Names Fit for a King, or Queen

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

If there is one nation that is more tabloid-centric that the United States, it would undoubtedly be Great Britain.  Some of that is likely due to the great stain on journalism that both countries share:  Rupert Murdoch.  Both nations also have a daft institution that plays a central role in its affairs and can always be counted on for a silly news story.  The American waste of journalistic space is, of course, the United States Congress, while the Brits have never-ending dramas and absurdities that constantly bubble up from their primary tourist attraction:  the monarchy.

One of the newspapers that I tend to check out daily on the Internet is the London Daily Telegraph.   Every day the Telegraph  can be counted on to have at least one story about the royals on its front page, and while the stories often involve the sexploits or scandalous behaviors of Prince Harry, recently the newspaper has been focused  on the upcoming birth of a future King or Queen of England.  The baby of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (Wills and Kate) is now officially overdue.

The Telegraph is sponsoring a sweepstakes regarding the infant whose likeness will one day grace coins, paper money, and postage stamps in numerous countries.  The sweepstakes involves predicting the name that the happy couple will give to their little bundle of joy.

Right now the early favorite names are James and Alexandra.  There are also a lot of people predicting that if the new arrival is a girl, she might be named after the late Princess Diana, Will's mother.  "Camilla" probably isn't on the short list.

(I personally am hoping for a Patsy or Edwina - or Mick - all good British names.)

Starting with this child, rules for ascending to the throne have changed.  Under the old British primogeniture system, males always had preference, even if they had older sisters.  Now girls will have an equal opportunity to be the monarch.  If the first child is a girl, she will become Queen when her father hits the highway to heaven, regardless of how many little brothers she has.  The Queens, of course, have presided over a good chunk of British history - Elizabeth I, Victoria, and Elizabeth II have over a century and a half of rule between them.

British bookies currently are at about 60-40 that the baby will be a girl.

Growing up royal will undoubtedly be a dull, scripted life, hidden away in private schools and moldy old castles.  The child is destined to have all of the creature comforts money can buy, but damned little fun - unless, of course, Uncle Harry gets to babysit!

Mr. Coyote Inspects His Property

by Pa Rock
Desert Rat

I live and work on a military base, a place that is damned difficult to access by humans and most other mammals.  Walls and various types of security blockades encircle the small air base.  Generally there are only a couple of gates used for ingress and egress, and those are well monitored by security personnel.

The desert birds, of course, come on the base and leave it at will.  Many mornings I feed my feathered friends.  The most prolific morning diners are grackles (very smart birds that resemble crows), but the free and easy breakfast also attracts desert doves, woodpeckers, and the occasional Gambles Quail.

This morning while driving to work I encountered a creature that I had never seen on base before.  A coyote casually walked across the road right in front of my car and then proceeded to walk along the roadway as if he was conducting an inspection.  I can only assume that he must have jumped the fence to get in. The coyote appeared to be in good health and not too bothered by the proximity of civilization.

A friend of mine who lives on the eastern side of the Valley near the community of Apache Junction  had a close encounter with a coyote who was more aggressive than the one I spotted this morning.  She was out walking her dogs one evening - one of whom she described as old and nearly blind - and one a small, yappy Chihuahua.    As they were walking along in the desert near her home, a coyote rushed by and grabbed up the Chihuahua in his jaws.  My friend said that he ran twenty yards or so and then dropped the frightened dog.  She had to take the Chihuahua to the vet to get it treated for the coyote's teeth marks.  I told her that it sounded as though the coyote didn't like Mexican food.

Another friend who lives in a very nice suburb of Phoenix - the one where Joe Arpaio lives - was walking down a sidewalk near her home one evening when a javelina raced by and rubbed against her leg.  I'm not expecting to see any javelinas on base because they aren't known for being fence-jumpers.

If Al Gore is right, and I believe he is,  this whole Valley will be nothing but a ghost town within the next couple of decades.  Our water situation is already extremely fragile, though the political goobers who run the state will never admit it.  They will keep watering their lawns and golf courses until the last drop flows from the tap.  When that happens, Mr. Coyote and all of his relatives, friends, and neighbors will be back to reclaim their desert.  Today's visit was just reconnaissance. 

Daughter of Darkness Descends on Wyoming

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Liz Cheney, the eldest daughter of Darth Vader and Lynn Cheney, made it official today.  She is running for the United States Senate from Wyoming.  Her path to that august position would seem to have only one hurdle.  In order to get elected to the Senate and enshrine herself among our betters, Darth Lite will fist have to defeat a sitting Republican senator in a primary. 

Cheney announced today that she would make the Senate run.  Current Republican senator, Mike Enzi, also announced today that he would be seeking re-election to his fourth term in the Senate.

The fight, it would appear, is on.

Lizzie, who has served time as a Fox News contributor and is known for carrying Daddy’s political water, has made no secret of her desire to be elected to the Senate.  She moved her family to Wyoming several months ago and has been speaking out at Republican events since her arrival in the state.  

Parts of Wyoming can be rough and a mite inhospitable, but Cheney, ever the plutocrat, settled her brood in the posh and trendy community of Jackson Hole.

The poor Republican Party can’t seem to catch a break.  No sooner had Michele Bachmann announced she was departing Congress than Liz Cheney pops up, like some Machiavellian jack-in-the-box, trying to head-butt her way in.  The GOP's re-branding effort seems doomed to failure - epic failure.  

How dare Mike Enzi get in her way – Lizzie is a Cheney, after all.  Obviously Senator Enzi doesn’t know his place – or hers!

Monday's Poetry: "Deportee"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Woody Guthrie, a seminal American folk singer, songwriter, and poet, was at the height of his talents in 1948 when he read about a plane crash that killed four United States citizens and twenty-eight Mexican nationals who were being deported back to Mexico.  Some of the Mexicans were "braceros" who were in the United States legally working on labor contracts, and some were in the country illegally.   (When braceros came into the country, the companies that recruited them were responsible for getting them back to Mexico when the crops were in, but when those companies did not provide that necessary service, the U.S. government stepped in and provided transportation as they "deported" the laborers.)

Many of these flights took place at night, prompting some of the passengers to refer to plane that transported them as "El Tecolote," or "The Owl."  The plane on that night in January of 1948 apparently caught fire in the air after developing an oil leak.

Guthrie, not one to abide racism, became angry when he read the news accounts of the plane crash because the American press listed the four U.S. citizens by name and anonymously lumped the Mexican citizens under the term "deportees."  He wrote the following poem, "Deportee" to express his outrage at that affront, considering it a racial slight.  He also used the piece to take a pot shot at the U.S. government for agricultural programs which paid farmers to destroy crops - when there were people starving across much of the world.  Later a school teacher, Martin Hoffman, put the poem to music, and since that time it has been recorded by numerous folksingers.

The Los Gatos Canyon Crash occurred in Fresno County, California, on the night of January 28th, 1948.  The four U.S. citizens aboard the plane as it left Oakland, California, on its final flight were the pilot, first officer, stewardess (who was the pilot's wife), and an immigration official.  There was apparently no attempt to identify the twenty-eight Mexicans (twenty-seven men and one woman), and they were buried in a mass grave at a Catholic Church in Fresno with just a simple bronze marker that stated they had been killed in a plane crash.

Last week while perusing the Los Angeles Times (a first rate newspaper that will go down the tubes quickly if the Koch brothers manage to get their slimy hands on it), I came across an article about the Los Gatos crash stating that all of the victims had finally been identified - thanks to some sharp detective work by a journalist with an assist from a church official where the deportees were buried.  The journalist has managed to collect enough money to fund a monument that will contain all thirty-two names, and it will be unveiled at the cemetery over Labor Day weekend.

This posting is respectfully dedicated to twenty-eight deceased individuals who finally have been identified.  May they and their families now be able to rest in peace.  The deportees were:

Miguel Negrete Alvarez, Tomas Avina de Gracis, Francisco Llamas Duran, Santiago Garcia Elizondo, Rosalio Padilla Estrada, Tomas Padilla Marquez, Bernabe Lopez Garcia, Salvador Sandoval Hernandez, Severo Medina Lara, Elias Trujillo Macias, Jose Rodriguez Macias, Luis Lopez Medina, Manuel Calderon Merino, Luis Cuevas Miranda, Martin Razo Navarro, Ignacio Perez Navarro, Roman Ochoa Ochoa, Ramon Paredes Gonzalez, Guadalupe Ramirez Lara, Apolonio Ramirez Placencia, Alberto Carlos Raygoze, Guadalupe Hernandez Rodriguez, Maria Santana Rodriguez, Juan Valenzuela Ruiz,Wenceslao Flores Ruiz, Jose Valdivia Sanchez, Jesus Meza Santos and Baldomera Marcas Torres.

Here is what Woody Guthrie had to say about them sixty-five years ago as he created names in order to give the sense that they were real people and more than just nameless "deportees."

Deportee  (a.k.a. Plane Crash at Los Gatos)

by Woody Guthrie

The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,

The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"

My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.

Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.

We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.

The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"

Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?

The Lynching Mentality Rolls On

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

A century-and-a-half after Lincoln freed the slaves - and fifty years since LBJ thought he had put an end to Jim Crow with the Civil Rights Act, we are offered up an example of just how unswervingly racist the American psyche seems to be.   Last night a goodly portion of the nation was shocked when an all-female and nearly all-white jury found George Zimmerman, a cop wannabe, not guilty of the murder or manslaughter of a seventeen-year-old unarmed black male - a shooting that Zimmerman readily admitted.

Zimmerman professed his innocence under Florida's "stand your ground" law, a piece of bad legislation which says its alright to kill someone if you feel threatened.  Apparently a teen carrying a bag of skittles and a can of Arizona Iced Tea - and wearing a hoodie, can be perceived as a threat - at least in some places.

Trayvon Martin, the deceased victim, was shot and killed by Zimmerman on February 26, 2012, three weeks to the day after his seventeenth birthday, and although he was barely seventeen, he has been tried in the conservative press almost since the day of his murder as some sort of adult gangster who would have certainly raped or murdered some poor white woman before going to bed that night.  Rush Limbaugh went on one of his stupidity-laced tirades because he felt the mainstream press was making Martin look too young and innocent.   A friend of mine who is an annoyingly phony "good Christian" sent me a chain email showing a forty-year-old black man who looked like he had just escaped from the Florida State Penitentiary - with a caption stating that it was a picture of the "real" Trayvon Martin.  Another person I know said basically that the killing had been justified because the youth had a record.

It turned out to be (as Arlo Guthrie famously said in his epic Alice's Restaurant) "another case of American blind justice."  George Zimmerman is a free man tonight, and he reportedly even has his gun back - a gun without a safety.

George Zimmerman, a neighborhood watch volunteer, called the police on the evening of February 26, 2012, when he saw Martin walking through his gated community - a community in which the youth was residing.  Zimmerman told the police that the youth, who was wearing a black hoodie, "looked suspicious" and was looking at houses and things - and walking nonchalantly in the rain.   The police instructed Zimmerman to remain in his car, a directive that he chose to ignore.

Several states now have "stand your ground" laws, which are little more than invitations to commit murder.  Of course, if the person standing his ground is a person of color, that defense might not work.

George Zimmerman may have not intended to kill Trayvon Martin, but he did.   He purchased a gun in a country that is awash in guns, volunteered to work with a neighborhood watch, and acted as a vigilante.  When a tall, skinny black kid wearing a hoodie ambled by inside of a gated community, Zimmerman reacted - and he reacted badly.

America was a dangerous place for young black males in the 1950's when 14-year-old Emmett Till was brutally murdered, and it remains a dangerous place for them today.  Somehow things have got to change.

Facebook, Begone!

by Pa Rock
Free Human Being

One good thing that I managed to accomplish on the trip back to the Ozarks was to get myself extricated from Facebook.  Tim told me that he had just managed to get himself free of the Internet's most popular cesspool, and I asked him to do the same for me.

I tried a couple of years ago to free myself from Facebook but finally gave up.  It seemed to be well beyond my technical abilities.  Tim managed the feat in just a few clicks.  No sooner was I out of there than I had an email in my inbox from Facebook asking me if I had made an error in leaving and telling me how I could get reconnected on  my old account whenever I wanted to.

Don't hold your breath, Zuckerberg!

It will be rough going for awhile.  Suddenly I will be deprived of knowing what people whom I haven't seen in forty years had for breakfast this morning.  But I will get over it just as I survived the termination of my relationship with Walmart twenty years ago.

There's more to life than the drama of Facebook.

For all of my old friends who want me to know about their cat's aches and pains, put it in an email.  Of course, you could send me a real letter, but I am currently trying to de-friend the Postal Service as well.

LinkedIn, you're next!

An Afternoon at Kansas City International

by Pa Rock
Weary Traveler

Tim dropped me off at Kansas City International Airport a couple of hours ago, and instead of arriving in Phoenix about now as I should have done, I am still in Kansas City - where everything is shamefully up-to-date.

I remain in Kansas City because I sold my soul, or at least my afternoon, for a $375 airline credit.  U.S. Air had overbooked the flight I was to have taken, and I took advantage of an offer to take a later flight for the credit voucher.  That bit of luck represents that only money that I made on this outing to the Ozarks.

Answer this for me, U.S. Air:  If I pay your $25 extortion fee to put my bag in the baggage hold, why must I then be the one to take the bag from the scales to the security checkpoint?  For $25 I think you should meet me at the terminal door, take the bag, and get it to the damned plane.  Why, for $25, you ought to carry me to the plane!

Kansas City is contemplating building a new airport.  I would hate to see that happen because this one is very simple to navigate.   The entry, check-in, and passenger gates are all very close to one another and it is simple to get through the process - or at least it would be if not for the TSA!

Trip Recap

by Pa Rock
Weary Traveler

This will be my last night in the Ozarks, (well, the Kansas City area, actually), and tomorrow I will fly back to the scorched earth and satanic heat of Phoenix.  I began my trip in the Kansas City area (Roeland Park, Kansas) where I spent a couple of days with my youngest son, Tim, and his beautiful wife and daughter.

From there I traveled to West Plains, Missouri, for a six-day visit with my oldest son, Nick, and his fourteen-year-old son, Boone.  Nick was off several days during that time, so we got in some good visiting and saw a couple of movies.  While staying in West Plains I found a little farm that is in very good condition and seemed to be fairly priced.  As of this moment, I have a verbal agreement to buy the place and hope to move in next April.

My next stop was in Rogers, Arkansas where I stayed with my sister, Gail, for a couple of nights.  Gail lives in Florida and Arkansas, and just happened to come back from Florida for a surprise visit with her kids while I was also in the Ozarks.  During my stay in Arkansas I got to visit with my niece, Tiffany, and her family, as well as with my nephew, Justin, and his family.  Nephew Reed was out of town for the holidays, so I missed him.

One of my sadder times on this trip occurred when I spent a day in Noel.  My little farm there has been vandalized and robbed repeatedly, and the big house where my children grew up has suffered greatly from neglect and renters who could never love the place the way I do.  (I did make a verbal agreement to sell the farm to one of the neighbors, a young man who grew up next door and has promised to bring the place back to its former glory.  The place is bringing about a third of what I had in it.)

I have been back in Roeland Park for two days now.  Tim and Erin are such wonderful parents and it has been a pleasure watching them interact with little Olive.

Tonight I will pack and get ready for the trip back to the desert..  I will arrive in Phoenix about three-thirty in the afternoon.  It is likely to be hot.

GOP "Re-brands" with Same Old Branding Iron

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

After Mitt Romney, a name that will live in ignominy, went down in political flames last year, and Republican recriminations rose in full fury, many leaders of the "Grand Old Party" announced that it was time to "rebrand" their organization.  All of the Mexican-hating, gay-bashing, misogynistic assholes - and all of their relatives - were getting older, dying off, and unable to muster a majority in what many believed should have been a winnable election.

The problem with the notion of a re-brand arose when the tea-party rebelled against progress, and the tail once again began to wag the dog.

A bi-partisan group of U.S. Senators was formed to work on the issue of immigration, and a lame bill finally made its way out of the Senate.  Few suspect that it will ever become law because John Boehner, Chief Wimp of the House,  has stated that he won't let it come to the floor for a vote until a majority of Republicans in the House are willing to support it.   That will happen long after Hell freezes over.

Gay marriage is on the march nationwide, and all reputable polls report that a majority of Americans favor gays having the right to marry the people they love - just like straight people are able to do.  But many conservative Republicans, some of whom have had multiple spouses and serial romantic liaisons beyond the boundaries of marriage, are fighting to save "traditional" marriages by banning gay marriages.

Old, white Republican men (and more than a few old, white Republican women) are hell-bent on denying women their Constitutional right to an abortion.  Lunatic GOP-controlled state legislatures are fighting to see who can produce the most draconian restrictions on abortions.  My congressman, Mr. Trent Franks of Arizona, is a one-issue public servant whose only interest in governance appears to be to control the bodies of women.

And, as is often the case with right-wing loonies, logic has no place in their agendas.  A female Texas state legislator who is strongly anti-abortion, made news this week when she voted to support a bill that would have denied poor women necessary prenatal care.  Her argument was that those fetuses didn't need medical care because they hadn't been born yet!  Yet other Texas politicos, like God's pretty boy in the State House, Rick Perry, believe that a fetus is a living human being from the time his father, uncle, grandfather, or rapist, gets the first tingle of a woody.

The Republican Party is an annoying assemblage of old white people who hate Hispanics and gays, and feel the need to control women.   They also oppose raises in minimum wage - or even the concept of a minimum wage, any type of taxation that they personally would have to pay, and all forms of government assistance - except, of course, for tariffs, farm subsidies, corporate tax breaks, and any other type of welfare that benefits them directly.

The people who comprise the Republican party are being overcome by rapid changes in society - and they are dying off.   The tea-baggers may not be ready to give up their hateful ways,  but change is coming.  At some point they are going to be laughed into a corner where they can sit regally and play checkers with remnants of the Klan.  When that happens they will have been re-branded into a footnote much like their political forbears, the Know-Nothing Party.

The Heat: Awfully Funny, Awfully Crude

by Pa Rock
Film Fan

I had the opportunity to see the new lady cop / buddy flick, The Heat, last week.   I saw it just one night after watching The Lone Ranger, a film the whole family could enjoy.   One thing that can be said with relative  certainty regarding The Heat, it is not intended for the whole family - or at least not any family harboring young children.

But that doesn't mean it isn't funny.

The Heat stars Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy, and has an interesting cameo by veteran actress and Saturday Night Live performer, Jane Curtin.   Bullock's character is a very bright, by-the-book, uptight FBI agent who has difficulty attracting men and has many insecurities brought on by growing up in the foster care system.  McCarthy plays a local Baltimore cop who has trouble operating within established police department procedures.  She is on the outs with her large family because she arrested her own brother on drug charges.  Bullock and McCarthy cross paths while each is working the same case from different ends of the law enforcement spectrum.

Bullock and McCarthy work well together on the screen.  This movie contains some excellent physical comedy - such as when McCarthy parks her car in a space that is too narrow and has to get out by crawling out of her car's window and then through the adjacent vehicle.  The verbal comedy is also first rate, with lots of snappy dialogue and very funny lines.  The language, however, is problematic, and would have been more appropriate in a film about life in a Marine Corps Boot Camp.   The colorful vocabulary could have been dialed down a notch or two and the movie would have remained just as funny.

I liked this move, a lot, and have no qualms about recommending it to open-minded adults - but leave the kids at home.

A Trip to Less-than-Bountiful

by Pa Rock
Absentee Landlord

My father always said that you shouldn't have property that you can't look after.  He was right, of course, and the trip that my sister and I took to Noel, Missouri, today underscored that philosophy.

What was, just a few short years ago, the grandest home in Noel, Missouri, the place where my children grew up, has become a dump, both inside and out, since my last visit there in the fall.  I was so disappointed that I just wanted to sit on the curb and cry.  Another place that I have there - a little farm - has been robbed and vandalized numerous times in the past several months, the copper plumbing stolen, and the wires in the pump house cut just apparently for meanness.  The hot water heater was even stolen from inside of the house.

It is all just so sad.

A depressed economy, vandals and criminals, and hard times in general have combined to place the entire community under a pall.  I am utterly disheartened.  I don't know yet where I will retire to, but I definitely know where I won't.

Jack and Bobbie Pew, Good Neighbors

by Pa Rock
Family Chronicler

Watching my son, Nick, and his son, Boone, shoot off fireworks on the night of July 4th reminded me of some of the best neighbors that my family every had.  When my children were younger and still at home we lived next door to a wonderful older couple, Jack and Bobbie Pew of Noel, Missouri,  whose children were all grown, and who had grandchildren the age of my kids.  The Pew's were retired but still had a good income off of their family business, the Jack Pew Oil Company, a concern that distributed gasoline and petroleum products to several quick stops and gas stations in the southwestern corner of the state.  I believe they also owned a couple of quick stops as well.

Jack and Bobbie were wealthy by local standards, and they were not penny-pinchers, especially where kids were concerned.  Every year on the Fourth of July they would set off fireworks in their back yard for their grandkids, and our children were always invited over to watch and join in the fun.  They had the big, expensive fireworks - and lots of them!

Jack and Bobbie's other favorite holiday was Halloween.  Everybody trick-or-treated at their house because they gave away Hershey Bars - not the little economy-sized ones, but real, full-sized, delicious Hershey Bars.  Because we were next door, and because I was the elementary school principal in town, all of the kiddos would traipse over to our house after visiting the Pew's.  One year I counted over four hundred!  The little beggars got regular Halloween candy at the Macy's!

(I often wondered how many of those youngsters hit the Pew house multiple times on Halloween!)

The Pew's were also good friends.  Jack loved to visit out in the yard as he worked with his flowers - he raised numerous varieties of irises, and Bobbie would often come by with samples of things that she had baked.

Jack and Bobbie Pew have been deceased for many years now, but it still warms my heart to think of how fortunate my family was to live next door to those exceptionally good neighbors.

Hi Ho Silver, Away!

by Pa Rock
Film Fan

Watching the new Johnny Depp film, The Lone Ranger, yesterday with my son and grandson was a pure pleasure.  The action adventure / comedy is exciting, entertaining, well written, superbly acted, and suitable for the entire family.  It's a hoot from beginning to end!

I describe it as a "Johnny Depp film" because any movie that features Mr. Depp to any degree at all generally gets overpowered by the actor's unique and off-beat personality, impish charm, and gigantic talent.   Fortunately, this movie has at least a couple of other actors who are up to the task of challenging Johnny Depp's ownership of the screen.

Depp plays Tonto, the Lone Ranger's Indian "sidekick."  Depp's Tonto, however, is a major focus of the film and is portrayed as a leading character.  An older Tonto narrates the film, and it is told from his perspective.  Jay Silverheels would have been proud!

Armie Hammer, an American socialite who is relatively new to the movie business, gives an amazing performance at attorney John Reid, a.k.a. The Lone Ranger.  Hammer is a master of his craft.  He exhibits flawless acting skills in this movie, and his facial expressions often speak more clearly than his verbal dialogue.

The other standout is veteran actress Helena Bonham Carter who plays "Red," a prostitute with a lethal wooden leg.  Ms. Carter is as well known for taking on quirky roles as is Mr. Depp.  Indeed, Helena Bonham Carter and Johnny Depp have probably seen more of each other on movie sets than many couples do during their entire marriages.  Four of their previous joint efforts are Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Sweeney Toddy, Alice in Wonderland, and Dark Shadows.  It almost defies belief that Helena Bonham Carter did not turn up in some Caribbean bawdy house frequented by Captain Jack Sparrow!

The Lone Ranger is a great movie - one that I am likely to see again!

Arizona Grave Digger in the Ozarks

by Pa Rock
Tourist

Nick, Boone, and I had lunch in Mammoth Springs, Arkansas, today at the River Bend Restaurant, a very good home-cooking place that overlooks an idyllic portion of the Spring River.  One of today's attractions, in addition to the wonderful food, was a show that two playful groundhogs put on down next to the riverbank.  The waitress told us that staff and customers throw french fries to them off of the restaurant's deck.  And while that might sound a bit cruel, it is better than feeding french fries to children!

As we were leaving the restaurant we observed an unusual vehicle in the parking lot.  It was a big, black Hearse with a plastic skeleton hanging in the rear window.  The vehicle had an Arizona license plate that read:  GRAVDGR.  Not surprisingly, several people were taking pictures of the vehicle.

We went to the movies late in the afternoon and watched Johnny Depp and Armie Hammer in "The Lone Ranger."  More on that in a later post, but suffice it to say for now that it is a great movie!

Sebastian is Six!

by Pa Rock
Proud Grandpa

My middle grandson, Sebastian Phoenix Files, turned six today.  I talked to him on the phone and wished him a happy birthday.  He seemed to be enjoying his special day.

Sebastian lives in Salem, Oregon, now, but he was born in Phoenix, Arizona - hence the unique middle name.  My daughter told me once that my oldest grandson, Boone, suggested using "Phoenix" for his middle name.  Boone was eight-years-old when Sebastian was born.

Sebastian and his younger siblings, Judah and Willow, recently acquired a little dog from a shelter.  The dog is a female named "Pixie."  I am happy for them because I think that a pet or two can be a very positive experience for a family - and there is no better way to get a dog than through a shelter.  Those dogs will love you forever.

Just as I will love my grandchildren forever!

Happy 6th birthday, Sebastian.  I hope your day has been glorious!

Willie Does Hardy

by Pa Rock
Holiday Reveler

Nick and Boone and I drove to the small touristy town of Hardy, Arkansas today.  Hardy is on a beautiful stretch of river and has an abundance of flea markets and antique stores.  One of my finds today was a rough old paperback copy of John Knowles classic novel, A Separate Peace, which I bought for a dollar and promptly gave to Boone - informing him that it was required reading.

The big news in Hardy is that Willie from Duck Dynasty is coming to town tomorrow.  While I realize that hillbilly reality shows are all the rage in many parts of the country, they appear to be especially popular in the Ozarks.  It's very disheartening to note that once reputable and distinguished networks like The History Channel, Discovery, and A&E now fill their broadcast schedules with that mindless twaddle.

I have never seen Duck Dynasty, but my boss back in Arizona gushes about what a great show it is.  I did some checking up on Willie Robertson on the Internet today.  He and his parents, and maybe a sibling, own Duck Commander, a company that makes duck calls.   Willie is worth  a cool twenty million dollars.  The show plays to an average of eight million viewers per episode, and sometimes reaches as many as ten million.

Last night we watched a reality show about a group of bearded hillbillies in rural Ohio running around at night with guns and night-vision goggles as they searched for the "legendary" Grassman, some sort of giant who might or might not be a Sasquatch.

These shows are scripted, though my writer son assures me that they are not penned by professional writers - and at times the phoniness just comes blaring through.  Somehow, I am reminded of Barnum.

I looked at two properties today - a house on two acres located next door to Nick, and a ten-acre farm that sits four miles nearer to town than Nick's place.  The first place would require a lot of work, but the farm has a nice home that is move-in ready.  It has several outbuildings, all with electricity and even one with water.  It comes with all major appliances and eighteen chickens - and it is priced right.

Somebody needs to tell me that I don't need a ten-acre farm - and I need to hear it quickly!

Happy Independence Day!

Lunch with a Rich Relative

by Pa Rock
Gadfly

Boone and I drove into West Plains today for a late breakfast at Brenda's Cafe - the same small diner where we had a wonderful breakfast yesterday.  Today we got there a little too late for breakfast and had to settle for an early lunch.  Brenda's is actually a great place to eat with a small staff of cheerful waitresses who could sweet talk a tip out of Scrooge McDuck.  The food there is so good, in fact, that we encountered two carloads of state highway patrolmen who were lingering over their meals.

As we reluctantly got up to leave after finishing off our sandwiches (I had a Reuben and Boone enjoyed a Philly Cheese Steak), I suddenly realized that I had left my wallet at home - six miles away.  As I mentally prepared to wash dishes, my rich grandson pulled a wad of money out of his pocket which was sufficient to pay the bill and leave a respectable tip.  It's awesome to have relatives with money!

The West Plains campus of Missouri State University (formerly Southwest Missouri State) is celebrating it's 50th anniversary this year.  What began as a very small campus when one grand old home was donated to SMS for the purpose of establishing a West Plains campus, has now blossomed into several buildings and enough classes that locals can get a four-year degree without ever going to the Springfield campus.   The community is justifiably proud and has banners on the light poles downtown in observation of the anniversary.

I took several classes at SMSU West Plains back in the late seventies and early eighties.  All were enjoyable experiences with really great instructors.

The weather remains as delightful as the waitresses at Brenda's.

West Table and Howl County

by Pa Rock
Determined Typist

I rolled into beautiful West Plains, Missouri, yesterday afternoon and am now safely ensconced at my son's home just outside of town.  One near calamity was barely avoided yesterday afternoon when I realized that I had left my insulin in Kansas City.  Fortunately, I had switched my pharmacy from Target to Walgreens a couple of months ago and was able to get a new bottle.  (There is no Target in West Plains - and I probably would have had to drive a hundred miles to Springfield in order to replace the insulin through one of their stores.   Fortunately, however, West Plains has a very nice Walgreens with a very nice staff.)

Today is beautiful - cool breezes and a high possibly in the low eighties.  Nick is working, and his son, Boone, and I, made a couple of trips into town this morning.  This afternoon I have sat on Nick's wonderful shady deck working on the writing project that has eaten up my spare time ever since I got out of the hospital in March - and here's a bulletin:  I finally finished it today!

Writing is so much easier in places that are green and breezy!

Daniel Woodrell, the author of Winter's Bone and Ride with the Devil - among other great books - lives and works in West Plains.  He uses the town as a backdrop in his writing and refers to it as "West Table."  Howell County has been Woodrellized to "Howl County" - which I greatly prefer to the original!  Marideth Sisco, the folksinger who did the beautiful vocals (The Missouri Waltz among others) in Winter's Bone also lives in West Plains.

Other notables from West Plains include comedian and actor Dick Van Dyke (born to a single mom who had been shipped here to stay with relatives while Baby Dick was born), country singer Jan Howard, and country great Porter Wagoner.  Baseball player Preacher Rowe also lived in West Plains during his youth where he ran a small grocery.  (Jan Howard, Preacher Rowe, and Porter Wagoner all have major streets named after them in the town.)

When I lived in northern Howl County - Mountain View - thirty years ago, West Plains was where we came to buy groceries, shop at a Walmart (I feel so dirty admitting that!), and eat at a McDonalds.  Now the town has all of the popular chain joints - including a Walgreens!

Monday's Poetry: "America"

by Pa Rock

Poetry Appreciator


Claude McKay was an early 20th century poet who participated in the American experience known as the Harlem Renaissance.  As a poet, and as an author of novels and short stories, he was able to express quite poignantly some of the struggles and humiliations that he endured growing up and surviving as a black man in Jim Crow era America.


McKay's poem, America, is presented here as a reminder that we all view our country from a variety of personal perspectives, some starkly different than others.  While McKay endured hardship and institutionalized racism, his view of America is ultimately positive, or at least hopeful.


As our Independence Day approaches, all of us need to realize that while we live in a great land, there is still much to be done to provide hope and real opportunity to all who call this nation home.


America

by Claude McKay

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,

And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,

Stealing my breath of life, I will confess

I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.

Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,

Giving me strength erect against her hate,

Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.

Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state,

I stand within her walls with not a shred

Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.

Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,

And see her might and granite wonders there,

Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand,

Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.