The Rush Bust

by Pa Rock
Missourian


The "show-me" state is on the verge of showing a side of itself to the world that would be better left out of public view.

Missouri apparently has dedicated a portion of its beautiful capitol building to something called a "Hall of Famous Misssourians," and the way that a person gets inducted into that attraction is to be meet with the approval of the Speaker of the Missouri House, currently Steven Tilley of Perryville.  Speaker Tilley, in fact, has "unilateral" control over who is chosen for the honor.  The Hall displays bronze busts of famous Missourians.  Those previously honored include Lewis and Clark's Indian guide, Sacajawea, television host Bob Barker, philanthropist Dale Carnegie, John Ashcroft, and President Harry Truman.

Speaker Tilley now proposes to add two new members to the Hall of Famous Missourians.  One, slave Dred Scott who unsuccessfully sued for his freedom in the U.S. Supreme Court, is certainly worthy of recognition.  The other is perhaps a bit too recognizable already.

Speaker Tilley has selected Cape Girardeau native Rush Limbaugh for the esteemed honor of having his bronze bust placed in the capitol.  True, Tilley made that selection before the current "slut" controversy arose, but he is apparently not going to be influenced by all of those angry feminazis who were not amused at Rush's boorish and adolescent behavior.  The selection stands - despite the outrage from Democratic lawmakers who argue that "Mr. Limbaugh's greatest distinction during his controversial career has been his penchant for divisiveness."

One is led to wonder at least a couple of things:  Are there no women in Mr. Tilley's family?  And, how can Missouri afford that much bronze?

Inquiring minds want to know.

Sponsors Desert Sinking Ship, but Rat Hangs Tough!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


On the rare occasions over the past two days when I have had the time to access the Internet, there have been listings of more and more companies that are stopping their sponsorship of Rush Limbaugh's radio program.  Apparently the furor over Limbaugh's highly inflammatory and just plain mean remarks about Sandra Fluke shocked and sickened enough people to get them engaged with his sponsors - and not in a good way.

One of the last counts that I saw today said that thirty-five companies have pulled their sponsorship of Limbaugh's radio diatribes.  AOL is out, and so is Deere and Company - two giants in their respective fields.  Sears and Allstate have taken their advertising money away from Rush, and so has Geico (the gecko is said to be furious!).  AccuQuote is gone.  So are ServiceMagic, Hadeed Carpet, and Thompson Creek Windows.  Carbonite left a couple of days ago, and its CEO issued a stinging indictment of Limbaugh on his way out the door.  In fact, most of the companies that are leaving seem to be posting their exit statements on the web - they want people to know that they are finally through with the big buffoon.

And there is stuff happening to Rush on other fronts as well.  A few of radio stations have dropped his program, and there is a petition at whitehouse.gov urging Defense Secretary Leon Panetta to quit subsidizing Rush with out tax money by broadcasting his program on the Armed Forces Radio Network.  (Be still my heart!)  In fact, the Internet is fairly strewn with petitions dealing with Rush Limbaugh - and I have signed all that I could find!

So, along with the Arab Spring and the Occupy Movement, this is one more example of the power of social media.   The last time the world went through a shift of this magnitude, the dinosaurs died!

Power to the people...right on!

Mitt's Miserable Math

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


It's a lackluster Tuesday evening in Okinawa, but the other Tuesday, the one described by a salivating press corps as the "super" Tuesday is just beginning to dawn in the United States.  Ten states will be choosing some of their delegates to the Republican national convention on this date - three by the hoary old caucus system where the party bosses get to flex their political muscle more effectively, and seven by primaries that allow people the opportunity to cast their ballots in secret.

This is the day when Mitt Romney, a.k.a. "Mister Inevitability," hopes to pull away from the pack by winning big and finally convincing people that he actually deserves the nomination - though why he deserves it still isn't readily clear.  Is it because of his experience as a CEO and his claims to be the business leader that the country needs?  Or is it because he is a son of privilege and, as such, has some inherent right to rule?  Or is it his amazing record as Governor of Massachusetts where he authored Romneycare?  Or his storybook family?  Or God's last attempt to save America from the degeneracy of people who fornicate while using birth control?  Whatever the reason, Mitt feels entitled to be the leader of the free world and he seems somewhat aggravated that he has had to work so hard for something that should have landed in his lap.

In one sense, Mitt is doing respectably well in the race to the White House.  So far there have been thirteen contests (caucuses, primaries, and one straw poll), and he has won eight of those.  Eight out of thirteen sounds pretty damned good.  But here's the rub, in all eight of the contests that he has won, the Mittster has yet to score a clear majority of the votes.  The best that he did was in the Nevada caucuses where he chalked up 50% of the votes in a state with a very large Mormon population.- but half is a frog's hair short of an actual majority.  He also won a primary in Arizona with 47.3% of the votes.

Other Romney "victories" include the caucuses in Washington state which he won with 37% of the votes, a straw poll in Wyoming (with only 2,000 voters) that he won 39% of the votes, a primary in Michigan where he had the home state advantage and could still only muster 41% of the votes, and a disputed caucus win in Maine where to state GOP intentionally failed to tabulate all of the votes - and where he received 39.2% of the votes.  (Ron Paul felt that he was robbed of votes and victory by the machinations of the Maine Republican Party.)  Mitt Romney also won primaries in New Hampshire with 39% of the votes, and in Florida with 46.4% of the vote.

Florida, Arizona, and Nevada were clearly Romney's best showings, yet all fell short of the magical goal of "majority" in all three.   It's hard to see inevitability in numbers like that.

What is the big voter turn-off when it comes to Mitt Romney?  Is it the Mormon thing?  Is it his wife's Cadillacs (plural), or his nice homes (plural)?  Or how about his admission that he likes to fire people?  Is it his flip-flopping on every substantive issue in the campaign?  Is it his shameless pandering to the religious fundamentalists?  Is it the way he treats his dog?  Is it the Swiss bank accounts?  Is it his complete lack-of-touch with the problems that real Americans face on a daily basis?  Is it his inability to pull one foot completely out of his mouth before inserting the other?

Is it all of the above or just most of the above?

Super Tuesday is the day that Mitt hopes to close the deal.  There will be ten contests - three caucuses and seven primaries.   Romney should do very well in the caucus state of Idaho, a very red and very Mormon enclave of people who don't have a particularly strong trust of government.  Idaho, in fact, could be his first clear majority victory, but it is also a place ripe for the pickings of Santorum, Gingrich, and even Paul.  Alaska and North Dakota are also caucus states that will meet on Super Tuesday to select delegates.

The primaries that will occur are in the states of Georgia (where homeboy Gingrich is favored to win), Massachusetts (which experienced Romney's "miracles" firsthand and perhaps has the clearest understanding of what his values were several years ago), Ohio (a biggie that Santorum hopes to win and where it will be almost mathematically impossible for anyone to receive a majority), Oklahoma (no comment other than Senator Doctor Coburn supports Romney), Tennessee, Vermont, and Virginia (where only Romney and Ron Paul managed to make it onto the ballot).  If Romney does not score a clear majority in Virginia, he needs to pack the Cadillacs and head to one of his homes!

It will be an interesting day and perhaps a long evening.  If Romney were to take the whole enchilada, which he won't, I still would not expect Santorum (he is on a crusade, literally) or Gingrich (who is just too mean) to drop out.  And Ron Paul is eternal.  The Republican race will head on into the summer, whether the party bosses like it or not.  They may get together in a wine-and-brie-filled room somewhere and figure out a way to guarantee Mitt the nomination before the convention begins, but by now it is apparent that he does not have the math or the political skills to do it on his own.

The Republican party has gotten itself into a fine mess - from their inability to control the tea-baggers, the Koch brothers, and even Rush Limbaugh, to their inability to find a sane grown-up to run for President.  It looks like this is shaping up to be a really sweet November for Barack Obama.  Perhaps that is as God intended.

Monday's Poetry: "The Bear Hunt"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator


A few weeks ago while I was researching some trivia on Abraham Lincoln, I came across information related to his life-long interest in poetry.  It seems that Honest Abe had a particular fondness for the works of Robert Burns and Lord Byron.

I found several references to Lincoln's "favorite" poem, an epic on the subject of death being the great leveler.  That poem, Mortality by Scottish poet William Knox, was clipped from a newspaper and given to Lincoln when he was a young man.  The copy he received, in fact, did not even bear the poet's name.   Lincoln was so taken with the work that he gradually memorized all fifty-six laborious lines of the piece - and would often recite it to family and friends.  Shortly before his death, an acquaintance heard one of Lincoln's recitations of Mortality and recognized it as a piece by William Knox.  The friend then sent the President a copy of a volume of poetry by Mr. Knox that contained the poem Mortality.

I had intended to present Mortality in this space (and it is readily available at other locations along the cyber highway), but after reading the poem, I discovered that I was not nearly as taken with it as Lincoln had been.  I also considered some of the poems written about Lincoln, such as Walt Whitman's O Captain!  My Captain!,  a work that has been reviewed and recited ad nauseam, as well as several others published shortly after his murder.  But those still did not feel like what I was after.  I wanted something that would reveal our 16th President as a real person, not as some legend of mythic proportions.

Finally I came across a couple poems written  by Abraham Lincoln.  The first, My Childhood Home I See Again was a bit sappy until it took a sudden detour into strangeness.  The second, however, The Bear Hunt, was fun and painted a picture of the poet as a bit of thrill-seeker and a humorist.   It follows.


The Bear Hunt
by Abraham Lincoln


A wild-bear chace, didst never see?
Then hast thou lived in vain.
Thy richest bump of glorious glee,
Lies desert in thy brain.

When first my father settled here,
'Twas then the frontier line:
The panther's scream, filled night with fear
And bears preyed on the swine.

But wo for Bruin's short lived fun,
When rose the squealing cry;
Now man and horse, with dog and gun,
For vengeance, at him fly.

A sound of danger strikes his ear;
He gives the breeze a snuff;
Away he bounds, with little fear,
And seeks the tangled rough.

On press his foes, and reach the ground,
Where's left his half munched meal;
The dogs, in circles, scent around,
And find his fresh made trail.

With instant cry, away they dash,
And men as fast pursue;
O'er logs they leap, through water splash,
And shout the brisk halloo.

Now to elude the eager pack,
Bear shuns the open ground;
Through matted vines, he shapes his track
And runs it, round and round.

The tall fleet cur, with deep-mouthed voice,
Now speeds him, as the wind;
While half-grown pup, and short-legged fice,
Are yelping far behind.

And fresh recruits are dropping in
To join the merry corps:
With yelp and yell,--a mingled din--
The woods are in a roar.

And round, and round the chace now goes,
The world's alive with fun;
Nick Carter's horse, his rider throws,
And more, Hill drops his gun.

Now sorely pressed, bear glances back,
And lolls his tired tongue;
When as, to force him from his track,
An ambush on him sprung.

Across the glade he sweeps for flight,
And fully is in view.
The dogs, new-fired, by the sight,
Their cry, and speed, renew.

The foremost ones, now reach his rear,
He turns, they dash away;
And circling now, the wrathful bear,
They have him full at bay.

At top of speed, the horse-men come,
All screaming in a row,
"Whoop! Take him Tiger. Seize him Drum."
Bang,--bang--the rifles go.

And furious now, the dogs he tears,
And crushes in his ire,
Wheels right and left, and upward rears,
With eyes of burning fire.

But leaden death is at his heart,
Vain all the strength he plies.
And, spouting blood from every part,
He reels, and sinks, and dies.

And now a dinsome clamor rose,
'Bout who should have his skin;
Who first draws blood, each hunter knows,
This prize must always win.

But who did this, and how to trace
What's true from what's a lie,
Like lawyers, in a murder case
They stoutly argufy.

Aforesaid fice, of blustering mood,
Behind, and quite forgot,
Just now emerging from the wood,
Arrives upon the spot.

With grinning teeth, and up-turned hair--
Brim full of spunk and wrath,
He growls, and seizes on dead bear,
And shakes for life and death.

And swells as if his skin would tear,
And growls and shakes again;
And swears, as plain as dog can swear,
That he has won the skin.

Conceited whelp! we laugh at thee--
Nor mind, that now a few
Of pompous, two-legged dogs there be,
Conceited quite as you.

Rush Limbaugh's Continuing War on Women

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


Rush Limbaugh, a radio bully who keeps the yokels stirred up with his outrageous rhetoric and name-calling, has never been an especially big fan of women - particularly progressive and articulate women, a group he often refers to as "feminazis."  This past week he went off against a female law student at Georgetown University, and his personal vitriol toward the young lady proved to be so over-the-top and embarrassing to rational human beings - and his sponsors - that he was finally forced to issue an apology - of sorts.

The woman at the center of Limbaugh's volcanic eruption is Sandra Fluke.  Democratic members of the House tried to schedule Ms. Fluke, an expert in both reproductive rights and domestic violence, as a witness in Rep. Darrell Issa's hearing on the infringement of religious liberty by contraceptive mandates.   But the committee holding the hearing, a group of old white men, chose exclude Ms. Fluke from testifying saying that she had not been scheduled in a timely manner.  In fact, all of the witnesses that the committee wound up hearing were men - a fact not lost on the female members of the committee who walked out and refused to be a part of Issa's vagina dialogues.

Members of the Democratic minority in the House of Representatives decided at that point to hold their own hearing on the issue of whether insurance companies should be mandated to offer coverage for contraceptives.  Former Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi was in attendance at that hearing, and one of the witnesses called to testify was Sandra Fluke.  A significant point that Ms. Fluke made during her testimony was that contraceptives are often prescribed for other medical issues besides protecting against unwanted pregnancies.  She recounted the experiences of a friend of hers who had to take  birth control for a medical reason unrelated to the purpose of contraception

So Sandra Fluke got to say her piece, albeit in a more limited setting than had originally been intended.  That should have been the end of Ms. Fluke's involvement in the matter.

But the Gasbag from Cape Girardeau wasn't going to let her get off so easy.  On February 29th, 2012, just six days after her testimony before the Democratic Members of the House, Limbaugh ravaged Ms. Fluke in one of his on-air tirades:

"What does it say about the college coed Susan (sic) Fluke who goes before a congressional committee and essentially says that she must be paid to have sex?  What does that make her?  It makes her a slut, right?  It makes her a prostitute.  She wants to be paid to have sex."

The very next day, March 1st, while much of literate America was still reeling from his venomous attack on Ms. Fluke, Limbaugh continued to spew.  After declaring that Ms. Fluke "is having so much sex it's amazing she can walk," he went on to make this outrageous offer:

"So, Ms. Fluke and the rest of you  feminazis, here's the deal.  If we are going to pay for your contraceptives, and thus pay for you to have sex, we want something  for it, and I'll tell you what it is.  We want you to post the video's online so we can all watch."

The following day, March 2nd, he lobed one more on-air bomb at the coed.   He claimed that Ms. Fluke has boyfriends "lined up around the block."

So much ignorance, so little time.

America's social media caught fire on this issue after Limbaugh's first assault on the young woman, and he apparently decided the best way to fight back was to keep sloshing gasoline on the flames.  That's the Rush modus operandi - get louder and louder and never back down, and soon people will bend to your will.  That seems to work with prominent Republicans who are in absolute terror of Limbaugh and live in fear that he will  one day turn on them - but it doesn't work with that portion of America who know how to read, write, cipher, and employ reason - most of whom have daughters, sisters, and/or mothers who use birth control.

Many reasoned that if Limbaugh was calling one woman a slut for using birth control, then he was calling all women who use birth control sluts also.   (And it was never even established that Ms. Fluke uses birth control herself - just that she has expert knowledge on the matter.)

So the online petitions went up demanding that Republicans repudiate Rush - and that his sponsors drop him. The responses from most prominent Republicans fell far short of outrage.  House Speaker John Boehner had his spokesperson state, "The Speaker obviously believes the use of those words was inappropriate" and he then went on to be more critical of groups who were fundraising off of Limbaugh's tirades.  Little Ricky Santorum noted about Rush, "He's being absurd, but that's you know, an entertainer can be absurd."  And Mitt Romney managed to put forth the weakest criticism of all by stating, several days after the outrages, "It's not the language I would have used."

In fact, the only presidential contender to show any cajones in this matter at all was Barack Obama.  The President (a father of two young daughters) called the Limbaugh remarks "reprehensible."  He also called Sandra Fluke personally to offer his support and to tell her that he was sure her parents are very proud of her.

It's nice to know that there is one adult running for President.

And then the sponsors checked in.  By March 3rd Sleep Train, Select Comfort, Quicken Loans, GoToMyPC, Citrix, Legal Zoom, and the Cleveland Cavaliers had all pulled their advertisements from Limbaugh's radio program.  It was when the money started talking that Rush Limbaugh finally caved and issued a weak apology to Ms. Fluke.

But Limbaugh's grumbling apology was too little too late for some advertisers.  Today David Friend, who runs an online backup company called Carbonite, said that his company is quitting Limbaugh and won't be coming back.  Mr. Friend has this to say:

"No one with daughters the age of Sandra Fluke, and I have two, could possibly abide the insult and abuse heaped upon this courageous and well-intentioned young lady.  Mr. Limbaugh, with his highly personal attacks on Miss Fluke, overstepped any reasonable bounds of decency.  Even though Mr. Limbaugh has now issued an apology, we have nonetheless decided to withdraw our advertising from his show.  We hope that our action, along with the other advertisers who have already withdrawn their ads, will ultimately contribute to a more civilized public discourse."

Amen, Mr. Friend.  Amen.

Rush Limbaugh may soon be relegated to relying on Glenn Beck's famous gold hucksters for his advertising revenue.

One final note:  The Harris organization released the results of a national poll today which showed Rush Limbaugh to be the least liked political pundit in America.   For Republicans, the top three least liked were:  Nancy Grace (25%), Rush Limbaugh (24%), and Chris Matthews (18%).  For Democrats, the top three  least liked political pundits were:  Rush Limbaugh (66%), Bill O'Reilly (45%), and Sean Hannity (23%).  The top three least liked political pundits of Independents were:  Rush Limbaugh (49%), Bill O'Reilly (31%), and Nancy Grace (25%).

So Rush's support comes from a minority of a minority - albeit a very mean minority - and those individuals are giving broadcasting life to a buffoon who hurls hate and stupidity with wild abandon.   Prominent individuals who should be standing up to him, are instead cowering in his wake.  It is well past time to have a more civilized public discourse,  and the most critical obstacle to be overcome along the road to civility will be Rush Limbaugh.

A boycott of sponsors worked with Glenn Beck, and it will probably be the only thing that will work with Rush Limbaugh.  All of us need to let his sponsors know exactly how we feel.

Sandra Fluke, stand tall.  You are a fine American and a credit to us all!

The Branson Tornado and Other Tales

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


As someone who has called southwest Missouri home for many years, it is certainly not unexpected nor surprising to hear that another killer tornado has ripped its way through the area.  Last May 22nd Joplin was devastated.  This week it was Branson that suffered death and destruction from nature's unrelenting wrath.

(I know that many communities in the southern and midwestern United States have been hit with tornadoes during the past few days, and in a couple of cases entire small towns were apparently blown off the map.  I am saddened by what the people in those communities have had to endure.  But those are places I have only read about.  Branson and I have a history.)

From what I have been able to find on the Internet, thirteen people were killed and many fine homes and businesses were destroyed by this week's tornado - including at least a portion of the famous Branson "Strip" along Highway 76.

I first started going to Branson in the 1960's when I was in college in nearby Springfield.  Several of my friends had summer jobs at Silver Dollar City, including one of my roommates, Mike Rhodes, who was a train robber.  Mike got several of us into the park just after Labor Day one year when the workers were going through their closing activities.  One of the things I remember was members of the Herschend family (who still own Silver Dollar City) out on the water in a log-rolling competition.  (That was nearly fifty years ago.  The park stays open almost year-round now, capturing December tourists and shoppers with its beautiful Christmas lighting and other displays.)

The Beverly Hillbillies did four of their shows in and around Silver Dollar City in the 1960's.  My good friend, Carla Turnbough Brown, had been home to St. Louis due to the sudden death of her father.  When she flew back to Springfield, she happened to be on the same plane as the stars of the Beverly Hillbillies who were headed on to Branson for the taping of those shows.  Jim Franklin, another acquaintance from college, was one of a group of square dancers who were featured in one of those programs.

When my children were young we made several trips to Branson, primarily to play at Silver Dollar City.   At least three of the teachers that I worked with at Mountain View-Birch Tree had summer jobs or sold their wares at Silver Dollar City.  The park had plenty of fun rides, many which featured water and were known for soaking the riders, but I also enjoyed the shows and demonstrations.  That was the first place where I ever saw sorghum cane being turned into molasses - something that had been done commercially by my grandfather, Dan Sreaves, and his brother Jess many years before.

One trip to Silver Dollar City that I remember especially well involved me getting dragged into the center of a fairy tale show that was occurring outside in front of a couple of hundred people.  Our family, including Christian Lund Duchylard, an exchange student from Chile who was staying with us, was standing safely at the back of the crowd when the "star," a woman who looked vaguely familiar, scanned the crowd and made eye-contact with me.  She immediately rushed into the throng of people looking for a "volunteer," and though I couldn't put a name to her, I knew that we had some sort of history, and I knew that I was toast.    Judy Dockery, an old friend from college days, weaved her way through dozens of people who were clamoring to be part of the show, worked her way to the back of the pack, grabbed me by the arm, and said, "Let's go!"  A star was born - not!

As my kids began to get older, we started attending some of the shows on the Strip.  Tim was collecting autographs, and got several good ones during those outings.  Roger Miller was one of the first, and a couple of years later when he died at a way-too-young age, I remember Tim saying that he had his first "dead" autograph.  I also got a picture of him and Molly standing on either side of Willie Nelson.  It was in Branson where I saw Roy Clarke playing his fiddle to fast that the strings started smoking - really!

Molly and Tim and I were in a line to shake hands with Mickey Gilley at his theatre one night after watching his assault a piano for a couple of hours.  While we were waiting our turn to talk to him and let Tim get an autograph, I got to telling the kids about Gilley being a first cousin to Jerry Lee Lewis and evangelist/huckster Jimmy Swaggart.  When we finally got to the front of the line, Tim, who must have been all of eleven, decided to ask Mickey how his famous cousins were doing.  The piano player looked surprised at the question, and then came back with "Well, they're just fine, thank you."

Another memory that I have of Branson is when I was working with children in foster care with the Division of Family Services in McDonald County.  Most years at Christmas time we would take our teen foster kids to Branson for dinner and a show.  One year we went to "The Palace" where we saw the Rockettes.  Part of their show was a living nativity scene that featured actual animals including camels that were walked out on stage.  One of the boys asked me after the show if he could go out back and see the camels.  Being a caring social worker, I agreed - but tracked along behind him just in case he encountered any problems.  He found his camels, and I found a Rockette sitting on a bale of hay having a cigarette.   The foster kid and I both enjoyed visiting with our new friends!

Another time we took our teen foster kids to Jim Stafford's theatre for his Christmas show.  The Staffords had adopted two children through the Missouri Division of Family Services, and both were performing in his show.  After the show he invited all of our kids up on stage where he visited with them, answered questions, and signed autographs.  He was such a nice guy!

(The following year I was driving around rural Branson looking for people involved in child abuse hotline reports.  I was searching for a particular trailer park when I suddenly came upon a new mansion with a gate house sitting by the lake.  It was covered with about half-an-acre of Spanish clay tile roofing.  Eventually I found the scuzzy trailer park about half-a-mile from the mansion - there is no zoning in the Ozarks - and I asked the person at the trailer who owned the mansion.  Turns out that it belonged to the Jim Stafford family.

Okay this has roamed and rambled much like the curving, twisting highways around Branson.  My point was that I have been a friend of Branson's for half a century and feel for its suffering.  Some of the little towns that were hit by the savage storms may have a very hard time bouncing back, but Branson will come roaring back to life - all bright lights and endless music!

And one of these days I will again be sitting in the perpetual traffic jam on Branson's Strip wondering why I never learn, but that will be a tolerable inconvenience when compared to all that the city has to offer.  I look forward to seeing (and hearing) it again.

A Few Notes from Aunt Mary

by Pa Rock
Family Scribe


My Aunt Mary is one of the sweetest people in the world.  She is eighty-something years old and lives in a retirement community in San Diego, California, the city that she has called home for over sixty years.  Aunt Mary married my dad's older brother, Wayne Macy, just after World War II and they relocated to beautiful southern California from southwest Missouri.  They had two daughters, Janet and Linda, who both still live in the San Diego area.  Uncle Wayne died from leukemia in the 1950's, and though the family connection was technically broken with his passing, Mary was, is, and always will be my dear aunt.

I wrote to Aunt Mary a couple of months ago after mentioning in this blog that my mother and father were migrant farm workers in California during a couple of summers after the war.  I asked her to share any memories that she had of my parents during that time.  She responded with a little bit about that, and gave me some anecdotes about my parents and grandparents (Charles "Chock" and Hazel Macy) as well.  Those stories follow.

About the migrant fruit pickers:

"Yes, lots of people from the midwest went to California in the summer to pick fruit, nuts, etc.  Your Uncle Wayne would go to Brentwood and Porterville areas.  Peaches and apricots were in huge orchards.  There were camps set up for the "pickers" - tents, etc.  I was never there, but do remember them telling about it."

About my grandparents, Chock and Hazel Macy:

"Your Grampa Macy bought a car and wanted to learn to drive.  He had his brother Jack drive it home and out into a large field.  Chock got in and got it started but didn't know what to do next - so he kept going around in a circle yelling 'whoa, whoa!'  Finally he got it stopped and never tried again.  He stayed with the horse and buggy, or rode with friends."

"Your Gramma Macy was a worker.  She canned a lot of their fruit, mostly peaches and vegetables, and stored the jars under the beds.  They lived in a four-room house when I met them:  living room, two bedrrooms, and a kitchen.  There was an 'out-house for the toilet.  (Oh me!!!)  They had a smokehouse for curing a pig (or just smoking it)."  

"I grew up in Kansas City and had never seen or experienced the farm life.  I quickly found out it wasn't for me.  Hazel cooked on a large wood stove, swept the house to clean it, and washed on a washboard in a large metal washtub.  She killed, cleaned, and dressed chickens to take into Neosho to sell.  She did that to save money to buy Wayne a suit to wear."

About my parents:

"Wayne and I had  moved to California when your mother and dad got married (March 31, 1946), so I really can't say I knew Florine all that well.   I do know she was smart and a savvy businesswoman - and she said she wasn't going to get involved with the Macy problems. She told me that - not just hearsay.  She and your dad wanted to get ahead for a better life - and they did.  I remember your dad as always very kind and soft-spoken."

And here is a story of mine about Aunt Mary:

When my daughter, Molly, was preparing to marry her intended, Scott Files, a few years ago around Thanksgiving time, they were living in Oregon and wanted to have the wedding on a beach.  She got out her maps and selected Coronado Island (which really isn't an island) in San Diego - because it was about as far south as a person could go and still be in California.  The weather, hopefully, would be nicer than the dreariness of Oregon in November.

I had been to Coronado Island earlier that year and stayed at the beautiful del Coronado Hotel (the hotel that was used in the filming of the movie, Some Like It Hot.  When I learned that the wedding was to be on the beach behind the Del, I immediately phoned Aunt Mary to see if she would like to be my guest at the big event.  She gave and enthusiastic "yes," and I told Molly that I would be bringing a date.  Cousin Janet was also able to join us for the wedding.

At the reception following the wedding I called my dad back in Missouri so that he could wish the happy couple the best.  When I told him a few minutes later that Mary and Janet were there, he rushed me off the phone because he wanted to talk to them.  And they had a nice, long conversation.


Thank you Aunt Mary (Day, Macy) King for sharing your gems of family history.  I am placing them in this blog so that our descendants may enjoy them for years and years to come.  Much love to you!
    

Another Racist Email

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


Richard Cebull is a federal judge, and in fact is the chief judge for the District of Montana.  He is also an excellent example of why people with obvious intellectual limitations, like George W. Bush, should never be allowed to appoint judges.

This week Judge Cebull sent out one of those knee-slappingly funny racist emails about the President that certain types of Republicans seem to enjoy so much.  He sent it from his chambers and it included his personal email address.  Here is the text of that email:

"A little boy said to his mother, 'Mommy how come I'm black and you're white?'  His mother replied, 'Don't even go there, Barack!  From what I can remember about that party, you're lucky you don't bark!'"

Judge Cebull said that he received the email from his brother and forwarded it to six "old buddies."  Apparently at least one old buddy sent it on, and the disgusting email eventually landed in the inbox of someone at the Great Falls Tribune.  Whoops!

Judge Cebull acknowledges that the subject matter of the email was racist, but adds that the email was supposed to be a private communication and was not intended to become public.  (Doesn't he understand just how non-private email is?)  Judge Cebull added that even though his email was racist, he does not consider himself to be racist.  (Here's betting that Bull Connor and Orval Faubus did not consider themselves to be racists either.)

The judge said that he is not a fan of the President and sent it out because it was "anti-Obama."  He said that it was intended as a private thing and was "very bad judgement on my part."  Ya think?

Can a federal judge with that level of animosity toward the President reasonably be expected to interpret federal law in a fair and balanced manner - particularly laws that might have originated with President Obama?

President Obama has been in office for nearly four years and still these racist emails keep being passed around by public officials - almost always Republicans and often on government computers and on the public's dime.  Can people really be so dumb as to expect that those emails won't keep getting forwarded until they eventually land in the hands of someone who does not see the humor?

Maybe Judge Cebull is hoping that by flying his partisan flags a President Santorum will notice and elevate him to the Supreme Court, but that is a bit far-fetched, even for Little Ricky.

What needs to happen - really needs to happen - is that Judge Cebull atone for his actions by resigning from the federal bench, or, failing that, face impeachment charges in the House of Representatives.   Judges impose consequences on others, and they should not be immune from consequences themselves.

Joe the Dog

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


There was a Presidential Primary in Arizona this week, but it was kind of a lackluster event.  In fact, it is hard for anything out in the Scorpion State to outshine the antics of Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio, and this week was no different.  With that much national press descending upon the state, Old Joe was out to make damned sure that he got in front of as many cameras as possible.

One of the big stories in Arizona, aside from the primary, was a bestiality ring that Joe's boys busted.  Well, it wasn't a ring exactly, just two men and a woman advertising for the services of a randy dog over Craig's List.    The sheriff and his minions set up a sting operation and were able to nab the desperadoes before they sullied the honor of an undercover, four-footed member of the sheriff's canine unit.

Joe knew, and rightly so, that a story like that would have mass appeal to America's unwashed  masses - and of course he was right.  People were shocked!

I myself was shocked, and after living in Arizona a couple of years I don't shock easily.  My shock came from learning that the Scorpion State still has laws against bestiality on the books.  It is hard to imagine because several of the state's office holders could certainly pass as the issue of bestial relations.

People eat those crazy stories up, and Joe knows it.  But the more mundane stuff, however, he sometimes lets slide.  Take, for instance, the more than 400 sex crimes in an around El Mirage, Arizona, between 2005 and 2007 that his office failed to properly investigate.  Some of those crimes were committed against children.  Sex crimes against children, or anyone else for that matter, just does not resonate with sand goobers the way that a good dog-sex story does.

And Joe Arpaio, the ancient sheriff, is a purebred Publicity Hound who appreciates the intellectual depth of the Arizona voting public.  No wonder those Republican presidential candidates all rushed to Phoenix to kiss his ring!

Little Ricky Threatens to Throw Up

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


When Al Smith, a Catholic, ran for President against Herbert Hoover in 1928, a good portion of the country went nuts - in particular the Bible Belt went stark raving loony predicting the end of democracy in our country if this "papist" became President.  Smith would be little more that an errand boy for the Pope.  Smith lost.

Thirty-two years later another Catholic ran for President and decided that it would be best to tackle the religion issue head on.  John F. Kennedy knew the same religious forces that had fought Al Smith so bitterly and unfairly (Protestant fundamentalists) were aligning against him.  Kennedy took the initiative and went on television to say his piece about the separation of church and state, a separation that he regarded as absolute.  He said,

"I believe in an America that is officially neither Catholic, Protestant, nor Jewish - where no public official either requests or accepts instructions on public policy from the pope, the National Council of Churches or any other ecclesiastical source - where no religious body seeks to impose its will directly or indirectly upon the general populace or the public acts of its officials - and where religious liberty is so indivisible that an act against one church is treated as an act against all."

That's what JFK said, and it was pretty damned eloquent - and it was pretty damned spot on.

Then this week along comes Little Ricky Santorum, who, like JFK, is Catholic, but who, unlike JFK, is in the Pope's pocket and looks upon himself as a moral crusader out to punish the sinful as he turns America into his vision of what a moral society should be.  When asked to comment about JFK's defense of the "absolute" separation of church and state, Santorum skewed his interpretation of what JFK had actually said and responded with this bit of righteous wrath:

"To say that people of faith have no role in the public square.  You bet that makes me want to throw up.  What kind of country do we live in where only people of non-faith can come in the public square and make their case?  That makes me want to throw up."

Which, of course, was deceptive in that nowhere did Kennedy say that people of faith could not be active in government.  He just did not want them coming to the "public square" as emissaries of their churches and promoting their church's agendas.

(Interestingly, Santorum does believe in an absolute wall between state and church - saying that the government should absolutely never get in the church's business.  Of course, JFK said that also - see above.)


But this year the churches are flexing their political muscle.  If you don't believe me, just ask the Girl Scouts, or Planned Parenthood, or women using contraception, or gays, or undocumented workers, or...the list is damned near endless.

And if Little Ricky continues to feel that he might hurl, perhaps he should get one the agents of his new government-funded Secret Service detail to accompany him with a mop.

I must now quit typing and head to the bathroom - because typing the word "santorum" over and over has me on the brink of barfing!

Monday's Poetry: "A Dog Has Died"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator


Today's poem, "A Dog Has Died," is by the late Chilean poet and Nobel Laureate, Pablo Neruda.  It is a simple piece about respect between a dog and his human, as well as an ode on the inevitability and finality of death.  I found it to be beautiful as well as a bit unsettling.

I miss my dogs terribly, and I will have a dog when I return to the United States.  I just hope that I can come across one that is as fine a companion to me as Pablo Neruda's was to him.

This minor tribute to Pablo Neruda is dedicated to another fine Chilean, Christian Lund Duchylard.   Christian, if you ever stumble across this site, please contact me.   (pa.rock.macy@gmail.com)


A Dog Has Died
by Pablo Neruda


My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.

So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.

The Disrespecting of Little Ricky Santorum

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


I'm not saying that Little Ricky Santorum deserves respect, but whether he deserves it or not - he sure as hell ain't getting much!

Yesterday there was a funny piece at DailyKos proffering a list of the ten first official acts of President Santorum.  Number two on the list was the bombing of Google headquarters.  And yes, it is unlikely that Ricky will ever get over the frothy way his name has been smeared by the search giant.  Just look for "santorum" on the Google and see what pops up!

Earlier this week a picture was posted on the web of Little Ricky smiling in front of a nice book collection and the American flag.  It is actually a composition created by thousands of pieces of gay porn arranged to look like Ricky.  A search for "santorum, porn, and picture" (preferably on the Google) will bring you right to it.

I guess when you build a career demonizing gays, immigrants, the poor, women, and labor - one should expect to be the butt of a few jokes.  Lets just hope that all of this negative attention doesn't backfire and turn him into a martyr.

The Sand Hag Smells a Stunt

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


Jan Brewer, the governor of Arizona, has been invited to testify before the United States Senate Subcommittee on Immigration, Refugees, and Border Security.   The invitation came from the subcommittee chairman, Senator Charles Schumer of New York, and specifically asked the governor to speak on the defining piece of legislation of her administration - the infamous SB 1070.  Specifically Schumer wants to hear the governor's views on the necessity of maintaining the draconian SB 1070 in the face of substantial gains that the federal government has made in securing the nation's southwestern border.

The governor has been invited to testify on April 24th, the day before the U.S. Supreme Court will take up its review of the controversial Arizona law.

But apparently Jan isn't thrilled about the opportunity to speak before the group of senators.  Some of her reluctance may be the legitimate fear of encountering a Sarah Palin moment where lawmakers might ask her something that she would actually have to think about and respond to in a logical manner instead of just parroting wingnut talking points.  Jan is leery, and her spokesman said that she fears the invitation might be a political stunt to embarrass the governor.

Jan is right to be cautious.  Just because she is a governor of a state that has more guns than the entire U.S. military does not mean that those Democratic bullies will show her the respect she deserves.  Why that sneaky Chuck Schumer might even stick his finger in her face when there is a photographer nearby!

That would be a very cheap political stunt!

The Evil Agenda of the Girl Scouts

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


There is an insignificant little man in the Indiana state legislature who must be harboring dreams of becoming President.  Representative Bob Morris, a Republican (of course), has refused to vote on a resolution honoring the 100th anniversary of America's Girl Scouts because he has determined that they are a "tactical arm of Planned Parenthood"  and encourage "homosexual lifestyles."  Egads!  He has formed this startling conclusion by talking so some "well-informed" constituents and doing "a small amount of research on the Internet."

Yes siree, boob!  Old Bob sounds like one heavy-duty Hoosier intellectual!  Here's betting he doesn't believe in global warming or Obama's birth certificate either.  Why, the urge for Rick Santorum to put him on the national ticket must be well nigh irresistible!

Unfortunately for the Girl Scouts, a very fine organization that does much to turn today's girls into tomorrow's leaders, Old Bob is not alone in his delusions.  Earlier this month the St. Tiimothy Roman Catholic parish in Chantilly, Virginia, shut 12 troops (115 girls) out of its facilities - and Saint Rita Catholic Church in Alexandria, Virginia, is reportedly getting ready to throw their local Girl Scouts out also.

Here is the logic employed by St. Timothy for expelling the youngsters:  the U.S. Girl Scouts are associated with the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts - which has members in 145 countries - and reportedly supports access to contraception (egads, again!) and is often accused of backing abortion and being affiliated with Planned Parenthood.

The U.S. Girl Scouts contend that their organization has no stance on birth control or abortion, and that it has no relationship with Planned Parenthood.  They also state uniquivocally that no proceeds from cookie sales go to the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts.  But those are just facts - and bonehead teabaggers and the Holy Church of Rome do not appreciate being confronted with facts.

I read a clever tweet recently which said that the Catholic Church would have no problem supporting contraception if altar boys could get pregnant!  Perhaps the Church should work at cleaning its own house instead of terrorizing and stigmatizing little girls.

The Quiet American

by Pa Rock
Reader


I bought a copy of Graham Greene's The Quiet American from a young street vendor in Hanoi.  I just finished the relatively small novel this week and wish that I had read it prior to going to Vietnam.  It gives such a poignant (and I suspect very accurate) portrayal of what was occurring in that war-ravaged country in the 1950's - before the United States got itself completely pulled into the quagmire of a war that we had no hope of winning.  The author lived and worked in Saigon and Hanoi during the early 1950's - the same time that he was writing this book.

The Quiet American is the fictional story of two men who meet while working in Vietnam, and the young Vietnamese woman they both covet.  Thomas Fowler (like the book's author) is a crusty and cynical British journalist who understands the futility of war and of trying to bring the abstract concept of democracy to a people whose main focus in life is growing enough rice to survive.   Fowler is married to a Catholic woman in England who will not give him a divorce, and he is living with the beautiful Phuong in Saigon who dutifully fills his opium pipes each evening and dreams of being the second Mrs. Fowler.

Alden Pyle is a bright, young, "quiet" American who grew up in a Bostonian family of privilege.  He arrives in Saigon ostensibly working as an economic attache, but it is quickly obvious to the other foreign denizens of the city (as well as to the reader) that he is actually there as a CIA operative.  Pyle tries to build a friendship with Fowler, but that effort becomes strained as he quickly begins to fall in love with Fowler's woman, the beautiful Phuong.

Pyle, the spy, has read books on Vietnam written by a man who had only been there briefly, but from his reading he has determined that the best approach to winning the country over for eventual democracy is to support a "third force" which would counteract both the Communist Vietminh as well as the military of the French colonial power.  He forms an alliance with a corrupt general and instigates some violence that results in the suffering and deaths of many civilians.   Pyle believes that those who died in the acts of violence that he orchestrated were martyrs and had died for democracy - whether that was their intent or not.

Fowler is the tough guy without a gun who knows the true costs of war.  Pyle is the heavily armed choir boy who does not.

Alden Pyle is murdered very early on in the story, and the remainder of the novel looks back at his interactions with the Vietnamese and particularly with Thomas Fowler and Phuong.  The Quiet American is, on one level, a fictional murder mystery, and on another level it is a story of the actual death of the idealism that America brought forward out of World War II.

The Quiet American hit a nerve with America's espionage community which began tracking Graham Greene shortly after this novel was released in the United States.  Our spooks continued to follow his movements for four more decades until the author's death.  That alone should stand as testimony to the book's authenticity.  It is a very disturbing tale, one that still haunts me several days after putting it down.

The Grave of Jesus Christ: Another Japanese Roadside Attraction

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist


I have seen a fair bit of Japan and Asia during the two tours that I have lived on Okinawa, and I will leave here in July with the full realization that I did not see everything that this beautiful country and region of the world has to offer.  Today, quite accidentally, I learned about a little known tourist site in northern Japan of which I was completely unfamiliar - and, if the site happens to be legitimate, it could have an astounding impact on the religious beliefs of over 2 billion people.

Two graves are located in a very idyllic spot in extreme northern Japan near the village of Shingo in the Aomori Prefecture.  It is an area famed for growing apples.  The graves are reportedly the last resting places of Jesus Christ of Judea and his brother, Isukiri.  Christ, it seems (according to local legend) first came to Japan when he was about twenty-one and lived west of Tokyo for several years.  When he was thirty-three he returned to Judea where he taught, stirred up trouble, and was supposed to have been crucified.

But the Japanese take on the crucifixion is that the brother, Isukiri, took the place of Jesus on the cross, and after his death Jesus took some of Isukiri's remains and lit out for Japan where he eventually settled near Shingo, married, had children, and lived to the ripe old age of one-hundred-and-six.

The purported graves of Jesus and Isukiri are in a beautiful shady grove.  Evidence related to Christ's presence in Japan was reportedly uncovered by a Shinto priest in 1935 and is housed in a museum adjacent to the burial sites.  The entire site is maintained by people who follow Shinto beliefs.

There are a couple of local idiosyncrasies which back up this story.  First, Shingo's original name was "Herai" which is very close to the Japanese word for Hebrew: "Heburai."  And secondly, there is a local traditional song that has no Japanese words but does have words that are similar in sound to Hebrew.

The following is on a signpost near the graves:

"When Jesus Christ was 21 years old, he came to Japan and pursued knowledge of divinity for 12 years.  He went back to Judea at age 33, and engaged in his mission.  However, at that time, people in Judea would not accept Christ's preaching.  Instead, they arrested him and tried to crucify him on a cross.  His younger brother, Isukiri, casually took Christ's place and ended his life on the cross. 

Christ, who escaped the crucifixion, went through the ups and downs of travel, and again came to Japan.  He settled right here in what is now called Herai Village and died at the age of 106. 

On this holy ground there is dedicated a burial mound on the right to deify Christ, and a grave on the left to deify Isukiri.   

The above description was given in a testament by Jesus Christ."

The legend says that after leaving Jerusalem, Christ traveled to Siberia, Alaska, and finally to the Japanese port city of Hachinohe before making his way inland to the area around present-day Shingo.

To me, this story is given some credibility by the fact that Shinto priests and some of their followers care for the graves as they would any holy site, and nobody has tried to take this story and make a religion out of it.  It is basically huckster-free.  The people around Shingo took a simple tale, one that came down to them through the mists of time, and preserved it.   It sounds to me like it was handled in a way that Jesus would have appreciated.

Love, Arizona Style

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


Did you hear the one about the tough-guy Arizona sheriff who threatened to have his boyfriend deported?

Yes, by now we've all heard the amazing tale of Paul Babeu, the sheriff of Pinal County, Arizona, who has made his career speaking out against illegal immigration and the need to secure the border with Mexico.

And it was a stellar career!  Young Babeu (he is still just barely 43-years-old), joined the Massachusetts National Guard when he was twenty-one as a private and eventually became a major in the Arizona Army National Guard.  He even served a tour in Iraq.  Babeu was also deployed to Arizona for seventeen months while with the Guard where he served as a Commander with Operation Jump Start along the border.  He went on to attend the Arizona Law Enforcement Academy where he graduated as the #1 overall police recruit.  He served as a patrolman in Chandler, Arizona, where he received to life-saving medals in the performance of his duties.   Babeu ran for Sheriff of Pinal County in 2008, defeated an incumbent Democrat, and became the first Republican sheriff of the county in its entire history.

Sheriff Babeu has a Bachelor's degree in History and Political Science from Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts, and he graduated summa cum laude from American International College with a Master's in Public Administration. Paul Babeu is the President of the Arizona Sheriff's Association and was named National Sheriff of the Year by the National Sheriff's Association in 2011.

Golden boy?  You betcha!  He had even formed an exploratory committee to test the waters for running for Congress in 2012.

But then this illegal boyfriend thing came along, and the voters of Arizona are going to have a very tough time with it.  First of all, the sheriff stepped forward once the story broke and admitted that he is gay.  That may have been the most honorable course, especially considering all of the lurid information that was suddenly available to the public, but Arizonans aren't particularly concerned with honor.  (After all, they keep electing people like Joe Arpaio!)  Second, Mexicans, particularly ones who might be illegal, are not popular among the crackers who run the state or the crackers who vote for the crackers who run the state.  And they certainly aren't going to be eager to cast their votes for a sheriff who is having an affair with one who was possibly an illegal and definitely gay.

I feel extremely sorry for Sheriff Paul Babeu.  It takes a tough individual to survive the scorpion-infested political wasteland of Arizona, and he obviously managed to do it well for several years while maintaining a secret that could finish him off politically.  Babeu has spoken previously of being molested over a couple of years in his youth by a Catholic priest, but was able to overcome that horrible experience and achieve scholastic, law enforcement, and political honors.  He is obviously someone who has the grit and determination to make it in a place as hostile as Arizona.

This story, of course, is not over.  If the sheriff actually did threaten to deport his lover over what he might tell the press (and the sheriff says he did not make such a threat), he should be arrested and tried for abuse of power.  If the boyfriend was illegal (and he says he is not), then the sheriff may have to face some legal issues with regard to harboring someone who was in the country illegally.  Clearly Paul Babeu will be in the news some more before this Arizona haboob blows its way off of the front pages and out of the press.

When Arizona turns its gnarly back on Paul Babeu, as it surely will, he will have a wonderful opportunity to shed some of the anti-immigrant and hate baggage that burdens every politician in the state, and emerge as a human being.   And at the tender age of forty-three, Paul Babeu is still plenty young to be of more service to society.   I wish him Godspeed as he heads into the next chapter of his life.

(Sheriff, have you ever thought about taking up the challenge of fixing the Catholic Church?  With your education and life experiences, you might be the ideal person for the job.)

Taiwan Wrap-Up

by Pa Rock
World Traveler


Valerie and I returned to Okinawa earlier this evening and I am safely back in my apartment and unpacked.  (Murphy had to leave and fly directly to the United States due to the illness of a friend.)  Somehow I managed to come up with souvenirs for all of my kids and grandkids, even though my old staple, tourist tee-shirts, were very scarce - so I had to get creative.

Our plane did not leave Taiwan until 5:40 p.m., and that late departure allowed us to have a pleasant day in which we didn't  have to rush.  That is the best way to travel!  I am taking tomorrow morning off so that I can sleep in and come to work somewhat relaxed.

Valerie continued to meet new people up to and including on the flight back to Okinawa.  She truly enjoys talking to strangers, and they seem  to sense that she is a good listener as well.   As we were having dinner at the airport in Taiwan (delicious lasagna) this evening, she recognized that the couple in front of us were speaking Japanese to the waiter instead of Chinese.  When it came our turn to be served, she asked if he was Japanese.  The young man said that his father was Taiwanese and his mother was Japanese.  Then he continued by telling us that he plays guitar in a rock band and he is the band's leader.

We ran into several English speakers, and most said that they learned a good portion of their English by watching American movies.  The streets of Taipei carried many advertisements for American movies, and the locals also have access to American movie channels.  Learning, it would seem, can be fun!

The trip to Taiwan was a success.  I am very glad that I had the opportunity to visit there during my long Okinawan hiatus.

The Fine Art of Inflating Chickens

by Pa Rock
World Traveler

This was our last full day in Taiwan and we spent it enjoying the arts.  Our first "art stop" was as we were walking from our hotel to the subway station.  We came across a gaggle of what appeared to be professional photographers doing a photo shoot of a skinny female model.   She struck various poses in front of a metal pull-down door that was decorated with graffiti.  I snapped a couple of shots of the photographers taking their pictures.

As the day progressed we visited the Taipei Museum of Modern Art which was showing an exhibit from Australia.  Two things at the MOMA caught my interest.  The first was four large dragons suspended by wires outside of the museum.  They were made from brightly painted plastic bottles and they were amazing - yet so simple that a grade school art class could have made them

The other exhibit that I really enjoyed was an interactive video display.  Four people were permitted into the exhibit room at one time.  There were four holes in the far wall where each of the people had to stoop in order to watch a video.  The video was of their four backsides stooping to watch the video - but then a film was superimposed that showed other people entering the room and doing things behind the ones who were bent over watching themselves - only, of course, no one was actually in the room with them.

There was also some good photographic exhibits, but overall the MOMA Australian show was pretty lame.

We also went to the Palace Museum which is an enormous complex that is basically the national museum of Taiwan.  It is filled with fine art and treasures that Chaing Kai-shek stole from China and brought to Taiwan when he was fleeing ahead of the communist takeover.  One of the more famous exhibits that we saw was the Chinese cabbage carved out of jade.  Later in the museum gift shop I noticed many souvenirs based on the cabbage sculpture including coasters, key chains, and bottle openers.  We spent a couple of hours looking at exhibits but only scratched the surface of what the museum has to offer.

This evening after Valerie took her toys and went home, Murphy and I made a trek to the Baoan Buddhist Temple, a large and extremely beautiful religious complex that is a Taiwanese national heritage site.  We have been to several Buddhist temples and shrines this week, but the Baoan is certainly the most beautiful that we have seen.  It would be hard to imagine  anyone ever being angry inside of a Buddhist temple because they are so serene and peaceful - far different from some American churches whose mission seems to be to inflame and incite - and turn a profit.

However, all of those stops - the MOMA, the Palace Museum, and the Baoan Temple - pale in comparison to the chicken inflators down by the wharf.  We were heading toward the river where Valerie planned to rent a bicycle, when we came upon a shop where several large baked chickens were hanging in the window.  All of the birds looked plump and delicious.  As we passed the shop and turned the corner we encountered two men who were taking scrawny baked chickens out of one cart, inflating them by running an air hose up their butts, and then putting the bloated birds in another cart!  That, I thought, was truly an art!

He Did It His Way

by Pa Rock
World Explorer


Valerie and I struck off on our own this morning because Murphy wanted to get his beauty rest.  (I got mine last night while he and Valerie were out running the streets.)  She wanted to visit the National University of Taiwan. so we bought another all-day pass for the subway and bus system (180 Taiwanese dollars - or about $5.00 American) and headed off to college.

As we reached the main gate of the university I turned my back for just a second, and by the time I had refocused Valerie was busy chatting up an older Chinese gentleman who was wearing a Canadian ball cap.  (The poor girl has never met a stranger - at least not for long!)  By the time I got over to them they were taking each other's pictures in front of the main gate.

The gentleman was Andrew Liu who had graduated from the university fifty years before and was there today for a reunion.  He has spent his life living in Montreal, Canada, and practicing law.  Andrew led us through much of the campus before we finally reached a souvenir shop where we all bought university tee shirts.  (We were all able to save twelve percent on our purchases thanks to Andrew's status as a proud graduate from a half-century earlier.  Then we went to a student coffee shop where he treated us to a morning java.

Andrew was a most entertaining and interesting fellow.  He is fluent in his native Chinese, as well  as French (from living in Montreal for five decades), English, Japanese, and speaks some Korean.  His father was a prominent doctor in Taiwan and he had a dozen brothers and sisters.  He said that his family was like the Von Trapps in The Sound of Music because they all grew up singing.    As he was leading us off campus later, he mentioned that he sang like Paul Anka and Frank Sinatra.  Valerie asked him to sing something, and he broke into a complete rendition of Sinatra's I Did It My Way!

At one point I asked Andrew about the future of Taiwan, and he said that he fears it will eventually be taken over by China.  His reasoning is that the United States owes China so much money that it will not be in a position to offer any resistance if the government of China decides to seize Taiwan.

Based on information that Andrew gave us, Valerie and I were able to buy tickets on Taiwan's High Speed Rail which we did this afternoon.  We rode to Taoyuan, a stop that offers airport check-in and a free shuttle to the airport.  After learning our way to Taoyuan, we decided that is how we will get to the airport on Monday.  It is very quick and efficient.

While we were walking back to our hotel late this afternoon, I discovered the local McDonald's.  That is where I will dine later tonight.  I love to travel, but my stomach has become too temperamental for much in the way of exotic cuisine.

The Boy on the Subway

by Pa Rock
Concerned Traveler


We had just gotten on the subway yesterday evening preparing to take the long ride back to the center of Taipei, when a young boy, probably six-years-old, rushed into the subway car just as the doors were closing.  Unfortunately, his mother was not as fast, and she was left standing on the platform, helplessly watching, as the train sped off with her son on board.

The poor boy stood in front of the door looking perplexed.  Murphy tried to tell him that his mother would follow on the next train, but of course none of us knew his stop - and the child spoke no English anyway.  We were discussing what to do and trying to get a Chinese man on the train to speak to the child, but he did not understand English either.  Murphy came to the conclusion that maybe we should all get off at the next stop and wait with the lad until his mother showed  up.  Before that could happen, however, a Chinese woman told us, in English, that the child knew which stop to get off at.  She had some conversation with the boy to ensure that she was right about that.

A few stops later the youngster got off of the subway car to wait for his mother.  Crisis averted.  I left wondering what had been the scariest part of the evening for the kid - losing his mother, or having three large, white Americans trying to help him!

Friends in High Places

by Pa Rock
World Traveler


Much of our first day in Taiwan was spent in some mighty high places.  This morning, after we figured out how to use the subway system, we traveled downtown and made our way to the Taipei 101, the tallest building on Taiwan and a very unique piece of architecture.  It was a cloudy, miserable day, so after riding what was billed as the world's fastest elevator up to the observation room on the 89th floor, we found ourselves wrapped in fog, more so than  usual, and not able to see much from the enormous windows.  There was a very large and very beautiful collection of carved coral on display on the 89th floor as well as much coral jewelry for sale - and plenty of assorted tourist junk.

Our afternoon excursion was also well into the air up there.  We rode the subway out to the edge of the city where we planned to get on a gondola dangling from a cable and ride to the top of a mountain to visit a tea plantation.  As we were trying to figure out the process for getting the ticket to board the gondola, a young Taiwanese lady stepped up and offered to help.  Her name was Jasmin and she was showing her friend from Ireland, a young man named Terry, around Taiwan.

Jasmin, whose real name Ya-Fen Chen, is a tour guide by trade.  She met Terry at the university in Belfast, Northern Ireland, several years ago while she was there studying business management.  Terry Needham has a PhD in music history and theory - and plays piano.  We had a wonderful time getting to know them, and they were our traveling companions for most of the rest of the day.

The gondola ride up the mountain proved to be a thirty-minute ride up and across several mountains and forested valleys in a swinging contraption that often had us hundreds of feet above the ground.  When we reached the end of the ride, we disembarked and spent some time walking through apricot orchards in full bloom.  We concluded that part of the trip at a tea house where Jasmin prepared tea at our table.  We were also provided with several types of treats to go with the local tea including pistachios, pumpkins seeds, fried tofu, caramels with nuts, and hard boiled eggs that had been boiled in tea.  Jasmin said that the eggs are boiled about four hours before serving - and they were really good.

Tonight when we were walking back to our hotel, we stopped in a 7-11 so Valerie could get some gum.   While we were there, I came across a large pot of eggs boiling in tea!

The valleys up near the tea plantations were deeply forested.  I asked Jasmin if there are habus on Taiwan.  She said that she believed there were, and she added that cobras are also found on the island.  Fortunately we didn't encounter any of those reptiles.

There were several stops on the trip back into the mountains where passengers could get off.  We rode straight through going up, but coming down we got off at the first stop to visit a group of Buddhist and Daoist shrines.  (That is where we separated from our new friends, Jasmin and Terry, because they had to get into the city and pick up a friend who had just arrived.)  The shrines were beautiful, and as with everything Buddhist, very peaceful.

I had planned on becoming a Buddhist in my next life, but based on those whom I have gotten to know during this jaunt across Asia, I may make that leap of faith during this lifetime.  I am, after all, respectfully known in some circles as the "happy Buddha!"

Peace.

Three-for-Two Beers, Fried Chicken Cartilage, and Complimentary Condoms

by Pa Rock
World Traveler


We have arrived safely in Taipei, Taiwan.

The flight from Naha, Okinawa, to Taiwan is a quick hour-and-a-half, but China Airlines manages to serve a meal enroute.   Customs at the international airport in Taiwan was a breeze, the easiest that I have encountered anywhere in Asia.  After that we found a limo who agreed to take us to our hotel in the city (about a forty-minute ride) for 1,200 Taiwanese dollars - about $40 US - and here we are!

The Inhouse Hotel is nice, relatively new, with small rooms that each have their own unique features.  All of our rooms have windows that open and great views of the street seven stories below.  Mine is a corner room with windows facing in two directions, Murphy's seems more spacious, and Valerie has a ceiling-to-floor window in her shower!  Each room has a complimentary condom in the drawer of the bedside table.  Murphy said that is a true sign of civilization.

Our evening stroll took us several blocks along a busy street where we passed many open shops as well as a variety of food peddlers.  One of the delicacies that I noticed was fried chicken feet.  We also saw some menus that advertised fried chicken cartilage.    None of our party was brave enough to try either of those dishes.  We finally stopped at a very large outdoor cafe and  had drinks and snacks.   I ordered a Heineken with onion rings, and the waiter was quick to tell me that if I ordered two beers, the third one was free - but I stopped with just the one.

Tomorrow will be our first view of Taipei in daylight.  More to follow as our trip progresses.

The Last WWI Veteran

by Pa Rock
Veteran


While over the last few years two or three people thought to be the last surviving veterans of World War I - the war to end wars - have passed on, it now appears as though the absolute last veteran of the tens of millions who served  in World War I has died.  And that veteran was a woman.

Florence Green died in her native England two weeks ago, just a couple of weeks shy of her 111th birthday.  Ms. Green was a member of Britain's Royal Air Force, though she served on the ground working in an officer's mess on the home front.  Ms. Green would have gone completely unheralded if not for the work of a researcher who unearthed her service records in 2010 while digging through Britain's National Archives.

I am old enough to remember several World War I veterans quite well.  When I was in high school our principal - at least for some of those years - was a retired Army lieutenant colonel named Patrick W. Laurie.  Mr. Laurie, who over the years became one of my father's closest friends, was very patriotic and never missed an opportunity to expose the students at Noel High School to the military.  One time he marched the entire high school, maybe a hundred and twenty-five students, down to the Kansas City Southern Depot to stand and show respect as the casket of a Vietnam Veteran was taken off the train.

Another time Mr. Laurie brought in M. Waldo Hatler to speak to the student body in an assembly.  Mr. Hatler, a resident of Neosho, had been awarded the Medal of Honor for his service in Europe during the First World War.  The poor man was bent and frail and could barely speak above a whisper, but the point was that Mr. Laurie wanted us to see a Medal of Honor winner and to realize just how special those people were.

One of our regular substitute teachers in high school was A. Dean Scott.  Mr. Scott had been the school's principal many year's before and his wife was probably the best cook in the history of the school.  When Mr. Scott came to substitute, one of my ornery friends would invariably ask, "Mr. Scott, do you know anything about trench warfare in World War I?"  Usually we would spend the remainder of the hour enjoying Mr. Scott's stories about his service in the war - and avoiding our school work!

In the late 1970's while I was teaching high school history, I would often have my students make special reports or presentations.  One of those that I remember best was two girls, sisters, who took a tape recorder and interviewed several of the very last surviving World War I veterans in Howell County, Missouri.  It was then that I began to realize just how quickly those guys were passing into history.

Now it looks as if they finally all have gone on, and anyone wanting information on the war to end wars will have to Google it - or head to the library.  There will be no more new first-hand accounts from those who served.

Honest Abe, Old Bob, and the "Railsplitter"

by Pa Rock
History Detective


There is a trivia contest posted in today's edition of the Stars and Stripes.  Its official title is "Honest Abe's Civil War Trivia," and it asks readers to answer ten questions about our 16th President for a chance to win a $250 gift card to their local Post Exchange.  Being a trivia hound and collector of basically useless information, the temptation for me to try my hand at the endeavor was well nigh irresistible.  So, on those few occasions when I had a break today, I hit The Google and searched for answers.  I knew some - and was able to find most of the others, but a couple proved to be rather problematic.

Here are the ten questions and my responses:

1.  What was the name of President Lincoln's horse?  I found information in two places that it was either "Old Bob" or "Old Robin."  One listed "Old Bob" as being the favored name of the two, and the other said "Old Robin" was actually the favorite.  I am going with "Old Bob" because that sounds more Lincolnesque.  "Old Robin" sounds more like something that George W. Bush might name a horse.

2.  True or False, there are no descendants of Abraham Lincoln's alive today?  Sadly that is true.  The last line became extinct on Christmas Eve, 1985, with the death of Robert Todd Lincoln Beckwith.

3.  What is the name of the newspaper Abraham Lincoln owned in 1859?  The Illinois Staats-Anzeiger, a German publication that he acquired on May 30th, 1859.  He sold the publication on December 6, 1860, shortly after being elected President.

4.  Abraham Lincoln was the only President to ever hold a patent.  What was his invention?  Lincoln invented a device to free ships that ran aground in shallow water.  He was issued Patent # 6469 in 1849.

5.  What was Abraham Lincoln's stovepipe hat "endearingly" called?  This question was a booger.  I searched high and low for the nickname of his hat.  I kept running into the term "stovepipe,"  but knew that wasn't it because the word was used in the question.  I also found a couple of references to Lincoln's "chimney barrel" hat, but that didn't seem like a true nickname.  One source said it was officially a "top hat," and they were often referred to as "toppers," but that was not Lincoln-specific.   Finally I found one solitary reference to him calling his hat "the railsplitter."  That doesn't make much sense because I doubt that he split rails in a top hat, but I am going with it.  (A bit of related trivia that I came up with while researching this question is that Lincoln used his top hat as a briefcase, a place where he kept his important lawyer papers.  One account told of a group of mischievous boys who strung a wire across his path to knock the hat off.  It worked, and legal papers went everywhere!)

6,  How did Abraham Lincoln earn his first dollar?   He earned it by ferrying passengers to a steamer on the Ohio River in 1827.

7.  Abraham Lincoln was a Captain of a voluntary company during what war?  The Black Hawk War.

8.  Who was Abraham Lincoln's Vice President at the start of the U.S. Civil War?  Hannibal Hamlin was his Vice President during his entire first term.  Andrew Johnson became Vice President when Lincoln was sworn in for his second term on March 4, 1865.  Johnson became President thirty-two days later when Lincoln was assassinated on April 15, 1865.

9.  True or False, when Abraham Lincoln was narrowly elected President in 1860, he didn't even carry his home county.   That is true.  While he did manage to eek out a win in the city of Springfield, he lost Sangamon County, Illinois, to Stephen A. Douglas by 42 votes.

10.  Which President, other than Abraham Lincoln, was assassinated in the 19th century?  James A. Garfield.  Here is some additional trivia related to that question:  Lincoln's son, Robert Todd Lincoln, was either on the scene or close by for each of the first three Presidential assassinations.  As a young captain on General Grant's staff, he had been invited to attend "Our American Cousin" at Ford's Theater on the night his father was shot, but stayed home instead.  He rushed to the scene after the shooting and was there when President Lincoln passed away the next morning.  As James Garfield's Secretary of War, Robert Lincoln happened to be on hand when Garfield was also shot.  And then, a few years later, Robert Lincoln, a private citizen, was in President McKinley's entourage when he was gunned down.  (What would Orly Taitz, DDS, have done with those juicy morsels?)

If anyone has a better answer to any of the questions, please send the information along.  I really want to win that gift certificate!

Monday's Poetry: "My Poor Yvette Is Dead"

by Pa Rock
Versifier


Last year over the Memorial Day weekend, three friends and I traveled just north of Okinawa to a small Iapanese island called Yoron.  As is my custom, I took a book along because reading is something that I regard as truly pleasurable.  My book at that time was a favorite from my youth, Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.  


While we were on Yoron I finished my book, an accomplishment that left me in a strange mood - and we were assaulted by a very severe typhoon, an event that drove us into our respective rooms for a long night of sitting up listening to the winds howl.  Somehow, the confluence of those two things put me into a writing mood, and I began the effort which follows, a long, narrative verse entitled "My Poor Yvette is Dead," a fictional account of a pair of murders in a French resort community.  One of the two speaking characters in this tale is a policeman name Captain Aronnax - with a tip of the hat to Professor Aronnax, the narrator of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

Although I was able to piece together much of this tale during the typhoon, I brought the unfinished product back to Okinawa and spent way too much time tinkering with it.  Now it is finished, and "My Poor Yvette" is yours to do with as you wish.


My Poor Yvette is Dead
by Rocky Macy

My poor Yvette is dead.

She drowned last night, and her naked body,

Willful even in death,

Rode a dark current to the depths of the sea.

Later today Captain Aronnax will inform me of my loss

When the rags of Yvette’s reputation

Have been collected and bagged.

His heart will be heavy – heavier by far than mine.

Yvette left the casino at midnight. 

She had a bottle of cognac in one hand

And Claude, the Captain’s son,

Grasped firmly in the other.

(Emil, the doorman, will swear to it. )

The street dogs sniffed her skirts,

Aching to be Claude,

As she pulled him down the alley

And out onto the vacant beach.

The frenzied lovers littered the sand

With debauchery and evening wear

Two free spirits of the night

Displaying everything but shame.

Yvette ravaged Claude like an ocean tempest

Leaving him wrecked at the water’s edge -

Yet another of her broken boys

Stinking of alcohol and sticky with sex.

I watched from beneath the balcony of La Bella Vue,

A tourist cafe whose windows all too often

Fall prey to the wanton wrath of nocturnal creatures

Who roam the beach in gangs.

Yvette knew her voyeur was near,

Another street dog aching to be Claude.

She sat beside her unconscious boy and finished the cognac

As the retreating tide pulled me from the shadows.

I came to her in silence,

Letting my clothes fall among theirs.

Yvette smiled sadly as she rose into my arms,

And walked with me along the shore.

We danced our dance beneath the stars -

A sandy grind of heat and comfort,

Slow and sensual,

Played out on the rim of the ageless sea.

(But we both knew that the music was ending.)

Later, cooling in the surf, rising and falling with the waves,

I held Yvette close for a moment,

Or an eternity,

Before gently pushing her beneath the hungry brine.

She watched me through the moonlit waters

A sense of mild surprise in those soft eyes –

 Sad eyes that slowly slipped from vague to vacant

As her life peacefully seeped into the darkness.

I dressed above Yvette’s boywreck -

A hard, tanned carcass of mangled virtue

Lying on his back in the debris of passion,

Mouth agape, snoring softly.

The boy was no concern of mine

Yet I could not leave him in quiet repose.

His clothes I threw into the sea,

And a small measure of sand I poured into his mouth.

The Vadun gods could deal with his virtue.

If they deemed Claude to be merely a victim of my Yvette

He would awake calmly, spit out the sand,

And wonder at his folly as he strolled home naked.

But if the gods felt otherwise

And awoke young Claude with a start…

Well, I could hardly be blamed

For his fatal lust after another man’s wife.

Now the sun is well into the morning the sky. 

My sleep, though brief, was restful,

And Marie, my faithful housekeeper,

 Set an incomparable breakfast table.

Captain Aronnax presented himself to Marie

Before the breakfast dishes had been cleared,

Long before I had expected his arrival.

She brought him to me in the parlor.

His face, though calm, was tinged with sorrow.

And his eyes were red with rage.

The Vadun gods, I thought smugly,

Had shown no mercy on the hapless Claude.

“Captain,” I said, as he stepped into the parlor,

“You look distraught, my friend.

Pray, be seated by this sunny window

And tell me what has happened.”

“It’s my son, Claude,” he remarked solemnly.

“He died this morning

Convulsed in bewilderment and fear,

The victim of a sadistic swine.”

Captain Aronnax continued,

“Yvette has also died at the hands of the same mad man,

Although her body has yet to wash ashore. 

I knew that you would want to be notified at once.”

“Yvette?  My Yvette?”  I was incredulous.

“My poor Yvette is dead?”

I sank down next to my guest on the grand divan,

Swallowed up in blue velour and grief.

The tears rolling down my face were real,

Though hardly the product of sorrow -

Yesterday’s slave to obsession

Was transforming to a man long forgotten.

I sobbed unashamed for a respectable time

Before drawing myself up in righteous wrath.

“The devil who did this must be brought to justice.

“We will try the animal in my very own court!”

“If there is a trial,” the Captain said calmly

“You will be standing in the dock

Bearing witness to your own foul deeds

As you await the rope of justice.”

“But I have killed no one, you imbecile!

All last night I paced this very room

Alarmed by Yvette’s absence,

Concerned for her safety.”

“That is a sad story, Monsieur le juge,

But we both know it is false,

As false as your heart

And as cold as Yvette’s body.”

“But you don’t have her body,”

I fairly shouted as I stood above the peace officer

And scowled into his pathetic face.

“Who is to say that she is even dead?”

“Yvette had Claude on the beach last night

While you watched from the shadows -

And when she finished with Claude

You claimed your marital rights.”

“Nonsense! “ I roared.  “Utter falsehoods!

I was in this very house all night

Secure in the warmth of my sweet Marie,

Though it’s not as if I’ll need an alibi.”

“No, an alibi would be quite useless,”

The Captain smiled, but sadly.

“And Marie would not perjure herself

When I inform her of the evidence.”

“You have a witness?” I inquired.

“Some beach derelict seeking revenge

Over a verdict he felt was unjust -

Or with some other maligned motive?”

“There were no witnesses,” he sadly replied.

“Just the film from the security camera

That Claude himself installed this week

Behind the La Bella Vue.”

“A camera?  But why would…”

My voice stumbled as it fell across a sudden memory.

“To combat the vandals,” the Captain said.

“The work order was signed by your very own hand.”

Captain Aronnax slowly arose

And placed his pistol on the table in front of me.

“There is only one bullet,

And my men are stationed at each door.”

The Captain turned as he reached the kitchen door.

“After I share a coffee with Marie.

I will come back

And we will effect your arrest.”

The pistol was in my hand

Where I felt its firmness and heft

“And if I choose another option?”

I cocked the gun and aimed at my friend.

“Do as you must,” the Captain replied.,

“But know that by murdering my son

You have already thrown me through the gates of Hell.

It’s your bullet – choose wisely.”

(And with that he left the room.)