let "the kids" drive!

Arkansas Muslims Provide Lesson in Christian Charity

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

In the fall of 2016 a young man by the name of Abraham Davis drove a couple of friends to the Masjid Al Salam Mosque in Fort Smith, Arkansas, where they proceeded to vandalize the religious structure by spray-painting hateful messages and swastikas on its exterior.   What the trio of Arkansas good-ol'-boys didn't realize at the time was that the mosque had a security camera which captured their images as they did their dastardly deeds.

Arrest warrants soon followed.

Mr. Davis was regretful of his actions and turned himself in to the police.  He also sent a letter of apology to the mosque.  His words were simple and sincere:

“Dear Masjid Al Salam Mosque,

"I know you guys probably don’t want to hear from me at all but I really want to get this to y’all. I’m so sorry about having a hand in vandalising your mosque. It was wrong and y’all did not deserve to have that done to you. I hurt y’all and I am haunted by it. And even after all this you still forgave me. You are much better people than I.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, and that is honestly really scary. But I just wouldn’t want to keep going on without trying to make amends. I wish I could undo the pain I helped to cause. I used to walk by your mosque a lot and ask myself why I would do that. I don’t even hate Muslims. Or anyone for that matter.

“All in all, I just want to say I’m sorry.”

The worshipers at the mosque were so impressed with the heartfelt apology that they lobbied for a reduced sentence for Abraham Davis.  Regardless of those efforts, he was sentenced to pay $3,200 in fines and restitution.  He managed to come up with $1,500, but remaining debt of $1,700 was beyond his ability.   Mr. Davis was facing a mandatory six years in prison if he could not come up with the balance.

At that point, the members of the  Masjid Al Salam Mosque stepped in and wrote a check for the remainder of the fine.  It was a thoughtful act of Christian charity committed by a group of Arkansas Muslims.

Allah be praised - and Jesus, too!

Trump Dump Thursday: Name-Calling, Back-Tracking, and Gluttony

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Just four days into the New Year and Donald Trump is busier than ever with his "presidential" pursuits of bragging and bullying his way through life in the Oval Office.  Trump began the week by engaging in a Twitter spat with fellow egomaniac, Kim Jong Un, of North Korea.  When the portly Mr. Un bragged that he now has a nuclear button on his desk, the perpetually adolescent (and also portly) Trump fired back that he, too, had a nuclear button on his desk, and his, of course, was bigger and more powerful than Kim Jong Un's.  Size apparently does matter when you are functioning at the emotional and mental level of a fourteen-year-old.

While any bout of name-calling between a pair of nuclear-armed tyrants is unsettling to the point of being downright frightening, Trump did step back onto safer ground a couple of days later when he changed targets.  Yesterday excerpts from a new book on the inner-workings of the Trump administration were released, and in one of those snippets former Trump Chief Advisor Steve Bannon was quoted as calling meetings between Donald Trump, Jr, and a Russian lawyer at Trump Tower "treasonous" and "unpatriotic."

And Daddy Trump was pissed.

Trump and his dark shadow, Sarah Huckabee Sanders. basically ignored the author, Michael Wolff, and his book, Fire and Fury:  Inside the Trump White House, and instead turned their wrath on Bannon.  Trump issued an official statement (which carries more gravitas than a mere angry tweet) declaring that when Bannon was "fired" from the White House last August he not only lost his job, but "lost his mind" as well.

(Move along folks, nothing to see here.  Just a pair of rattlesnakes fornicating.)

Then, as verification of his growing political impotence, Donald Trump back-tracked and disbanded his once ballyhooed Election Fraud Commission.  The "independent" group was appointed by Trump last year with the stated purpose of investigating voter fraud in America and perhaps explaining why someone as universally loved as Donald John Trump could have lost the popular vote last November by three million ballots.  Trump had long claimed, with absolutely no proof, that large numbers of immigrants had voted illegally - for Hillary Clinton.  Many felt that the ultimate aim of the new commission was to muddy the water from the last election and try to disenfranchise as many poor people and people of color as possible.

Trump said that he was pulling the plug on his commission because some states had refused to reply with the group's initial request for massive amounts of voter data.  He tried to make it sound as though "Democratic" states had led the assault on his attempts to gather data, but the efforts to block Trump administration overreach actually crossed party lines.   The Mississippi Secretary of State, a Republican, had stated emphatically that anyone who tried to access his state's voter information could "take a flying leap in the Gulf of Mexico."  Missouri's weak-kneed Secretary of State Jay Ashcroft, on the other hand, rushed with great urgency to give the federal commission everything it demanded - and the privacy of voters be damned!

The Election Fraud Commission was headed by a couple of Republican frauds, Kansas Secretary of State Kris Kobach and Vice President Mike Pence.  Good riddance to a commission on voter fraud that was itself a fraud.

Word also circulated through some news outlets this week that Donald Trump likes to eat fast food because he has a fear of being poisoned.   Keep pushing those Big Mac's and greasy fries down your gullet, Donald John - for your safety - and our own!

And, for the record, Pa Rock pre-ordered his own copy of Fire and Fury:  Inside the Trump White House earlier this afternoon.

The Great Kansas Flu Pandemic of 1918

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Camp Funston is a small, 2000-acre military facility that was constructed in central Kansas in 1917 to aid in the training of soldiers who were headed to Europe to fight in World War I.  The camp, an assemblage of old wooden barracks and military offices is still in use today as a training ground for military transition teams who are headed to Iraq and Afghanistan.  The camp itself is located completely within the confines of Ft. Riley, Kansas.

I had my first exposure to Camp Funston back in 1969 when I was sent there for a summer of fun in the sun as a part of the camp's massive training camp for college ROTC cadets who had just completed their junior year in the program.  There I found myself living in the original World War I barracks, eating in the old chow halls, and riding in two-and-a-half ton trucks out to the training areas before daylight each morning.  It was a hard summer, but there were a few watering holes at the camp where young soldier-wannabes could spend their free time drinking beer and commiserating about their shaved heads, and they did let us off the afternoon that Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.

Camp Funston was a scant half-a-century old the summer that I was there, and even then it seemed to be a military anachronism when compared to the modern brick buildings that adorned much of Ft. Riley.  What I didn't know about Camp Funston at the time, and indeed until very recently, was that aside from its service to the nation through two world wars and several lesser military operations, the camp was also at the epicenter of one of the most significant historical events of the twentieth century:  the great influenza pandemic of 1918 that killed nearly seven hundred thousand Americans and was responsible for half of the U.S. military deaths during the First World War.  Although accurate medical reporting did not exist throughout much of the world in the early twentieth century, estimates are that the 15-month outbreak eventually killed more that fifty  million people worldwide.

And it all began in Kansas.

Medical historian John M. Barry had an article in the November 2017 issue of Smithsonian Magazine in which he postulated that even though most of the first reported cases of the 1918 flu were reported at Camp Funston, it was far more likely that the pandemic began in rural Haskell County, Kansas, in the remote southwest corner of the state.  Barry, in his article "Journal of the Plague Year" noted that the local newspapers in Haskell County carried a sudden surge of "prenumonia" related stories in early 1918.  He also pointed out that the county was known for its hog production and the fact that it was on the migratory route for several species of birds.  Barry stated that bird influenza viruses, like human viruses, can infect hogs and "when a bird virus and a human virus infect the same pig cell, their different genes can be shuffled and exchanged like playing cards, resulting in a new, perhaps especially lethal, virus."

John M. Barry proposed that the killer pandemic was rooted in the hog farms of Haskell County, Kansas, and then some young men from the area who were infected reported to Camp Funston for their military training.  Most of the available doctors at that time were being snapped up by the military, and it was there, in a military setting with well-trained doctors, that people began realizing the true nature and scope of the problem.

(One photo in the Barry article showed a make-shift hospital bay at Camp Funstion that was about the size of a gymnasium.  The bay was filled to capacity with very sick young men lying on army cots.)

The influenza outbreak hit in three distinct waves.  The first was in March which had a somewhat limited impact on the order of previous outbreaks, but it was noteworthy in that many of the deaths of the first wave were those of young and relatively healthy men.  (In fact, throughout its brief existence, the pandemic seemed to show a preference for youth.)  The author compared the first wave with the smaller one that precedes a tsunami - and the second wave in August was that tsunami.  In many parts of the world the deaths came at such a furious pace that mass burials of victims were the only options.  Barry told of priests driving horse-drawn wagons through Philadelphia shouting for people to "Bring out your dead," a direct throwback to the Black Death (bubonic plague) that attacked Europe in the 14th century.

President Woodrow Wilson was a victim of the Great Flu of 1918, and although he recovered, many historians believe that the virus was so disorienting to Wilson that it impaired his ability to bargain decisively at the Paris Peace Conference and thereby helped to set the stage for World War II.  Raymond Chandler, Walt Disney, Lillian Gish, David Lloyd George, Georgia O'Keefe, John J. Pershing, Mary Pickford, Franklin Roosevelt, and Haile Selassie also caught the killer flu but managed to survive.   Others like the Dodge brothers, Phoebe Hearst, Gustav Klint, and Max Weber, were not so lucky.

And it all began in Kansas.

John M. Barry argued that one of the reasons the influenza pandemic got such a strong foothold worldwide is that World War I was occurring at the same time, and many of the participants in that war were censoring what their press could report - the United States included.  The politicians and generals did not want news of the pandemic impacting their citizens' willingness to go abroad and fight.  Spain, which was not a participant in the war, allowed its press to cover the outbreak in great detail, and that press coverage formed the basis of what most of the rest of the world came to know about the outbreak.  Because much of the information on the epidemic was coming out of Spain, the public eventually began to mistakenly refer to it as the "Spanish Flu."

The third wave of the pandemic was less consequential in suffering and deaths than the second, and when it subsided, the situation was largely under control.  The Great Flu of 1918 in fifteen months had killed more people than forty years of AIDS would do later in the century, and it brought about more death than a hundred years of the bubonic plague did in the Middle Ages.

Barry has this timely warning embedded in his article, and it is well worth highlighting and repeating:

"We are arguably as vulnerable - or more vulnerable - to another pandemic as we were in 1918.  Today top public health experts routinely rank influenza as potentially the most dangerous "emerging" health threat we face.  Earlier this year, upon leaving his post as head of the centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Tom Frieden was asked what scared him the most, what kept him up at night.  His reply:  'The biggest concern is always for an influenza pandemic . . . (It) really is the worst-case scenario.'"

The great influenza pandemic began one hundred years ago in rural Kansas and within fifteen months killed well over fifty million people worldwide.   Today with a seeming disavowal of science and abandonment of basic health care options for the poor of some countries, including our own - coupled with the ease of high-speed travel - a similar or worse outbreak would have the very real potential of ending civilization.

Gated communities, golden towers, and all of the guns in the world can't defeat a determined virus.  Protecting the public health requires the full participation of a population through a knowledgeable and committed government.  Anything less is an invitation to disaster.