Let It All Hang Out

A SIMPLE STATEMENT OF FACTS

2011-05-23T06:00:00.000-07:00

Based on long years of varied experience, this writer has derived an indisputable conclusion as to the two most stupid acts a man can commit during his lifetime. Stated purely and simply, they are the following:

1. Smoke cigarettes

2. Get married

Although many now mature gents may be reluctant to admit it, we're convinced that an overwhelming majority would sincerely agree, at least within their own minds.

FED UP

2010-10-29T06:03:00.001-07:00

After many years of being concerned over the anticipated, then the actual outcome of a periodic general election, this writer has finally reached a conclusion. Having grown irrevocably sick and tired of the half-truths and distortions belched forth by the candidates, we find the whole affair no more sincere than those ghastly TV commercial messages the advertising gentry endeavors to make us swallow.

As a consequence, our personal conclusion can be best stated as follows:

WE DON’T GIVE A _____________________ ANY LONGER

Each reader is invited to fill in the blank space with whatever term he or she may choose, in at least four and not more than eight letters.

GOOD OLD NO. XV

2010-10-02T15:07:00.001-07:00

The Fifteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, as ratified on February 3, 1870, proudly declares that citizens’ voting rights shall not be denied or abridged due to race, color, or previous condition of servitude.

We must now ask how said wording might appear to mean from a 21st century schoolchild’s viewpoint. We can’t help but feel that his or her understanding would be that every American citizen could head straight to the polls on all election days thereafter.

Well, Kids, ‘tain’t so. The teacher will have to mark your answer wrong in this particular case.

Considering the era in which this amendment became law, the obvious implication at the time was that such right would continue to be restricted to members of the unfair sex only, be their skin white, black, red, brown, blue, or green.

Actually, doesn’t it sound a bit preposterous that no necessity whatsoever called for the words male citizens, rather than just citizens? Talk about chauvinism!

So how did our latter 19th century ladies react in combating this effrontery? Were there protest marches down New York’s Fifth Avenue, fiery speeches from soapboxes across the land, or armies of female pickets outside the White House? As far as we can determine, no such endeavors were undertaken. Having been formally deprived of such right by every state since 1807, our womenfolk knew their place, and continued to content themselves at the spinning wheel and in the kitchen, while tending to a nursery filled with youngsters. Otherwise, they may have been subject to victimization by tar and feathers, or maybe even a horsewhip.

It took another 50 (count ‘em) 50 years before voting privileges were extended to the distaff side, and only after a lengthy and tedious bout with all those stuffy hidebound men running the show, as had been the practice for countless millennia.

Our sole remaining question is why did it take so much blooming time for a leading world nationality, not to mention the entire human race, to resolve what we view today as an utterly logical issue?

MENTAL POISONING (BEFORE YOUR VERY EYES)

2010-08-05T09:56:00.000-07:00

In 1949, a renowned author named George Orwell wrote a novel entitled 1984, which depicted living conditions as they might become by that time. The book envisioned a wholly totalitarian world, with only three gigantic countries remaining in existence, each having derived from territorial conglomeration. They all ruled their citizenry in a terrifying manner, by the simple means of sheer news fabrication. The individual would receive a daily dose of disinformation about wars being fought, subversive activities attempted, and the utter necessity to maintain unceasing patriotic sentiment and loyalty by promptly reporting any suspected offenders to the central authorities. The nation known as Oceania, whose capital lay in London, had identified an anarchist named Emmanuel Goldstein, allegedly leading forces dedicated to undermining the so-called people’s government and everything it stood for. As matters turned out, however, no such person actually lived, having been fabricated to foster universal hatred, a feature most essential to the “inner party’s” undisputed control over the masses.

Although our own year 1984 came and went without the eventuality so grimly described by Mr. Orwell, we can’t help but wonder if our modern society leadership hasn’t been taking a few pages out of his work and putting them to comparable use, albeit not to such extremes. We’d like to cite a few reasons why we harbor suspicion in this regard.

For openers, one of comedian Bob Newhart’s earliest monologue sketches dealt with the presumed need to have created a public figure image for Abraham Lincoln, causing the man to appear somewhat more exciting than his true characteristics would convey. Although only a retroactive spoof, it clearly illustrated the principle of artificially fabricating a persona. The piece accurately mirrored practices known to be carried out today by TV wizards, in order to glorify candidates for office or intended prominence elsewhere.

Additionally, our private DVD collection happens to include certain films, among which are the following, based on situations of a factual or too close for comfort nature:
· Power, wherein a national election becomes a rivalry between image builders representing their respective candidates, with little or no concern over the issues each may be guided by;
· Wag the Dog, with the presidential election prospects getting completely overturned during the last eleven campaign days, by virtue of staging a bogus war scare and a fictitious martyred military hero;
· The Pentagon Papers, a biographical presentation of Daniel Ellsberg’s struggle to make the true Vietnam war results clearly understood, and the government’s two-fisted effort to discredit him;
· Network, a plot Larry King and others in the TV business consider to be pure realism put on film, explaining how the general public can be influenced and motivated solely through overblown or virtually concocted news coverage;
· Finally, JFK, where Oliver Stone endeavors to portray a believable cover-up of the actual circumstances surrounding the Kennedy assassination, and its attempt to identify a sole red-tinged young man as the culprit.

The above instances have dealt with two opposite poles, evidencing concentration either on hatred or heroic imagery, sometimes throwing both together. To our mind, each ranks as insidious as the other. Misguiding the multitude definitely falls under bearing false witness, according to the tablets God delivered to Moses. The obvious question has to be whether the U.S. government or the television industry deserves the greater guilt. In our opinion, it’s both, in the form of an ill-conceived, unofficial joint venture.

What we’re busting our tails to drive home in this piece is the extent to which utter phoniness has long been known to prevail at the highest political and show business levels, while the majority goes on blithely accepting the engineered news diet with little reservation.

It’s a foregone conclusion that our government requires a sense of national paranoia at all times, with the best means being through perpetual focus on at least one leading villain in the public eye, á la Orwell’s Emmanuel Goldstein. Interestingly, a fellow can be transformed from the world’s biggest schmuck into a nice guy almost overnight, whereas in some cases the exact reverse will occur. A few prominent examples from recent decades are shown below.

From mean s.o.b. to reasonably sound citizen, there have been:
· Yasser Arafat;
· Muammar Gadaffi;
· Manuel Ortega.

On the other hand, from half-way decent chap to downright louse, we offer:
· Fidel Castro;
· Manuel Noriega;
· Sadam Hussein.

The most notable feature is that elevating yesterday’s nastiest guy in the universe to today’s top semi-god must invariably be followed by immediate demotion of some new person to prime time satanic status.

Currently, however, we just may have established the all-time greatest villain in modern history, namely the very elusive Osama bin Laden, who’s been ducking our belligerent legions for such a long while that we can’t avoid wondering if such a bloke really does exist as such, or is represented only by photos of some humble middle eastern shepherd. Nevertheless, the sentiment mounted against him has become so overwhelming that our organized propaganda machine now seems to have put all its eggs in one basket.

Be that as it may, until the day arrives when this demonic personage is either slain or captured, we remain somewhat less than convinced about him and his so-called family connections not having been at least partially fabricated. Still, we’ll be more than pleased to acknowledge his evil authenticity, once duly proven.

A NEW EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM BOMBSHELL

2010-07-19T10:27:00.001-07:00

As evidenced by an earlier blog article, we aren’t exactly enthralled with the performance qualities exhibited by our collective professorial gentry. It’s now sad to report that we’ve recently discovered yet another specific failing in the educational process.

Having become informally affiliated with the retail guitar trade, we’ve made several new acquaintances who play as amateurs or professionals, some of whom hold music major degrees. What has struck us in the solar plexus more than once lately is the general lack of familiarity displayed regarding mid-20th century jazz greats and their contribution to modern note-producing history.

Without exception, these esteemed diploma-wavers are able to converse somewhat intelligently about Beethoven, Schubert, Mozart, Verdi, Debussy, and those other classical cats, having had such names crammed down their throats during classroom days. However, we find ourselves constantly appalled when, upon mentioning Goodman, Ellington, Basie, Dorsey, Miller, and even Brubeck, a blank stare results, followed by a Benny Who, Duke Who, or similar response.

Harking back to our own music class school days, we recall being thoroughly familiarized with outpourings of the “old master” fraternity by the dozen. Contrarily, of course, no teacher seated at the piano or up front alongside the record-player dared admit that “swing bands” were then reigning supreme, with their latest hits being mentally hummed by students galore. Such subject was a strict discussionary no-no.

We long ago wrote off that crew of eunuchal fuddy-duddies as not having been in tune with the times. What else could be expected in such a backward-looking era? Jumping to the present, though, we can’t help but detect a still apparent disdain for the musicianship which steadily evolved from its birth around the 1890s, through the 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, and onward, having become an established way of life. About the only statement we can utter to those unenlightened ex-students of music is that overworked cliché, “Your education has been sadly neglected”, with all sincerity.

At least we’ve not yet reached the ultimate stage when singers may be the conversational topic, and some youthful wizard pipes up with “Frank Who?”

CONGRATULATIONS TO WASHINGTON

2010-07-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

Tanning salons, which tend to proliferate around our country these days, are emporia where relatively pale-skinned folk may be turned into well-bronzed bathing beauties after a few lamp or laser treatments. In some respects, this may be viewed as an extravagance, since the same effect can be achieved less expensively by a day at the beach or an outdoor pool.

Accordingly, that stalwart band of brothers in our two congressional houses has deemed this particular service to approach excessive yuppieness, deciding to levy a 10% federal excise tax on charges for its performance. Senators Laurel, Abbott, Moe, and Larry, along with Representatives Hardy, Costello, Curly, and Keaton have found a way to tack such provision onto that grand and glorious health care reform bill they’ve been debating ad nauseam over for what seems like ages.

There obviously has to be some logic to this step, because we know that United States Senators and Congress(wo)men possess nothing short of our nation’s soundest minds. Nevertheless, we can’t help but wonder what relevance artificial body tanning has to public health care improvement.

Anyway, quite a few small business establishments here and about now stand to suffer a touch of reduced revenue from the more dedicated do-it-yourselfers, not to mention an additional record-keeping and form out-filling burden. Meanwhile, our Texas, Oklahoma, and elsewhere oil barons will continue enjoying overly abundant annual tax deductions in the form of a percentage depletion allowances, accompanied by others among the wealthier class
who benefit from countless further gimmicks and loopholes reserved for those with more control than the tanning artists over our esteemed legislators.

How can we do anything but take off our hats and bow deeply in the direction of Washington DC, offering homage to our two highly remarkable congressional groups?

SOME VITALLY NEEDED SOCIALISTIC STEPS

2010-07-15T06:50:00.000-07:00

Within the past century, countries throughout the world have adopted numerous and varied public healtWh care programs, ranging from totally government-backed setups to that farcical effort the U.S. Congress recently wasted months shouting across the aisles over, before winding up with still one more non-solution to a pressing dilemma. To put the issue squarely on the table, none of those supposedly beneficent schemes has ever worked effectively anywhere. Meanwhile, the human race’s collective physical condition continues to deteriorate, almost by the hour.

The medical world these days never ceases to be involved in a round robin spiral. Doctors’ clinics and hospitals invest with fervent zeal in the latest technically-advanced and increasingly expensive gadgetry for such fundamental tasks as checking temperature, pulse, blood pressure, and the like, as well as treating major or minor ailments. A “keeping up with the Joneses” atmosphere seems to prevail. Costs therefore continue to rise, causing service fees to steadily go up, leading in turn to even less affordable insurance company rates. We certainly can’t be accused of exaggeration in stating that such trend is never going to stop, unless some essential corrective action gets implemented.

Sound logic dictates a single and simple answer to this ungodly mess. What would be wrong with going the full distance, by offering absolutely free care for every male and female citizen or lawful immigrant in this country? We firmly believe that if the Almighty had His druthers, He’d be likely to opt for this sort of arrangement.

Revolutionary or not, we view the following program as mandatory, and with all deliberate speed:
· Providing for needed medical, psychiatric, and dental services to all qualified at no expense, to include doctor and nursing care, hospitalization, surgery, prescribed drugs, orthopedic limbs, canes, wheel chairs, walkers, oxygen, and whatever else may duly apply;
· The foregoing point notwithstanding, exclusion of coverage for abortions, legal or otherwise (honestly feeling the Almighty would want it this way too), surgery of a strictly cosmetic nature, and dental work for mere beautification purposes;
· Compensating doctors, dentists, nurses, and other licensed health care practitioners on a fitting salary scale, subject to annual increase according to experience and/or number of patients treated;

Obviously, this would call for subsidization of hospitals and pharmaceutical companies at government expense, perhaps in the latter case based on accepted and approved research and development achievements.

And now the bombshell:
· Cancelation of all existing health and malpractice insurance plans, as neither being required any longer.

Additionally, inasmuch as a considerable degree of ill health is brought about by poor personal eating and other habits, we’re convinced that the costs of the foregoing plan ought to be covered to a major extent by heavy, heavier, and heaviest taxes on the following products:
· Tobacco in any form;
· Alcoholic beverages, including beer and ale;
· Soft drinks;
· Candy and chewing gum;
· Meat and other foods clinically defined as being of high calorie, high cholesterol, high glucose, contributive to high blood pressure, or comparably harmful.

Furthermore, greater import tariffs should be strongly considered on coffee and cocoa beans, because of their less-than-healthful properties.

Although we deem the above program fine in principle, might we not expect gross abuses to arise? Of course. Everyone knows that. Wouldn’t those vulturous lobbyists who infest Washington and state capitals have a picnic, endeavoring to push through the perennial legislation set to satisfy special interests only? We have no doubt in the slightest. Government bureaucracy would also be sure to rear its ugly head in frightful proportions. Nevertheless, might the overall resultant improvement in public welfare not be apt to outweigh the slings and arrows? We’re inclined to believe so.

Once and for all then, can’t sensible, compassionate heads prevail after so many decades or longer of bickering, unjust treatment, and sheer failure in all health care system undertakings to date?

Any reader who fails to react at least to some degree at the program we’ve sketched out above should be subject to censorship for mental negligence.

THE ELECTRONIC AGE AND ITS HORRORS

2010-06-23T15:40:00.001-07:00

It has become quite clear that the makers of electronic gadgetry have successfully taken a page, yea pages, what the hell, chapters from the book so long maintained by the automotive companies during their lush days, promoting dynamic obsolescence. Every new piece of equipment these silicon chip neo-geniuses foist on the market now seems to result in a clamor to visit the nearest sales spot, so the outmoded model purchased just a couple years ago can be tossed into the retirement bin or given to the kids.

Perhaps we’re more conservative than we constantly claim to be, by never appreciating the need to possess the latest pocket-sized or slightly larger device, guaranteed to perform heretofore unimaginable feats, both faster and with more storage capacity than ever envisioned. If so, we must confess to prefer behaving in an old fuddy-duddy manner, rather than like a wide-eyed yuppie. What’s wrong with being content sticking to an earlier version, as long as it does the job satisfactorily?

THE GUY NEXT DOOR

2010-06-18T15:48:00.001-07:00

During the years of Ronald Reagan’s presidential tenure, we never ceased viewing him as a man who’d very likely make an ideal next door neighbor, based upon his consistent demeanor while appearing in public. He always seemed like the sort of chap inclined to drop by on occasion for a friendly beer at the kitchen table, or engage in frequent spirited conversation with a fellow back yard grass cutter. It’s no wonder that he enjoyed such immense universal popularity for such a lengthy time period.

In rather sharp contrast, we developed a much different feeling as regards his immediate White House successor, George Bush Sr. Should he be residing that close by, we envision an approximate weekly pounding on our door to proclaim in vociferous tones “Your dog peed
on my shrubbery!”

A LONG AND WELCOME SARTORIAL STRIDE

2010-06-14T20:34:00.000-07:00

Whenever we venture out on various excursions for shopping, social events, or other purposes these days, we find it interesting to note the wearing apparel which adorns roughly 95% of the men observed. Clothing once viewed as fit for only a hobo or a hopeless wino is now the accepted mode. The casual look has become the universally accepted male fashion.

Anyone who watches early era movies on television or DVD will see how strictly conservative masculine garb prevailed in those days. Among our best remembered examples was a scene with approximately twenty men grouped together in the stands viewing a hockey game. Without exception, they wore business suits, neckties, and felt hats, more resembling chorus line members than spectators. To our subsequent century eyes, this seemed nothing short of ridiculous. Nevertheless, that's how we chaps were virtually required to drape ourselves much of the time a half-century or so back.

Contrarily today, about the only situations that force a fellow to clad himself thusly occur when sitting in a stuffy board room or attending church services. Being retired, and otherwise not having not occupied a pew for decades, we wouldn't be overly surprised to learn that some might be showing up at both such locations wearing more relaxed duds by now. However, we hold no particular anxiety to check either matter out.

To help the trend along, several latter-day U.S. Presidents have shed such senseless formality as well, when making public appearances under appropriate conditions.

A close acquaintance once described an incident which took place when he was an early teenager (circa 1939), vacationing with older relatives at a rustic cabin resort in the Pennsylvania hills. He showed us a family photo where every person except his father wore casual outfits. In stark dissimilarity, Pop had on a white shirt and a tie -- at an Appalachian wilderness retreat! Furthermore, he'd shaved, after allowing his five o'clock shadow to build up for several days, according to our narrator.

The reason readily became clear, as our friend went on to explain. There was periodic need for someone to drive into the nearest hamlet to seek supplies or whatever. As head of the household, the old man had the procurement obligation, and had groomed himself with due propriety. During those times, a true gentleman never trod the sidewalk without a single-color suit plus a necktie, and likely a hat on top, even in Hickburg, Pa. Besides that, only bums let their beards grow back then. His return had immediately preceded the picture-taking, with only a few minutes to shed his coat and sombrero.

Speaking very candidly, it's a pleasure not having to put up with such false formality any longer. In turn, dare we suppose the day will come when judges and barristers in England's and its many commonwealth countries' courts of law might stop wearing those silly powdered wigs, faggoty cravats, and outmoded robes?

TACTICAL ADVICE FROM A WOULD-BE FIFTH COLUMNIST CHASER

2010-06-11T14:39:00.000-07:00

Quite recently, the apartment complex where we reside sent out invitations for any and all occupants to attend a brief reception at its club house a few days further on. With the announced hour being "by 1:00 PM", our initial thought was to drop in at 11:00 and stay only long enough to meet a 12:30 appointment elsewhere. Shortly afterward though, the realization struck that the correct starting time would be somewhat later than first anticipated, making our presence impossible.

How did reach such conclusion? Purely and simply because we knew the bulletin had been composed by a Latina lady, who had grown up in another country. With no disrespect intended, we could tell that her use of by didn't actually mean before, but rather near, hence around or about one o'clock.

To expand upon this innocent type of linguistic error, we've long held to the certainty that should we ever become engaged in counterespionage activity, an enemy agent posing as a U.S. patriot could eventually be tripped up through noting improper English preposition use. As an unofficial, yet dedicated student of various foreign tongues, we've experienced countless cases where such application can be much different between one language and another, especially when a direct textbook translation pattern is followed. Consequently, a reasonably lengthy interview with a supposed "one of us" would guarantee spy detection results in due course.

Another alleged way to catch an unwanted infiltrator would merely be to sketch a diamond on a piece of paper, then ask him or her to place an X where the shortstop belongs. We scoff at this idea for two sound reasons. Firstly, we've met any number of native-born Americans unable to perform such exercise properly, which might lead to false presumption. Conversely, a well-trained enemy agent could handle the matter with his or her eyes closed.

Everything we've said above is likely old hat to the CIA et al lads and lasses. Nevertheless, we just wanted to flaunt our vicarious capabilities.

WHAT CONSTITUTES A SOCIAL GATHERING?

2010-06-09T08:15:00.000-07:00

Years ago, when this writer was in the employ of a leading professional services firm, two annual parties would be hrown for the staff and their wives. The first came during the late spring months in the form of a cocktail party at a prominent local hotel, and the second near Christmas time, complete with drinks and an elaborate buffet dinner. Each occasion usually offered a pleasant evening for all.

In most organizations we've dealt with, the invitation lists for events of this sort include every current employee. However, that was never the policy adhered to by said company. Since its business consisted of serving the blue-chippiest clientele possible, a distinctly stuffy attitude constantly prevailed, with attendance limited to those holding university degrees, perhaps supplemented by professional certification.

What we're saying is that the secretaries, the typists, the office clerks, the reproduction equipment operators, and the messenger boy were never allowed to participate. Granted, they'd be given a small annual affair of their own at a separate spot, mingling solely among themselves.

When we once inquired as to the whys and wherefores of such practice, a company bigwig coolly replied by expressing a fear that some young lady might bring along her husband or boy friend, who could be a common laborer. Perish the thought of some professional type finding himself engaged in conversation with a hod carrier or rubbish collector. The explanation was concluded with "That, in our firm's eyes, does not make a social gathering". A page had clearly been taken from India's caste system.

Happily, while later working with similar firms over the years, we never found this outlandish situation duplicated.

From our anti-Republican viewpoint, a Christmas party or comparable occasion should provide an excellent atmosphere for camaraderie, where file clerks can brush shoulders with vice presidents. Even if some poor slob gets a snoutful and openly calls the big boss a fatassed s.o.b., the whole affair is supposed to be in fun.

We've never managed to forget or forgive such ultra-snobbishness.

HOW DO YOU SPELL HIPPOCRATIC OATH?

2010-06-01T10:43:00.000-07:00

If this particular article fails to bring on loud retorts in defense of the sacred medical profession, we can’t possibly imagine what will. The matter we’re about to lay on the table deals with relationships established between physicians and the pharmaceutical companies, regarding what benefits may be forthcoming in return for prescription writing, excessive or otherwise.

A browse of the internet on such subject makes it abundantly clear that the drug manufacturers are known indeed to provide gifts (lacking a more suitable label) to doctors for having pushed their wares, due to age-old overly aggressive marketing habits. Still, we see no concrete statements to the effect that direct kickbacks are being paid.

Nevertheless, supposing we take a look at what can be readily accomplished with our 21st century technology. When picking up a prescription at any pharmacy, the doctor is expressly identified on the label, which means his name and address have also been lodged in a computer file. Reporting sales of products X, Y, or Z back to the drug companies, naming the initiator in each case, can be duck soup.

While living in Thailand for a great many years, we observed that every hospital and medical clinic carried huge quantities of pharmaceutical products. We further found that any direct charges for routine doctor services were either relatively minimal if not nil, with the profit derived from the small pile of prescriptions the patient carried to the stock room to be filled. Since the national mentality in said country is predicated on believing a doctor’s words to be the gospel according to St. Whoever, no person dares not to fork over the funds for the list of drugs dished out. In this case, the revenue comes from direct sales, but requiring a rather massive inventory investment. Accordingly, the drug producers can’t be other than blissfully pleased.

Our stateside system differs, of course, in that medical clinics don’t normally house drug stocks, letting the independent pharmacies carry the inventory burden. Theoretically then, the only profit is earned at the retail level, with the prescribing physician’s task a mere ordering service for no added remuneration. Correspondingly, medication issued from stores within hospital walls and charged to a patient’s account would produce revenue for the institution only.

However, can this always be true in real life practice? Might direct (or at least camouflaged) percentage kickbacks not be due the doctors?

Even if such condition may exist today, and we’re frankly inclined to harbor such suspicions, this wouldn’t necessarily imply that prescriptions are being written with an eye only on resulting rebates. In any such case, the physician would be on the borderline of a Hippocratic Oath violation.

In all due fairness, therefore, we shouldn’t jump to unwarranted conclusions. Still, it is common knowledge that doctors are extensively trained to combat illness with drugs, drugs, and more drugs. They spent long years in medical school having this point driven home. Even though many offer useful lip service to careful dieting, tobacco use restriction, ample exercise, and other natural cure methods, the underlying indoctrination back at dear old Siwash can’t be easily forgotten.

Fundamentally speaking, we feel that the prime fault has to lie with the pharmaceutical companies, whose sales promotion methods have irretrievably branded them as having resided in Satan’s bailiwick for as far back as any of us can remember. Besides, they have no Hippocratic Oath to hold them in check.

A SOMEWHAT IMPASSIONED PLEA FOR MORE HOLLYWOOD REALISM

2010-06-01T06:37:00.000-07:00

This piece focuses on the gentry who churn out movies in assembly line fashion, most pointedly the screenwriters. We hold nothing short of utter contempt for their ceaseless history revising, fact distortion, and classic literature corruption. The industry obviously has no qualms about insulting our alleged intelligence through truth manipulation for entertainment’s sake. It seems the only text they won’t twist around is that which comes from the Bible, perhaps due to inherent fear of recriminations from the Almighty.

Moreover, thanks to needed liberalization of those past days’ ridiculous censorship measures, our more modern film creators now go too far overboard, seldom failing to feature superfluous “in the sack” scenes, before blowing massive structures to bits as a finale. At least the earlier era bluenose-controlled productions couldn’t be overladen with erotic and violent sensationalism. However, we digress, since our current quest is for greater authenticity, not moderation.

Supplementing our above-stated misgivings, we’d like to add a few relatively minor pet peeves, where war and other military life films are concerned. We have no appreciation for lack of realism when portraying either battle scenes or barrack-room dialogue, and thus tend to wince at any of the aspects discussed below.

Military Rank Insignia
Anyone who ever served in direct confrontation combat knows that, beforehand, non-coms will have torn off their stripes, and officers discarded their bars, oak leaves, eagles, or stars. In addition, the facsimiles painted on their helmets get thoroughly coated with mud. To the enemy, such exposed designations signify leadership capacity, thus making the bearers more logical targets for snipers or other close range opponents.

Nevertheless, even in sterling war epics like The Longest Day and The Band of Brothers, among many lesser flicks we’ve watched over the years, no soldier ever appears without his rank prominently displayed for all to see and aim at. From our viewpoint, this lacks essential realism.

Shoulder Patches
The above point applies equally here, and never once have we noted the absence of military unit identification on any actor-soldier’s duds. Standard military procedure calls for such patches to be ripped off and thrown away before reaching the front, in the interest of security. Allowing the enemy to recognize what outfit they are facing has always been strictly taboo, with their forces’ having been thoroughly indoctrinated in noting and reporting any such observations.

Artillery and Mortar Fire
All too often, we witness troops moving forward, while shells keep landing and exploding no more than a few feet away from many of them, yet they carry on, miraculously untouched. The naïve film viewer is to suppose that only direct body hits will be damaging. Even the Rambo movies follow this erroneous pattern. Again, as many of us have learned from bitter experience, a strike that close will send deadly shrapnel flying in every direction.

Soldier, Sailor, Marine, and Air Force Vocabulary
We’re all aware that military personnel are prone to employ salty language as a matter of routine, and our latter-day films do a pretty adequate job in this regard. Although we have no objection to such practice, we have long deplored the unceasing use of two especially inaccurate expressions, both “clean” by nature, and normally applicable to off-duty or between-skirmish scenes.

The first overworked word in army films is sarge, used when addressing a sergeant. Throughout this fellow’s entire military service career, that abbreviation was not heard on a single occasion. The custom has always been to call said person by the full term and/or his name.

Furthermore, in countless army or navy-based movies, we’ve listened to only one word ever applied when reference is made to members of the fair sex. Quite frankly, we’re sick and tired of their being called dames, without exception. Even that classic song from South Pacific, which complained of their absence, exploited such expression to the hilt.

Having participated in an endless number of barracks bull sessions, conversations with college fraternity associates, various stag affairs, poker parties, and the like, this writer has yet to hear the ladies so labeled, either individually or collectively. Although there are words applicable by the dozen, ranging from semi-complimentary to degrading to anatomically vulgar, never has a male colleague of this writer been known to designate them as dames.

MUD

2010-05-20T07:08:00.000-07:00

As a person who has been retired from the working rat race for a number of years, this writer finds ample time to view a private DVD collection and browse the internet at will. Although relaxing in some ways, such practice can also bring on discouragement, depending upon what happens to be watched.

Just a day or two ago, we chose to replay a 1972 film entitled The Candidate, with Robert Redford in the lead role as a chap who rose from the ashes to win a U.S. Senate seat from California, against a typically stodgy Republican old-liner. Not unexpectedly, this movie struck a decided parallel tone with the 2008 presidential race, wherein a man overcame an inherent two-strike handicap to eventually succeed after a most arduous campaign.

One major difference between real life and tinseltown is that Barack Obama has proven to be a more composed and outwardly self-assured candidate than the character portrayed by actor Redford. Nevertheless, we found the true sincerity of both the fictional and living parties virtually identical. In turn, each one faced the usual small-minded Republican opposition, promoting its customary “make the rich richer and to hell with the little guy” practices, along with the “God bless the special interest groups” motif.

Furthermore, we recently called up the 2008 election night rally in Chicago on the internet, to listen again to Obama’s acceptance address. We can confidently say that it rates with the best public speeches ever heard, not only from the standpoint of the principles advocated, but the new president’s unswerving poise as well. It is no wonder the massive crowd felt tremendously inspired.

Our estimation is that the time elapsed between Mr. Obama’s closing words and the start of rolling the ball toward discrediting him at every turn thereafter to have been no more than three minutes. In fact, we can be sure that contingent plans for such dedicated undermining of his cause had already been conceived even before the vote-counting was over.

For as long as we can personally remember, and that goes back to Roosevelt in 1932, Republican tactics have been predicated strictly upon negativity. The philosophy of “If you can’t beat ‘em, ridicule ‘em ad nauseam” hasn’t abated one bit throughout every national and lower level election ever since. The same fabricated and grime-laden accusations were hurled at John Kennedy, Bill Clinton, and plenty of others. Today, the devoted mudslingers have an even more readily available listening audience, in that the current president doesn’t belong to the “superior” white race.

It is always easier, not to mention desirable, to believe the dirt cast upon a person or collective group rather than what true good he, she, or they are striving for, and this has forever been the foundation for Republican back room tactical maneuvering.

Having offered personal support and encouragement to the Obama efforts throughout 2008, we now receive the administration’s policy comments via email every week. The most notable feature is the outright cleanliness of each such message, coupled with sound logic and fair play, consistent with the man’s campaign issues.

On the other hand, we strenuously object to the disgustingly foul Republican mudslinging which has been evident for so long, as an unfitting substitute for constructive thinking.

A NEWLY-DISCOVERED WAY TO "BEAT THE SYSTEM"

2010-05-17T05:22:00.000-07:00

As a recently reformed foodaholic, this writer has been blessed with a hitherto unappreciated personal satisfaction source. A 180-degree switch from cholesterol-laden meats, ultra-high calorie sweets, and other fattening delicacies in huge consumptive quantities over to fish, fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grain cereals, and the like has proven to be a major event for a guy who previously spent many decades stuffing whatever he damn pleased down his gullet. The results to date have been noticeably beneficial, leading to a strong desire to remain atop the proverbial wagon at all costs.

Undoubtedly, however, the biggest satisfaction comes from dining in restaurants which feature those all-you-can-cram-down buffet tables. It has literally become fun to stroll about and scoop up such healthful offerings as sweet potatoes, corn on the cob, lima beans, and similar healthful commodities, while nonchalantly observing women who might make excellent defensive tackles for the Indianapolis Colts, and men who look as though they could be seven months pregnant digging into the fat-ringed roast beef and deep fried potatoes, followed by double portions of gooey dessert.

It’s a glorious feeling indeed to leave the eatery with the sincere knowledge of having beaten the system once more.

NO SUBSTITUTIONS, PLEASE

2010-05-13T12:01:00.001-07:00

According to the internet, some feeble-minded film industry moguls recently did a film remake of Gone with the Wind, set in Australia, heaven forbid. In this writer’s opinion, that is virtually tantamount to rewriting the Bible as though the Garden of Eden were a small Pacific island and Jesus had delivered the Sermon on the Mount in New York’s Central Park.

As we view such matters, GWTW isn’t the only film upon which the “never again” label should be permanently affixed. Taking it from there, we intend to present below our private selection of ultraclassical movies, wherein certain individual or collective performances can never possibly be equalled, no matter how hard the directors and actors may try.

Unhappily, several of our chosen flicks have already been subject to attempted duplication, in one form or another. The listless results will also be covered below, as appropriate.

Without further ado then, we consider the following movies as being far too sacred to either be or have been redone, along with brief reasons why, presented in alphabetical sequence.

1. Butch Cassady and the Sundance Kid (1969)
Without the joint performances by Newman and Redford and their ultra-snappy dialogue, this production would have been no more than just another western. A prequel appeared a few years afterward, portraying the two legendary outlaws in their more youthful days, but amounted to mighty little.
2. Casablanca (1942)
Imagine this one without Bogie and Bergman! Had anyone else been cast in those leading roles, today we’d be asking “Casa where?” whenever it might be mentioned. Claude Rains did an unmatchable job as well.
3. The Godfather (1972)
The team of Brando, Pacino, Caan, and Duvall proved itself so memorable, that only the world’s biggest dunderheads would even think of a potential remake. Had it not been for that crew, the end result would have been a dry update of Little Caesar.
4. The Old Man and the Sea (1958)
Here is a very simple story, with Spencer Tracy turning out the best all-by-oneself acting we’ve ever witnessed. We didn’t see the 1990 rehash with Anthony Quinn playing the lead, and most assuredly never want to.
5. On Golden Pond (1981)
Despite all his previous successes, Henry Fonda was never better than in the old codgerish role which brought his sole Oscar award. Christopher Plummer’s subsequent rendition for television some years later didn’t even come close.
6. Psycho (1960)
As the disturbed and unbalanced killer, Anthony Perkins was nothing short of brilliant, in perhaps the most frightening top-of-the-line movie ever filmed. Describing that 1998 remake as utterly insipid is being polite and considerate.
7. Finally, we have an unbreakable tie, since the two lead parts dealt with a blind person making use of his and her remaining faculties to the fullest extent. The films we’re honoring are:
Scent of a Woman (1992)
Wait Until Dark (1967)
In our book, Al Pacino and Audrey Hepburn rank with the greatest the industry has produced. Their respective performances in the aforementioned flicks aren’t easy to forget.

We’ll be more than pleased, as always, to hear any reader arguments.

PERHAPS WE'RE JUST TOO OLD-FASHIONED

2010-05-12T11:36:00.001-07:00

Despite these super-duper days when many of us are inspired to utter such statements as “Ain’t technology great?”, this writer retains his constitutional right to abhor one particular aspect. To put it more strongly, one thing we’ve learned to hate immensely since returning to U.S. shores following an extended offshore stay is placing a phone call, only to get some (expletive deleted) machine recording instead of an on-the-spot person.

Altogether too often, none of the button pushing options given out by the golden-voiced chick at yonder end seem to fit our particular needs. Having almost reached the exasperation point of no return by this time, we’ve become sorely tempted in future cases to tell the machine to perform an impossible act on itself and slam the phone down.

REVISION TO OUR MOST RECENT BLOG TOPIC

2010-05-09T18:20:00.000-07:00

In regard to the piece entitled The Saga of Naïve Morton and Misguided Robert, we must confess to having made a slight error which definitely requires correction, and that is what will be attended to herein.

Our corruptive rephrasing of Artimedorus’ written warning to Julius Caesar includes a line which reads as follows:
Latinos love you not;

Considering the era in which this writer was a growing lad, the major influx of Latinos into this supposedly unblemished country still lay a few decades off, meaning that said ethnic group needed no defamation cast upon it for some time to come. However, upon harking back to the indoctrination process administered in our household during those years, it would be fitting to change the above-cited line to read:
Southerners love you not;

Yes, we were also taught that our neighbors down Dixie way held us Yankees in contempt, allegedly due to sour grapes dating back to the outcome of the 1861-1865 fracas. Anyway, that was the party line.

Having recently taken up residence below the Mason-Dixon line, we realize beyond any doubt that such categorization was just as big a crock as the rest of the slurs quoted in our Shakespearean alteration.

THE SAGA OF NAIVE MORTON AND MISGUIDED ROBERT

2010-05-08T05:11:00.001-07:00

We begin this piece with a true episode in the life of Morton, a personal acquaintance from long ago, whose last name will be withheld, except to mention its being Hebrew by nature.

Mort was a Jewish lad who grew up in a semi-remote Nebraska location, where his faith had a very sparse membership at the time, which may not have changed since. He once explained how his family needed to travel a great many miles to and from the nearest temple for religious ceremony attendance.

Upon graduation from the University of Nebraska law school in the early 1950s, Mort underwent various interviews with prospective employers. Having expressed a desire to work in an eastward city, he accepted a position offered by the Cleveland, Ohio office of a major professional services firm.

After taking up his new job, Mort, already married and with an expectant wife, was anxious to settle down in a permanent home. He promptly contacted a real estate agent on Cleveland’s multi-national east side, and soon found a house which he and his missus liked very much. Accordingly, he filed a formal offer and plunked down the requisite deposit.

Having heard nothing from the agent for several days, Mort phoned him to check on the status of his intended deal.

The answer came in a somewhat stumbling tone, well punctuated by umms, ahs, and ers where needed.

“You ….. er ….. won’t be able to buy that house, Morton.”

“Oh!” Our hero quickly chimed back, “Don’t worry. I’m ready to come up a little.”

“Well ….. umm ….. ahh ….. that is, the owner refuses to sell to you.”

“Why?” inquired the young Jewish boy recently out of Nebraska.

“It’s ….. er ….. because of your religion.”

Poor Mort’s immediate reaction was to ask “What does that have to do with it?”

In pretty short order then, Morton learned that Cleveland, Ohio was not Nebraska, insofar as intolerance went.

Nevertheless, this part of our tale has a happy ending, since Mort did eventually acquire a nice house for his budding family.

We’ve long dwelled on that baptism of fire experienced by Brother Morton. One unfortunate aspect is that it recalls the general spirit of this writer’s own Cleveland, Ohio upbringing, in the most bigoted of household surroundings. The best means we can find for summing up such situation is to relate it to Shakespeare’s classic drama Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene III.

Being fully cognizant of the plot to assassinate Caesar on that fateful morning, the minor character Artimedorus had prepared a written message to hand to the imminent victim as he passed by, which amounted to a dire warning about the conspiratorial band.

We’ve thus chosen below to alter the Bard’s words slightly, in conformity with the lessons given regularly and frequently to this growing lad.

Robert, beware of Jews,
Take heed of Catholics,
Come not near Negroes,
Have an eye to American Indians,
Trust not Italians,
Mark well Eastern Europeans;
Latinos love you not;
Thou hast wronged Orientals.

Although a fearless Caesar arbitrarily brushed Artimedorus aside, it took this fellow a few years to outgrow the hatreds ingrained in him as a boy. For that and other reasons, it’s been nice to have escaped from Cleveland.

We can’t resist adding that, despite such atrocious childhood indoctrination, this writer’s closest friends during his (ugh! ptui!) U.S. Army days were Tom Donegan, Milton Feldman, and Phil Daniele.

A SHARP REBUTTAL FROM AN OFFENDED M.D.

2010-04-08T04:29:00.000-07:00

The most recent contribution to our Let It All Hang Out blog gave the medical profession a hefty punch in the solar plexus, by openly criticizing its proclivity for prescribing drugs as a prime cure-all, as opposed to insistence on patients’ sensible eating practices. However, since our reading audience includes no doctors, we deem it only fair to offer a reply from a mythical physician, based on the reaction that would likely result.

Accordingly, here is what we might expect in retaliation from an irate medical practitioner:

“Do you believe for an instant that we doctors are unaware of the benefits forthcoming
from a carefully controlled diet? Most of us have forgotten more than you presently
know about this matter. Nevertheless, how much could we ever accomplish by focusing
principally on choice of foods as the best approach for a patient? Can you honestly
expect the great majority of them to listen? Forget it. The unfortunate fact is that we’re
practically forced into writing hefty prescriptions, just to offset the damage so many
people have brought on themselves by eating improperly, and otherwise not taking good
care of their bodies.

“We continually tell people to quit smoking, but how many ever really do? Way too many
of them will go on puffing and wheezing until Joe Camel knocks them cold some day
not too far down the line. Furthermore, how are we expected to treat those who
obediently nod their heads in response to our semi-stern advice about reducing their
calorie, sugar, cholesterol, and other harmful intakes, then leave our offices and head
straight to the nearest McDonald’s for a burger and fries lunch?

“Quit blaming us for trying to do our best to salvage what we can out of an ailing,
mistreated human anatomy. Give us due credit for a noble effort.”

Thank you, Doctor. We stand duly admonished.

WORDS OF WISDOM GLEANED FROM BROWSING THE INTERNET

2010-04-07T17:25:00.000-07:00

Upon selecting a title for this particular piece, we were promptly reminded of Wordsworth’s classic Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey, written in 1798. However, we must assure the reader that what we’re about to expound upon falls far short, from the lyrical beauty standpoint, in comparison to the master’s chosen metric verse. As a matter of fact, the central theme which concerns us here is a rather unsavory one, namely bowel cleansing, hence improved health, through proper and careful dietary habits. Ugh!

We also admit to thoughts having arisen concerning musical virtuoso Arthur Sullivan, whose well-known The Lost Chord describes how he had allegedly created a singular perfect sound one afternoon, while browsing at an organ. We raise this point because we recently experienced a vaguely similar feeling, again nowhere near the blissful sensation described in the famous song, but rather by coming across a rare touch of sheer wisdom, thanks to certain internet content.

What the foregoing paragraphs add up to is that, while happening to read about the somewhat uninspiring subject cited above, we noted how the article included a little-known quotation by Thomas Edison back in his day. Although not a qualified physician, this gentleman nevertheless did utter a medical-related statement which we feel makes a tremendous amount of sense. Unfortunately, what the esteemed genius of the scientific world had to say on the matter has never sunk in, despite his sage prediction.

Very simply, Edison’s prognosticative utterance was:
“The doctor of the future will give no medicine, but will interest his patient in the care of
the (human) frame, in diet and in the cause and prevention of disease.”

How about that, Folks? As far as we’re concerned, the man was right as rain in principle, yet a full 180 degrees off base from the accuracy angle.

To summarize our case as succinctly as possible, we merely ask the question “How many doctors have you ever consulted, receiving prime advice about careful dieting? Sure, the boys and girls of the medical world might bring the matter up, but almost always as a secondary issue. Once they’ve diagnosed your ailment, the first method of attack lies in loading you up with drugs by the veritable carload, while ignoring not only the superior benefits accruable from better eating, but the potentially harmful side effects which those pharmaceutical concoctions are apt to bring about.

Obviously, the Pfizers, Squibbs, Bayers, and Mercks of this world love those solid medical practitioners, who are so inclined and adept at helping peddle their questionable value wares.

From our personal end, though, we fail to hold anywhere near the same respect.

WHO'S ON FIRST?

2010-03-28T07:21:00.000-07:00

We find ourselves a bit perplexed these days as to which professional group is the bigger gouger when it comes to billing for services. We’re unable to determine whether lawyers or doctors stand in first place. It seems to be a mighty close race.

OUR OWN MISTER ED

2010-02-05T10:05:00.000-08:00

Ed was a classmate throughout our high school days. We never had a chance to get to know him too well, since he lived in the far yonder part of town. According to memory, he tended to keep to himself, not having much to say, even in response to the teachers up front.

There are, however, some unique features about this quiet and reserved lad. The first was his family setting. Reliable sources informed us that his father owned a good-sized piece of farm land, and in his spare time had sired seventeen children, mostly female, all occupying the same domicile. Ed had arrived second last among the brood.

The old man would haul the undergraduate portion of his flock to school in his truck each morning, then pick them up after classes had ended. As we understand it, he’d actually call the roll every afternoon, as an army platoon sergeant might, making sure the crew was complete.

Farming didn’t generate a whole lot of revenue in those days, and having to feed, clothe, and otherwise support a congregation that huge put wide gaps in the household budget. This was quite evident in certain cases. Every few weeks or so, Ed and his younger brother (Nos. 16 and 17 in respective sequence) would both show up at school with freshly cropped hair, and their father’s sugar bowl utilization couldn’t go unnoticed. Typically, only the outer edges would have been trimmed off, leaving the covered area untouched, and hence resembling an overgrown lawn.

During our final year, the coming graduation amenities required each senior to visit a designated photo studio for a class annual mug shot. This obviously called for a conventional suit to pose in, which was a luxury Ed’s parents couldn’t afford. He likely arranged to borrow the needed woolens from somewhere, since his youthful face did appear along with those of his class confederates.

In the post-graduation years, our paths crossed but once for a few brief casual words, no more. We have learned, though, how in due course our once sugar bowl-coiffed, tweedless Ed and his siblings inherited the farm land their father had long tilled, converting the area into a housing development.

For the past several decades, therefore, our Mr. Ed has enjoyed millionaire status, and we applaud his good fortune, especially in view of such a humble beginning. While residing in several foreign countries and meeting natives from numerous others, we’ve seen or learned about very few where similar opportunities are available to a kid growing up on the wrong side of the tracks.

THE NEED FOR A FITTING SLOGAN

2010-02-04T06:25:00.001-08:00

Slogans have long been put to use as inspirational battle cries. A look at our past history brings several prominent ones to mind. Prime examples include “Remember the Maine!”, “Remember the Alamo!”, “54-40 or Fight!”, “Remember Pearl Harbor!”, “Sink the Bismarck!”, “I shall return!”, “We Shall Overcome!”, and others adopted for various organized endeavors.

It stands to reason, then, that our esteemed Republican Party is deeply lacking a proper and meaningful theme. In light of its record over the past century – at least from the end of Teddy Roosevelt’s administration forward – we feel they should choose a fighting slogan which matches the political doctrines consistently extolled year after year. Accordingly, what could be more appropriate than “Repeal that stupid Magna Charta!”?

THE BADDEST DAY

2010-02-02T07:41:00.000-08:00

Our literary gentry have long forgiven the Bard of Avon for his classic grammatical blunder when describing the knife wound inflicted by Brutus on his friend Julius Caesar as the “most unkindest cut of all”. Actually, the gentleman had no choice but to preserve a ten-syllable line, in what the scholars label iambic pentameter. Although certainly not claiming to measure up to Willie Shakespeare, we’ve nevertheless decided to take comparable license in the above title. Our theme in this instance is speculation on what singular event throughout the just-closed 20th century stands as the most disruptive to mankind’s ongoing welfare -- applying our chosen vernacular to call it the “baddest”.

Quite a few disastrous occurrences immediately come to mind, due to either human action and/or failure to exercise adequate preventive measures. Each item on our selected list is cited and analyzed below, in determining which we consider as having wrought the most devastating long range effect.

1. The sinking of the Titanic? Not really since, despite the tragedy, this served
as a useful wakeup call against complacent living.
2. The 1929 stock market crash? A depressing blow indeed, but lacking permanent ill effect.
3. The Hindenburg explosion? A latter-day equivalent to the Titanic, but it taught us to abandon the dirigible as a key international transport means.
4. Pearl Harbor? A highly upsetting business, but such happening at least convinced America never again to let down its guard.
5. The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki? This comes mighty close to rating as the very worst, because of a universal trepidation over nuclear energy use, which hasn’t abated one bit ever since.
6. The 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon? This event made Pearl Harbor look like a mild disturbance by comparison, but has provided yet another valuable lesson in security requirements.

Our studied answer has to be “none of the above”. Except for the last two, the disruptive effect doesn’t shape up as being very long lasting.

Over and above them all, we’ve picked the founding of the Israeli state in 1948. The reason is that such act amounted to pouring gasoline on a fire which has been raging for millennia. The Arab-Zionist controversy, perpetuated through outright mutual hatred, hasn’t slackened off one iota since, and appears unlikely ever to.

Our old adversary Adolf Hitler and his Nazi cronies were indirectly responsible for such unfortunate move. Once the full horror of the Holocaust had become known to the entire world, the international powers had no alternative but to bend over backwards in uttering a profound apology to the Jews. The most fitting gesture at the time could be nothing short of recreating Israel as a nation, even though it meant telling the on-site inhabitant Palestinians to get lost. The Arab universe couldn’t possibly have been administered a more insulting blow.

The most damaging upshot has been Uncle Sam’s ill-fated policy of unceasingly sticking his proboscis into Middle East affairs, always taking Israel’s side, thus making new enemies by the score every day. This situation not only provided the venom to stage the September 11, 2001 raids, but earlier brought on the sabotaged Pan Am plane crash over Lockerby, in obvious retaliation to Ronald Reagan’s mad bomber air strikes on Libya.

Every U.S. President from Harry Truman onward has held an abject fear of offending Israel, to make sure the American Jewish vote doesn’t get sacrificed come next election day. The established doctrine finds our government simply winking at the undiminished inhuman treatment accorded that country’s neighboring Palestinians.

In closing, the message we’re trying to convey here decidedly does not constitute anti-Semitism on our part. We can firmly state that opposition to the United States’ fondling of Israel has no bearing on our feelings toward Judaism. The country is at fault, not the religion.

EDUCATION FAILURE REVISITED

2010-01-15T12:23:00.000-08:00

This piece complements the one recently published under the title Our American Classrooms -- Institutions of Learning or Localized Dictatorships? We have a few more comments to make on the subject of a misdirected educational system.

People here and there seem forever to talk about certain schools as being great, leading, outstanding, model, tops, or whatever. In contrast, therefore, those not so glorified automatically become classified as mediocre or worse.

At this point, we'll jump in with our private opinion that there is no such thing as a poor school. Instead we have poor students, due mainly to countless legions of "yessir, nosir, no excusesir" teachers who conform to the system's rigid rules, focusing on disciplinary control, adherence to going by the proverbial book straight down the line, and results measurement exclusively by exam grades.

It's true that a competent teacher will periodically be blessed with a brightly shining pupil, whose classroom capabilities remain in the mentor's memory throughout his or her career. However, this is far from the issue. We needn't be concerned with the occasional brilliant learner and self-applier. The problem revolves around the hoi polloi -- those never properly oriented as to what schooling should really be all about. Meanwhile, as Charles Sullivan laid out so effectively in his essay of previous blog article reference, the system has long been churning out excessively-disciplined automatons, not creative-minded citizens, by the millions.

For further emphasis, we wish to add that we consider strict rule adherence doctrines to be highly non-beneficial. They mold education into a fear-bound process, and accomplish little from the standpoints of individual thinking and free expression.

Nevertheless, we can't overlook the necessity of maintaining schoolroom order, which will require teachers to finally shed their hitherto lord and master rules to become understanding leaders and guidance counselors instead. Obviously, in light of the already hidebound traditions which prevail, this won't exactly be an overnight development. In fact, we're inclined to fear it may never happen.

A SEASONED VETERAN'S VIEW OF THE ECONOMY

2010-01-14T07:20:00.000-08:00

Our present era news columnists, television announcers, and other media pundits everywhere are compelled to earn their livings, which means they must continually dream up copy to write or events to comment on, even if it adds up to tedious repetition. Moreover, with their ranks having become so abnormally plentiful, we literally get bombed all day long and day after day with the latest hot poop, altogether too often in regard to how sick our current economic picture happens to be. Since doom and gloom tends to attract headline readers and capture the attention of listening ears, that has become an overly popular theme.

For the benefit of those too young to remember our so-labeled Great Depression of 1929-1937, we will now offer some reassurance by bluntly saying "Look, Folks, these problems today ain't nothin' in comparison".

No, they really ain't, and that's for dang sure. Back in 1933, following a full dozen years of Republican administration bunglings, which included allowing organized crime to flourish due to that imbecilic prohibition law, the economy had sunk to an unprecedented low. Regardless of what you read and hear these days, such condition has not been repeated by a long shot.

Presently however, we can thank the blessed GOP for having done their level best to try making it happen all over again. After Bill Clinton had managed to return the country to at least an annual budget surplus position, a pair of clowns named Bush and Cheney blew the ball game by spending the whole bundle and more engaging in fisticuffs with Sadam Hussein and the Taliban, while attempting to track down the elusive Osama bin Laden. In the meantime, our smirking, foreclosure-motivated finance industry went wild offering fictitious credit swindles for the public to gobble up with hitherto unmatched frenzy, and we suddenly lost our collective ass -- although not enough to prevent the banking wizards from doling out massive government assistance funds as executive bonuses at staggering rates.

Still, despite this eight-year sojourn of Bush-Cheney stupidity, what President Obama inherited in 2009 doesn't hold the proverbial candle to the mess FDR had to face seventy-six years earlier. As depressions go, that was a doozy. We weren't noticing gradual recovery indicators as early as 1933, which has already become the case now.

To help fortify our point, we're about to look back upon common incidents that kept occurring throughout those virtually forgotten mid-thirties, and ask how much has repeated itself in this current age. For example:
* How many city block-long breadlines have you seen, either in person or on TV screens?
* Right around the corner from the breadlines, how many men have you similarly viewed
queuing up by the hundreds, waiting to apply for jobs -- any whatsoever?
* How many freight trains have you watched roll past with primarily empty deadheading
cars?
* Furthermore, how often have you been able to count fifty or more hoboes riding atop or
standing inside the open doors of those empty rail cars?
* How many tramps have shown up at your front door either asking to do odd jobs on your
property in return for a single meal, or else simply requesting some of your pocket change?

We haven't had retail or other small business enterprises go bankrupt in fantastic proportions.
Relatively speaking, many seem to be doing rather well in view of this supposedly disastrous downturn.

Restaurants are still crowded at lunch and dinner hours. We observe football stadia, baseball parks, boxing and other sport arenas constantly filled to capacity. We often find standing room only at theater and concert performances. Little or no such ongoing bonanzas existed back then.

Since a man could barely afford to take his kids to a ball game in the afternoon or his wife and family out to an evening movie, he was at least able to drop over to the nearest ice cream emporium and spend a relatively small sum for a household treat to be enjoyed. While slurping away, the people would sit and listen to popular nighttime radio programs, absolutely free. A small degree of pleasure thus remained available at minimal cost. How many of you have had to resort to such penny-pinching activities in the past couple years?

No indeed, this economic stumbling of today ain't nothin' in contrast. Believe us, we sat through the entire rugged affair.

OUR AMERICAN CLASSROOMS -- INSTITUTIONS OF LEARNING OR LOCALIZED DICTATORSHIPS?

2010-01-13T10:41:00.000-08:00

Almost everyone these days seems to be aware that our educational system has reached a near-chaotic state. In this writer's usual ultra-critical opinion, this certainly isn't a situation of recent origin. As far as we're concerned, it dates back at least to when this fellow was a rosy-cheeked lad seated in the normal succession of schoolrooms, not so dutifully, not so obediently, and not so impressed with the teaching and disciplinary methods employed.

A browse of the internet will turn up several latter-day essays discussing how and why the process has fallen on its face. Most of them tend to dance around the issue, offering analytical comment from a politically-oriented angle. However, a particular piece by a man named Charles Sullivan entitled The Failure of Mass Education, published in February 2003, hits quite a few nails on their proverbial heads. Our readers are urged to call this one up and go over it closely.

For purposes of emphasis, we've chosen to reproduce Mr. Sullivan's opening paragraph, which sums up the mess quite nicely.

"What are our public schools but an instrument of the state? Our students are not taught the
skills of critical thinking that would serve them well as citizens in a free society for the
entirety of their lives. Mass education focuses upon memorization and scoring well on exams.
Our schools do not promote independent thought or independent actions -- they teach
conformity and control of the masses. Every student is taught virtually the same thing in
essentially the same way -- much of it untrue; especially history and economics. Our
students are not educated to become useful and creative members of society; they are
programmed to be unquestioning conformists and mindless consumers of goods and
propaganda. Thus we are creating a society of automatons who will never challenge
authority, who will behave predictably and will be staunch defenders of the status quo. In
other words, they will become the passive core of American society."

Being strongly in accord with this article's content, we promptly shot off a lengthy email to Charles Sullivan, congratulating him profusely and adding a few relative opinions of our own. For some unfortunate reason, though, the address shown at the piece's end is no longer valid, in light of the failure notice received. Nevertheless, we feel compelled to pass on the above digest of his thoughts, along with a few more observations from our personal "dear old golden rule days" experience.

In thirteen years, from kindergarten to high school graduation, we cannot recall a single instance where any Miss Pruneface up front ever made a statement to the effect that school was an institution where her sworn duty as a teacher involved making sure we students adequately educated ourselves. Oh no, the attitude conveyed never deviated a centimeter from "You'll either behave properly, read your textbooks carefully, and get high examination grades, or suffer the slings and arrows of lifelong damnation".

As a result of living and working in several foreign countries for more than four decades, we've dealt with people from quite a few other nationalities. In many cases, mutual understanding could be difficult, due to variations in the respective teaching practices to which we'd been exposed. However, we never had the slightest communication problems with fellow American expatriates. The main reason is that we all had had identical history, geography, literary, and other classroom dogma crammed down our throats while progressing from one grade to the next. Our common educational backgrounds were predicated on stereotyped methodology.

By way of partial redemption, we are pleased to add that we didn't find such ongoing conditions to be as catastrophic at the university level. Students reaching that stage have attained reasonable maturity and have pretty good ideas about what they're shooting for. Unhappily, a countless number of youthful minds have already become somewhat warped, thanks to their schoolroom training to date.

One of the most severe flaws in our education process is the supposedly vital importance attached to passing examinations with the highest possible marks. Consequently, cheating
by all sorts of means has prevailed for centuries, even in university classrooms. This malady will undoubtedly continue so long as today's teaching doctrines remain unchanged.

Once again, no instructor ever told us the unvarnished truth about periodic tests being intended to show the student how fully he or she has grasped the essential subject matter, thus conveying the need for increased diligence where warranted. Instead, the whole affair has evolved into a rat race, where a person must strive in every possible way to outdo the young ladies and gents seated alongside.

For several years, this writer has been carrying on disappointing one-way correspondence with numerous former classmates. Many have resorted to non-replies, even via quickie email messages, because of a few caustic remarks about the old days. Perhaps equating our high school administration with the Gestapo has had something to do with this ex-communication. Additionally, occasional reference to the institution's revered female Dean of Girls as the Iron Bitch has most likely been another factor. Still, such rather exaggerated opinions stand firm, with no thought of retraction ever being considered.

On the slightly favorable side, we do admit to having grown to respect just three individual high school teachers for their competence and conscientiousness, despite the systematic rigidity foisted on them. The rest were merely punching time clocks and dishing out what the dogma called for. Like Adolph Eichmann, they were only following orders.

Subsequent to our own learning days, we went on to suffer the discomfort of observing the educational process applied to three growing children under North American policies. Not a single improvment was ever noted over our earlier student era.

How long will it be before our teaching monarchy finally realizes and accepts the fact that this perennially-sagging atmosphere simply has to be rectified?

A PAIR OF LEFT-HANDED TRIBUTES

2010-01-07T07:43:00.000-08:00

The late night TV show host/comedian Jay Leno has been known to make the following observation in regard to our two leading political parties:

"Every time I think I might want to be a Republican they do something greedy. Every time I
think I might want to be a Democrat they do something stupid."

We are inclined to agree with Mr. Leno to the extent of 75%, which means that the "stupid" label most certainly fits, but we'd substitute "dirty" for "greedy" in the second instance.

There is no doubt that GOP doctrines have long been greed motivated. However, their political maneuvering tactics have seldom failed to take an insulting and underhanded approach, from the days of FDR right up to the 2008 election campaign. Still, what can one expect from a party that has managed to turn out only two completely worthy Presidents (Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt) in all U.S. history?

On the other hand, the Democrats have had their fair share of near-moronic moves for as far back as we can remember.

As always, this writer stands open to debate on such issues.

THOUGHTS ON SHORT-TERM CONFINEMENT -- A RATHER INAPPROPRIATE PERSONAL ANALOGY

2010-01-05T10:27:00.000-08:00

The scenario we're about to create is purely speculative in nature, for reasons which will readily become obvious. Nevertheless, we're unable to resist dwelling on a little relatively senseless conjecture.

Should this writer be offered the option of spending a month flat on his back in a hospital bed or else in a prison cell, quite frankly a coin flip would be required. Furthermore, if the clink sojourn turned out to be the loser, insistence would likely be placed on at least a two-out-of-three toss basis.

As already stated, this is no more than a hypothetical issue. It's clear that a hospital stay becomes necessary only for health treatment purposes, while going to the pokey stems from breaking the law. The underlying reasons aren't even remotely comparable.

Still, that's not the point we're endeavoring to establish. We're simply saying that a short prison sentence appears preferable in certain respects to sick room confinement.

The immediately foregoing statement isn't based on mere theory. This writer has had his fair share of days reclining in a hospital room. On the other hand, he cannot attest to having spent a month in a civilian hoosegow. A longer stretch as a prisoner of war a few international skirmishes ago must be excluded from comparison, due to many entirely different underlying circumstances.

Now let's move straight to the meat of the situation, namely our personal reasons for giving preference to a supposed jail term over a hospital stay.

First of all, in prison one is allowed to move about within a cell, albeit somewhat cramped spacewise, supplemented by daily strolls outside.

Moreover, nobody comes in every hour or so to glare at you while jabbing needles into your arm, stuffing you with pills, checking your blood pressure and other vital signs, or whatever else is needed to further your recovery. We deem freedom of mobility to be more important than being tied down to a bed and probed in the extreme. Besides, visitors can come see you in either situation.

There is one major offsetting element, of course, in that the people tending to you at the hospital are bound to be far kinder and gentler than the unsavory criminal characters who share slammer quarters with you. Perhaps we're putting insufficient emphasis on this matter. We'd have to be tossed into a cell for about 30 days before arriving at a more fully-studied conclusion.

Before closing this somewhat inane piece, we must acknowledge that neither the patient nor the inmate really amounts to any more than a mere number -- a statistic in recorded medical or correctional history -- even though allowed to retain his or her name for mere identification purposes while on-scene, and becoming almost totally forgotten thereafter.

ON ARKS, ONLY BEGOTTEN SONS, AIDS, AND SPARROWS

2010-01-05T07:14:00.000-08:00

The words you're about to read are not the outpourings of a deeply religious-minded person, but rather one who tries to look at all things in a practical light.

Moreover, the intent here is not to debate in the slightest regarding the authenticity of the Bible.
For purposes of this treatise, it must be presumed that all the words in the Good Book represent
absolute facts. Otherwise, proceeding any further would be useless.

The Book of Genesis tells how God advised Noah to build an Ark, so that each living animal species might be preserved to "start over". Then came the Flood, wiping out all land-based creatures in the known world of that era, except for those aboard the vessel.

What is the theological significance of said event? Simply that the Almighty had become disappointed with how Mankind -- conceived in His own image -- had grown to behave. He elected to eradicate His mistake and offer a second chance in that world sector considered to be the seat of religion.

Therefore God, in His infinite wisdom, carried out a destructive act against His living beings. So what was the result? Did Man wise up and improve upon its ways? We all know the answer to that.

Since taking such a devastating course had accomplished little in the long run, a second gigantic gesture was then made -- this time a most productive one. The Lord begat and placed His own son among the people on earth, as described in the first four books of the New Testament.

There is no need to elaborate on the story about Jesus' life and death. Most of us have already been thoroughly indoctrinated on that score. The important point is the manifold influence wrought by the Son of God. Christianity has become the world's dominant faith, and has affected our life styles, business practices, and laws, often infringing significantly upon those who choose different religious pursuits.

Truly, the coming of Christ indeed proved to be supremely influential. His presence may well be felt for ongoing millennia. Unquestionably, this was the Almighty's most productive act since earth's creation.

Did this master step work? We might say yes, at least in contrast to the Ark bit. Still, would you call Mankind's subsequent performance/behavior pattern to date adequate in respect to God's divine will? Absolutely not, and we see no need to cite the countless whats and whys of our negative response to such question.

We've now reached the stage in this writing where biblical "fact" leaves off and supposition must take over.

Within very recent years, a strange hitherto unknown physical malady has contaminated our population. The medical brains have dubbed it the Acquired Immunity Deficiency Syndrome, or AIDS for short. Only homosexuals and prostitutes were attacked at first, but the effect has since become far more widespread, even among many innocent of unnatural or promiscuous misdeeds.

Some relatively fanatical religious types have rationalized AIDS as a "penalty" imposition upon the less-than-straight-and-true populace. Although initial reaction of a logical-minded person might be to scoff at such theory, a little probing analysis actually tends to support the idea, no matter how ridiculous it may sound right off.

If we look back at the Almighty's two "really big" past acts in dealing with humanity -- one destructive, the other productive -- does it not stand to reason that a selective process has now been put into play? Can we arbitrarily dismiss the thought that God has chosen to inflict punishment on those who offend him, due to their immoral habits? Might placing a death sentence upon those who engage in such practices be of divine origin?

Still, we find a strict affirmative answer rather difficult to offer, on the premise that the innocent are suffering and dying along with the guilty. Many men, women, and children bearing untarnished records must have perished in the Flood. With our presumption of unquestionable fact for the Holy Scriptures, it must stand to reason as well that God Himself is not perfect. The "He who weeps at the fall of a sparrow" reference could be a debatable issue.

Prolonging the conjecture on this last topic seems needless, except to simply add that, taken in isolation, our AIDS thesis could easily be deemed unacceptable. Nevertheless, when viewed in perspective with the two major foregoing events -- provided they are considered factual by the reader -- the idea does appear to have merit.

None of us here today can really prove or disprove either the Ark or the Messiah acts to have occurred as written about. Individual interpretations remain a matter of personal belief. However, the last point we've raised, which may eventually impact the entire human race in some way, should at least be viewed as a thought-provoking subject.

THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

2009-12-27T17:40:00.000-08:00

(A more modern version, on the premise that one's true love might have decided to get better prices through buying everything in bulk quantity)

On the first day of Christmas my true love (a real peach!)
Sent me twelve pear trees, a partridge in each.

On the second day of Christmas again came my true love
With two-and-twenty cooing turtle doves.

On the third day of Christmas my doorbell rang again,
As my true love delivered thirty French hens.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent a mix
Of colley birds, in number thirty-six.

On the fifth day of Christmas he brought the damnedest thing --
A box containing forty gold rings.

On the sixth day of Christmas he sent (despite my begs)
Forty-two geese, and all were laying eggs.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love (what a fool!)
Dropped forty-two swans into my swimming pool.

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love (such a louse!)
Sent me forty milkmaids, plus as many cows.

On the ninth day of Christmas he nearly drove me mad
With thirty-six girls dancing 'round my pad.

On the tenth day of Christmas came lords in fifteen pairs,
To leap o'er furniture and up and down the stairs.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my place got cluttered more
With a two-and-twenty member pipers' corps.

On the twelfth day of Christmas (the last one, I am proud)
Came a dozen drummers playing far too loud.

When it was finally over I phoned Salvation Bay
For thirteen vans to haul the lot away.

Still that was not the finish, as you can maybe guess,
Since it took fourteen maids to clean up all the mess.

As a crowning blow, my ex-love (that tub of lard!)
Had ordered everything and used my credit card.

PROPOSED REINSCRIPTION ON THE STATUE OF LIBERTY

2009-12-27T07:48:00.000-08:00

(As Fostered by the Republican-Minded Types)

Give me your fat,
Your rich,
The proven cream of your society;
The business leaders from your friendly shore.
Send these, the wealthy upper crust to me.
For all the rest, I'll slam the God damn door.

A POINT OF CONJECTURE

2009-12-27T00:36:00.000-08:00

QUESTION: Hitler's Nazis, the Ku Klux Klan, and the American Republicans have always had
something in common. What is it?
ANSWER: Their doctrines are all predicated on hatred.

A SUMMARY THOUGHT FOR THE YEAR 2009

2009-12-18T13:56:00.000-08:00

Any country whose lawmaking giants are forced to engage in marathon public health care debate, with the interest of the people pitted against sheer profit motivation and greed, cannot exactly be one to inspire much pride or confidence.

ANOTHER OF NATURE'S PHENOMENA

2009-12-16T11:48:00.000-08:00

Quite recently, this writer had a brief conversation with a middle-aged black lady, who informed him how she had just recovered from an attack of sickle cell disease. In response to our "what the heck is that" query, she went on to describe the severe overall bodily pain, requiring medical treatment. She then added the bombshell about her race's being the only one so victimized.

Amazing as this sounded, a subsequent look into the internet confirmed her statement that said malady is restricted to black persons only. However, no clear reason seems apparent.

This newfound rather astounding knowledge has led us to wonder if perhaps yet another far more serious and incurable ailment may prevail as well, but solely affecting people who belong to the Ku Klux Klan.

At least we can hope.

REMEMBER THE SABBATH . . . . .

2009-11-26T07:43:00.000-08:00

This is another of our personal anecdotes from many years past, where religious intolerance again reared its ugly head, albeit in a somewhat left-handed way, strictly to serve commercialistic purposes.

Back during our Cleveland, Ohio residence days, when the children were small, we found it convenient to do the Christmas toy shopping very early, like around October, thanks largely to certain discount stores' being open on Sundays. In the span of about a half an hour, a cart could be loaded with goodies, wheeled to the cash register, and its content rung up at favorable prices, after which we'd be promptly out the door, having accomplished a major annual undertaking. The frantic December crowd-fighting would have been comfortably avoided.

According to memory, we performed this task for at least two consecutive years before the Christian axe fell, and thus recomplicated our yuletide season chores.

It so happened that the particular store we patronized was one of several in our area offering comparable discount rates on a regular Sunday basis. All or nearly all of them were owned and operated by Jews.

Well, this "unfair" competition didn't exactly swing with the numerous Christian merchants around town. While spending a relaxed Sunday at the beach, on a golf course, or else enjoying a back yard family barbecue, they were losing potential business to those Christ-betraying you-know-whos.

Lo and behold therefore, the city's lawmakers eventually yielded to the usual pressure from local special interests, by passing legislation which forbade any further Sabbath Day openings for retail establishments of this sort.

Kindly note that term Sabbath, which is always Sunday in the supercilious Christian realm. As everyone knows, Hebrew tradition devotes Saturday to such reverence. Anti-Semitism had found a new way to be exercised, under the guise of respect for a Commandment.

We've never forgotten that downright injustice wrought upon persons' being forced to close their shop doors on a day which was decidedly not their Sabbath. We deem this act to be yet another in an ever-growing list of evidential situations which help prove how Christianity, as practiced today, is virtually synonymous with hypocrisy.

CASE STUDIES ON PREJUDICIAL VICTIMIZATION WITHOUT CAUSE

2009-11-21T14:32:00.001-08:00

This piece will cite four young men whose personal confrontations with the establishment resulted in their unwarranted condemnation, from which all but one eventually emerged victorious. Our backdrop in each case is the U.S. military draft system, with three pertinent to World War II and the fourth to Vietnam.

Out initial situation involves Lew Ayres, a vintage era film actor. His two most renowned performances, as an ill-fated German soldier in All Quiet on the Western Front, a first world war epic, then a budding physician in the Dr. Kildare series, had influenced his personal beliefs considerably. Accordingly, in the early 1940s, when other chaps were being whisked off daily to army camps, thanks to the universal draft, he declared himself a conscientious objector.

Those not of sufficient age to have been on the scene during the World War II years must be made aware that individual religion-inspired leanings toward pacifism at all costs was then deemed tantamount to cowardice in the public eye. Anyone unwilling to shoulder a rifle and march bravely to the front became an instant outcast. Thanks to Hitler and the fellows with the funny eyes from the Far East, national patriotism had swelled to a fever pitch. Allowing a person to exercise his basic human rights, legal though they were, couldn’t be the least bit tolerated by the overwhelming multitude. “Conscientious Objector” and “Draft Dodger” had become synonymous terms.

After committing Ayres to a special camp for those “hateful creatures”, the War Department in its supposed magnanimity soon acceded to his earlier request for Army Medical Corps service. His tour of duty took him to the Pacific Theater and New Guinea.

Still bearing the stigma from wartime days, Lew returned to Hollywood, where he played a starring role in the classic 1948 film Johnny Belinda, for which he received an Oscar nomination. Fortunately, his memorable performance helped the presumed yellow streak down his back to fade a little. He then managed to carry on his acting career quite successfully. Although still tainted somewhat in the eyes of the diehard tsk-tskers, he came out a winner in the end.

Our second illustrative case concerns another young man who worked in the entertainment industry, but never so prominently as Ayres. His name was Stuart Groshong, and he hailed from this writer’s home town, a Cleveland, Ohio suburb, hence our familiarity with the situation.

Following high school graduation in 1937, having already become renowned locally for his concert-quality singing voice, he began making downtown night club and radio station performances under the name Clyde Stuart, and shortly afterward Stuart Wade.
During the years immediately subsequent to Pearl Harbor, Stu became the regular male vocalist on a Sunday afternoon musical program, in company with a girl known by the stage name of Dorothy Brooks, plus a supporting studio band. The show enjoyed reasonable local popularity.

On a particular midweek afternoon, when the cast assembled to rehearse for the coming Sunday presentation, Mr. Wade was advised that one of his renditions would be a song entitled Any Bonds Today?, a patriotic number urging folks to shell out dollars for war savings securities, a most popular pastime in that period. On the basis of his professed pacifism, Stuart humbly declined, feeling the subject matter to be inconsistent with his personal beliefs. The reward for following his conscience was to be summarily fired by the station bigwigs. Draft dodgers simply couldn’t be tolerated as radio program performers.

It took precious little time for the word to spread throughout the suburban community where the Groshong family had long called home. Like Lew Ayres on a national scale, Stu was quickly condemned to sack cloth and ashes from a local standpoint.

With our subsequent knowledge of this man’s affairs being rather skimpy, we can merely attest to the fact that he too ended up on the winning end, but to a much more modest degree than had the actor. Apparently, the military brass never remanded young Wade to a conscientious objector camp, because he readily turned up as the male singer with Bobby Byrne’s nationally-known dance orchestra. Not long thereafter, he joined the relatively prestigious Freddy Martin outfit, with which he remained for the rest of the war.

When the big band craze drew to an abrupt halt circa 1946, Stuart tended to fade from the show business scene, at least in terms of prominence. Aside from a lead role in one of those inane horror films which became so prevalent in the latter 1940s, this one named The Monster from the Ocean Floor, plus a couple spot television commercials later on, we don’t recall seeing or hearing about him further. At least, however, he had managed to rise to a nationwide performing level, where the hometown “shame” didn’t follow him.

Another lad from this writer’s same home burg was Les Schenck, several years junior to Stuart Groshong. Raised by working class parents, he distinguished himself among fellow townspeople for his exemplary athletic prowess at the high school level. As a prolific forward passing football tailback, a sterling basketball court ace, and a weight-throwing track squad member, he earned a few years of local heroism.

Les’ case doesn’t involve his being branded a (ptui!) conscientious objector, but a dirty draft dodger nonetheless, for a different reason. The military recruiters kept repeatedly turning him down, due to the presence of a hernia, all the way to war’s end.

Under normal circumstances, young Schenck could have easily shrugged his shoulders and shuffled off back home. He certainly wasn’t the only fellow around town to be declared 4-F. However, he didn’t manage to dwell in modest anonymity.

A certain local woman, who perhaps deserved the label of Champion Busybody, wasted no time in launching a verbal smear campaign against this chap for allegedly faking a physical disability, just to avoid serving his country whose need had become so critical. She stood upon a totally unfounded premise that anybody fit enough to achieve athletic brilliance obviously possessed sufficient capability to battle a hated foe. She apparently deemed the draft board’s examining doctors as lacking adequate diagnostic skills.

Fortunately for Les, the slings and arrows from this vicious-minded person gradually abated after war’s end. He was able to go on with his life, albeit far too short. Unlike Ayres and Wade, though, he never came out as a winner of any sorts – instead, only an unjustly slandered but ordinary person with a common physical deficiency.

For our final episode, we jump forward two decades and focus on a man who attained far greater worldwide recognition than even Lew Ayres. Born Cassius Clay and hailing from Louisville, Kentucky, this chap adopted the Muslim name Muhammad Ali, and fought his way from the International Olympics up to the heavyweight boxing pinnacle.

Generally considered to rate among the very best his sport has ever seen, he proved this point again and again by his feats in the ring. However, certain obstacles unrelated to athletics soon faced him.

The U.S. military had been busy making a collective ass of itself by waging a war against “world communism” in Vietnam. The compulsory draft still remained in effect, and the Champ’s number eventually came up.

Once more, the conscientious objection factor reared its head. Although no longer bearing quite the supposed disgrace of the second world war era, the situation had a new twist. Muhammad Ali wasn’t sticking to his guns as a Christian, but rather a Muslim. Good Lord! Blessed Jesus! This could be nothing short of intolerable. Besides, the man happened to be black, and had been aggressively campaigning for improved civil rights – a fairly unpopular cause in those days.

Like Ayres and Wade, the erstwhile Mr. Clay felt the ceiling crash down on him. Not only did the legal proceedings find him convicted on a draft evasion felony charge, but the boxing commission arbitrarily stripped him of his heavyweight championship title. His choice of religion, his color, his oft-resented arrogance, and his attacks on racial prejudice had supposedly justified these verdicts in the eyes of the tsk-tsker community.

This case has a favorable ending, though. The U.S. Supreme Court soon tossed out the compulsory draft for quite valid reasons, and Ali was exonerated. However, he could only regain his top-of-the-heap ring status by fighting for it – which he did in a most convincing manner.

A man of sound truth if ever one existed, despite his exaggerated arrogance, Muhammad Ali deserved the status he regained by virtue of his masterful skills.

In summing up this manifold case set and its final results, we might well conclude by saying that three final winners out of four ain’t bad.

USA TODAY IN QUICK PERSPECTIVE

2009-11-12T05:37:00.001-08:00

Upon careful reflection after having recently returned to U.S. shores following a lengthy sojourn in various faraway places, we’ve finally found a means for describing this country’s present-day oversaturated status with a simple four-word capsule.

We feel no more fitting label applies than this: Too much of everything.

THE STATE OF ART

2009-11-09T09:05:00.000-08:00

Art, whose family name we’d best leave unmentioned under the circumstances, proved to be a solidly-founded upper strata personal friend of ours, beginning with college fraternity brotherhood times and extending long into the afteryears. Regrettably, we lost contact some time ago, which we find unfortunate.

This man’s character ranked right at the top of the heap, and his droll sense of humor remains memorable. However, does this mean that Art stood flawless? No, we’re unhappy to say. He was overly shy, lacking the fundamentals of aggressiveness to a fault. Such deficiency led to the tragedy of Art’s life, in that he never found himself careerwise until the sand had virtually run out.

His choice of major and minor subjects while at college were International Relations and Advanced Statistics respectively, two fairly divergent fields, with the latter study seeming to predominate, as judged by his first post-graduate job.

In 1949, Art joined the federal government’s Bureau of Labor Statistics, which required this still-single young fellow to travel the country literally from Long Island to Catalina and Sault Ste. Marie to Key West, conducting appropriate local area surveys and related analyses. The frequent Ogden Nashish poems sent our way, written on hotel stationery here and there, never ceased to give this writer a helpful respite from the typical day-to-day drudgeries, and tended to convey occupational contentment on our friend’s part.

When, in due course, he returned briefly to our joint home town, we enjoyed an evening’s visit with him and a girl friend who’d been working as an associate. Applying the rule of “likes repel and opposites attract”, the feeling hit us that Art had indeed found the perfect mate, hoping the pair might soon settle down as one.

For undetermined reasons, though, the affair didn’t last. Art eventually did marry another young lady who, despite her many gracious qualities, had the same reserved personality as he. Likes had attracted, not repelled.

By then he had left his government position, on the obvious premise that endless nationwide travel was hardly consistent for a man with a new wife and nature’s resultant production.

As the years rolled along, Art kept drifting from one job to another, each of them in a direct salesman capacity, a vocation he clearly had never been cut out for. In a series of losing causes, he did his best to peddle aluminum kitchenware, female cosmetics, and other goods no longer recallable, before resorting to insurance, with its numerous disadvantages for a chap already in his mid-forties. The commissions didn’t exactly roll in with the utmost rapidity.

We later learned indirectly that Art, approaching age fifty, had engaged the services of a widely-known personnel consulting agency, which subjected him to enough aptitude tests and interviews to justify advising that he belonged in the market research field, whose tasks are somewhat steeped in statistical analysis. The shameful aspect was his failure to have realized and capitalized on such matter a quarter century earlier.

When our last joint encounter took place a few years afterward, Art proudly informed us that he’d taken a new position with a prominent greeting card company, thanks to assistance from his wife, who’d been employed there as a secretary for quite a while. Still on the rather naïve side, he cited the fact that his middle management job lay just below the executive level, to which he could eventually be moved.

Not wishing to dampen the spirits of an old friend, we merely nodded assent. However, being familiar with that particular organization, we knew the futility of working for a firmly-established Jewish family company (and we state this with no disrespect whatsoever, but in light of worldly experience) and its unavoidable glass ceiling.

We can hardly deem this piece a tribute, albeit to a great fellow, but a tale we view with vicarious remorse for such a highly-talented yet personally misdirected man and unforgettable buddy.

From the consolation standpoint, Art certainly hasn’t been the only person we’ve known over the years who selected a career other than the one actually suited for. Nevertheless, we feel his case proved to be among the most extreme we’ve had the misfortune to witness.

ALMA'S REVENGE

2009-10-26T13:08:00.000-07:00

With Halloween just around the corner at the time this piece is being written, we’re reminded of an incident from long ago, when we too were kids out seeking edibles ruinous to our teeth on the eve before All Saints Day.

First, though, we have to lay the background. The grammar school we attended from ages five through twelve was headed by an old maid principal. Since those were the Great Depression years, necessitating that staff costs be held to a minimum, the boss lady’s duties required doubling as the sixth grade teacher for three days each week.

In order that she might handle her administrative chores adequately, the school had engaged a substitute teacher to fill in the other two days. This had been the practice for a number of years.

The substitute was a widow somewhere in her forties. By temperament, she may have been mankind’s most mild-mannered person since Melanie Hamilton of Gone with the Wind fame. In fact, her demureness had become known to the extent of making her a virtual local institution among the student gentry.

Having Mrs. Alma Horn as a part-time teacher in place of the bulky and gruff principal was a pleasure we kids actually looked forward to while working up the ladder sixth-gradeward. Older lads would revel in describing how they’d incessantly gotten the poor lady’s goat with mischievous acts during their own school attendance at age twelve.

Finally, the blessed day arrived when Mrs. Horn first presented herself to a fresh new band of cherubic-looking but rather mean-minded pupils. The girls all seemed to be polite and respectable, but not our little band of male troublemakers.

To put it mildly, a small corps of us made the woman miserable countless times throughout the year with minor pranks and antics. She became extremely frustrated on more occasions than we can recall. Although never moved to tears during our particular reign of terror, she’d been known to do so in the past.

However, the days tolled on until our crew of impish Dillinger and Nelson types moved up to junior high. No more Mrs. Horn.

Not quite, though. On Halloween night, when we were “grown up” seventh-graders, a pair of us former vagabonds began our annual house-to-house patrol to load our huge paper sacks with goodies.

The writer’s companion was Alan Hunt, a longtime buddy, who happened to live in the sector of town near the Horn residence, which was our chosen area for the evening. In due course, we rang her bell and dutifully awaited response.

Mrs. Horn opened the front door and had no difficulty recognizing two of her former adversaries. She’d already been busily dishing out candy to other trick-or-treaters, and now our turn had come – or so we believed.

We jointly rendered the lady a polite smile-laden greeting. It’s certain that our facial expressions conveyed the message “Mrs. Horn, we brought you a great deal of misery in days past, but that’s over, and we’re obviously your true pals now”.

With the door just half-open, the mild-toned lady stared at us unemotionally for perhaps ten seconds, before calmly stating “Well ….. you’d better run along”.

A bolt of lightning suddenly struck both Alan and the writer. She wasn’t going to give us any handout! An unforgiving Mrs. Horn had seized an opportunity to extract vengeance on a couple earlier enemies. After having let us drive her to distraction in the classroom, she hadn’t the slightest intent of accepting us a short year later as matured chaps claiming her friendship.

We stood dumbfounded as she slowly closed the door.

Understanding this mildish person’s basic demeanor, we can almost guarantee that, following her abrupt refusal action, the lady sat down and cried her eyes out.

We’ve never forgotten this disruptive (at the time) event. However, we must concede that Mrs. Alma Horn gained our everlasting respect for having the nerve to stick to her guns in failing to offer us so much as a small lollipop.

There’s no question but that Alan and I deserved the treatment she exacted.

ANOTHER SMALL HANDFUL OF GRAMMATICAL FLUBS

2009-10-14T17:32:00.000-07:00

One or our recent editorial contributions dealt with English language butchery as practiced by an overly massive population segment, despite those never-ceasing schoolmarm efforts to convince pupils to do otherwise. We cited a number of the most common awfulisms uttered virtually every day by that vast array of radio and television spokespersons, whose sworn task really should be to address the viewing public in a proper manner.

Since putting that particular piece to bed, we’ve gone on to note several additional linguistic vulgarizations which we neglected to mention earlier. Again, the key culprits are those TV announcers, performers, and the like, who should have listened more intently to Miss or Sister Pruneface during their classroom years.

Consequently, we’ve chosen to discuss a few other sinful examples, in hopes of encouraging and promoting much-needed improvement, at least among our small reader band.

Mixing Plural with Singular
We’ve long failed to understand why such perfectly correct statements as “This kind of weather upsets me” or “Matters of that sort are none of your business” so often become corrupted when pluralization is required, as follows:
These kind of strawberries are the best.
Those sort of people annoy me.

It’s nothing short of obvious that “kinds” and “sorts” form the correct plurals in each above case.

Except for the convicted Italian anarchist Bartolomeo Vanzetti, who used the term “these thing” in his famous last will and testament, we’ve never once heard of any person making a similar mistake when that noun is involved. What, therefore, prompts such mental carelessness with “kind” or “sort”?

Improper Comparison
Simply stated, people or things are always different from each other, whereas than is frequently substituted in error. Correct examples are:
Susan is different from Patty (not than).
Dogs are different from Cats (not than).

It’s rather interesting that “different” seems to be the only adjective wherein such rule applies. In every other comparison which comes to mind, “than” has to be used, as in “bigger”, “smaller”, “older”, “younger”, “fatter”, “thinner”, “nicer”, “meaner”, and so forth.

Adjective Used as Adverb
This point was cited in our previous article, regarding such adjectives as “good”, “bad”, and others being employed as adverbs instead of “well”, “badly”, et al. However, we forgot to mention “real”, per the following illustrations.
Our cook makes real good apple pie.
The people next door are real nice.

Without question, either really or very is required in every such instance.

Preposition Used in Comparison
Most of our readers should be old enough to remember the furor aroused a few decades ago, when a certain tobacco company came forth with the controversial ad slogan “Winston tastes good, like a cigarette should”. The hue and cry over substituting “like” for “as” had grammatical perfectionists from coast to coast yelping bloody murder. This fellow actually had some acquaintances who switched to other brands for that reason alone.

What hardly improved the situation was the manufacturer’s feeble public retort “What do you want, good grammar or good taste?” The damage had been done.

Surprisingly, despite the purist feelings of this fellow who’s been devoting paragraph after paragraph deploring spoken improprieties, he never considered the Winston flub as being all that bad, for reasons given immediately below.

A License to Kill
James 007 Bond isn’t the only person empowered to commit homicide with apparent impunity. The same relative privilege exists in the realm of English grammar.

The unwritten rule for those of us linguistically endowed is that “If you know how to say it right, then you’re entitled to say it wrong on special occasions”, thus allowing resort to the vernacular whenever the purpose becomes suitable.

Accordingly, we must offer a personal confession for having once spoken before an assembled civic audience with an address bearing the title Tell It Like It Is. Our recollection is that the talk went over rather well.

Another expression occasionally uttered by this fellow when deemed fitting employs not a double, but a triple, negative, with “Don’t say I never done you no favors”, a personal favorite, notwithstanding the compound rule fracture.

The renowned lyricist Ira Gershwin was once known to become upset upon hearing a girl vocalist belt out the key line of his number as “I’ve got plenty of nothin’”. In his mind, “I got” should forever be the standard version. The man who also wrote “It ain’t necessarily so”, and “Bess, you is my woman now” clearly earned such a rightful claim.

What can we say by way of closing comment other than almost everything has its exceptions, no matter how hard and fast the stated rules, provided the circumstances permit?

SPOOFIA -- GUARANTEED TO FIX YOUR WAGON

2009-10-07T13:19:00.001-07:00

After a great many years of engagement in other business activities, we’ve finally decided to enter the TV advertising field, having become duly inspired by the never-ending parade of commercial messages we see every day ad nauseam -- especially those extolling the health-enhancing qualities available from all those grand and glorious pharmaceutical products on the market. Accordingly, we plan to submit the following script to a suitable agency.

Fade in to a rugged-looking man in his late 40s or early 50s, standing outside and wearing conventional work clothes, as he utters his words of endorsement:
“I used to be a real wilting violet on the job I’m employed to carry out. Then one day,
my doctor recommended Spoofia. Ever since I started taking it on a regular basis,
I’ve been able to handle the heavy needs related to my work performance much
more effectively. In fact, so much of the energy I’d lost has returned to a point
where I can now hold my own with all my colleagues.”

Fadeout to a new scene of an elderly lady moving about in her living room and attending to odd chores as she speaks:
“Before taking Spoofia, I never felt like doing anything but sit around the house.
That has all changed, now that I’m using it every day. I’m always eager to get out
and do my shopping, tend to my gardening, and keep my home in shipshape order –
and I never stop feeling great around the clock. I heartily recommend Spoofia for
everybody.”

Fadeout, followed by several sequential shots of the man at work and the lady attending to various shopping, gardening, or household chores, as the background announcer carries on:
“You’ll make no mistake with Spoofia, a thoroughly-tested pharmaceutical product
recommended by leading doctors from coast to coast. Your buildup to restored
healthfulness and energetic vitality will be a certainty once you begin the requisite
daily dosage.”
(Speaking a bit more rapidly, and in a milder tone)
“Side effects from using Spoofia might include post-nasal drip, occasional vomiting
without advance warning, hiccoughs, and poison ivy. If your teeth begin to fall out
one-by-one, stop taking Spoofia and see your doctor.”

At approximate midpoint in the above background announcer’s spiel, the following text to appear at the bottom of the screen, then disappear after only a second:
Spoofia may be health-hazardous or even fatal if you had measles as a child, or
have ever smoked cigars.

Closing remarks by the background announcer, still at a fairly rapid pace and quite softly in tone:
“If after taking Spoofia, you begin having dreams that you are King Kong, and wake
up with an urge to climb the Empire State Building, check with your doctor right
away.
(Now in a much louder voice)
“Don’t wait to call the 800 number on your screen. If you phone RIGHT NOW, you’ll
be eligible for our limited offer to receive the opening one week’s supply for only
$19.95 (more rapidly and low tone once again) plusshippingandhandling. (Back to a
slower rate and louder tone) And remember, Spoofia is bound to fix your wagon –
but good!!!”

Fadeout

TOUCHING UP OUR ENGLISH JUST A TAD

2009-10-07T08:35:00.000-07:00

Any person who has attended elementary and high school will recall exposure to an annual parade of English language teachers, whose task was to ensure that the students would spend their adult lives speaking in a flawless manner. Despite such devoted effort, upon hearing today’s ordinary street dialogue, and even radio or television utterances, it’s obvious how miserably they’ve all failed.

This writer was somehow blessed with the surprising ability to remember every single grammatical rule thrown at him and his classmates throughout the lengthy ordeal. Although not the world’s most magnificent natural endowment, such condition has never gone unappreciated. Unhappily, we’ve found this to be far from the case with a substantial majority of our native populace.

Not a single conversation-listening or TV-watching day goes by without our being forced to grimace slightly over a deluge of fundamental speech errors. They range from frightful down to relatively minor, and are all in conflict with the explicit schoolroom instructions put forth by every Miss or Sister Pruneface seated up front.

The oral butchery we encounter on the street, with its rash of double negatives, wrong pronouns, incorrect verb forms, improper noun or adjective selection, misused prepositions, and the like might as well be summarily ignored. Such constant and uncontrollably misguided output is best written off, as would be a bad loan to your shiftless brother-in-law. They add up to sheer hopelessness, with no solution in sight.

However, what we view as the prime correctible sins are those committed by that vast array of persons whose livings are earned by addressing the public on a daily basis. Television, which holds predominance in our modern media world, is therefore the chief source of our private dilemma.

News and sports announcers, political pundits, talk show hosts, commercial message blabbers, and even congressmen are often heard uttering vocal errors, in what we may fittingly call benign disdain for those dedicated English teachers who once strove so valiantly on their behalves.

If a reader should choose to challenge any point we cover below regarding basic rules, our response will be either to “look it up” or else “go consult an English teacher”. Unfortunately though, following this latter route may prove fruitless, since we’ve had a few disturbing past experiences in encountering Prunefaces whose detailed language cognizance fell below acceptable standards.

Misapplied Pluralization
Pronouns which come under what we call the “indefinite” category and pertain to persons may sound plural by their nature, but are decidedly singular. Such treatment applies to “anyone”, “anybody”, “everyone”, “everybody”, “no one”, and “nobody”.

When any of the above terms is followed by a possessive adjective which modifies a noun, pluralization can never apply. In order to cut through the gobbledegookery of the statement we’ve just made, typical incorrect examples are cited below.

Anyone (or anybody) must live up to their standards.
Everyone (or everybody) wants to have their own way.
No one (or nobody) likes to have their dreams spoiled.

In each above instance, the possessive adjective must be either his or her. There are absolutely no exceptions.

The same principle applies when using the word “each”, in apparent reference to multiple persons. As a memory aide, think of the once-famous song and the old movie, both entitled To Each His Own.

Wrong Case Before Gerund
For those whose minds need a little refreshing, a gerund is a verb form that ends with “ing” and thus becomes a noun under certain context circumstances. If a personal pronoun adjective is required to precede it, the possessive case must be used. Again, we’ll illustrate with a few common erroneous examples, followed by the proper form.

The crowd cheered at me scoring a touchdown. (my)
I don’t like you getting into fights. (your)
The policeman became curious over him standing around. (his)
I heard about her being sick. (her – this one’s free!)
The storekeeper wasn’t happy about us stealing his merchandise. (our)
We’re upset over them having difficulties. (their)

The same doctrine will normally apply where a noun is used in an adjectival sense, as shown below.

Parents seldom approve of their children eating junk food. (children’s)
Tell me about Betty attending school. (Betty’s)
We deplored Senator Foghorn shouting about the federal budget. (Foghorn’s)

A gerund should not be confused with the present participle verb form, spelled the same way, but becoming an adjective rather than a noun. We regret to say, however, that the distinction isn’t always too clear.

Superfluous Personal Pronouns
CNN’s well-known political reporter Wolf Blitzer commits this type of error night after night on his regular broadcasts, and he’s certainly not the medium’s only offender.

When referring to a specific person or group by name, it is absolutely incorrect to follow immediately with the related pronoun. The following examples state the case quite readily.

Peyton Manning, he’s a fine quarterback.
Michelle Obama, she appeared on Oprah Winfrey’s show.
Our foreign aid program, it’s a complex matter.
The Senate Ways and Means Committee, they met yesterday.

An individual’s or organization’s name provides adequate identification, so no need exists to embellish a sentence by adding a redundant pronoun. This is precisely in accordance with the King’s or Queen’s English rulebook.

Adjectives Used as Adverbs
The German language, a first cousin to English, contains a certain uniqueness, with the adjective and related adverb forms being the same, making matters a bit easier, at least in one isolated respect, for our counterpart citizens over yonder. We Anglophiles are granted only a small handful of similar opportunities.

However, we often hear additional adverb liberties being taken, as below.

Our family eats good. (well)
His new suit fits perfect. (perfectly)
Tom spoke direct to the commanding officer. (directly)
She fixed the dinner table up nice. (nicely)
We played the game bad. (badly)
They shouted too loud. (loudly)

Possessive Form of Else
There once was a rule which forbade using the word “else” in a possessive sense after an indefinite pronoun, but it seems to have disappeared from the books, and we consider that a fortunate development.

Technically speaking, the archaic means called for the following type of expression.

Anyone’s (or anybody’s) else contribution will be appreciated.
Everyone’s (or everybody’s) else clothing was gaudier.
No one’s (or nobody’s) else shoes will fit me.
That is someone’s (or somebody’s) else problem.

We thank our lucky stars that such silly sounding word combinations have disappeared from official use, allowing “else” to serve as a sort of specialized word under proper conditions.

After All Is Said and Done
Perhaps this fellow belongs to a very remote minority group, whose minds are devoted to 100% rulebook-adhering English. Nevertheless, we’re bound to go on wincing and gulping whenever the person on the TV screen utters a statement which fails to meet our somewhat stringent standards. Even though it’s most likely that we’ll have to go on living with this personally distasteful situation, we can’t resist the urge to fight windmills by a slightly more publicized means than before.

RACIAL LABELING: OVERDUE RESPECT OR DEMEANING SUPREMACISM?

2009-09-14T08:26:00.000-07:00

Now that the days of four restrooms, two drinking fountains, separate schools, and “whites only” signs adorning store and restaurant doors throughout the South, complemented by snide undercover slurs in the allegedly more liberal North, seem to be gone for good, we find entirely new racial relationship rules to have taken apparent effect. Are Thomas Jefferson’s words about all men being created equal finally being observed, after a couple centuries-plus of mere lip service to his Declaration of Independence decree? Well, yes, but mostly outwardly, and rather grudgingly, as we view the situation. Specifically speaking, we consider this business of attaching “respectful” labels to minority group members an exercise in deceit.

In the interest of offering a supposed retroactive apology for the hitherto universally acceptable mistreatment and insults, some clown a few years back decided it might be nice and peachy to replace the old standby terms like “colored”, “negro”, and the numerous corollary slurs with “African-American”. By the same token, “injuns”, “redskins”, “savages”, etc. promptly came to be called “Native Americans”. In this fellow’s eyes, such practice is superficial, pompous, and silly.

Whenever we hear or read either of these definitive expressions, we tend to wince, and solemnly resolve never to resort to their hypocritical use. Our so-called newly-tolerant white populace has established little more than a new way to continue looking down on its fellow races, but in a slightly more patronizing manner.

Obviously, the first person whose name crops up as an authentic African-American is President Obama. Born here, but with a Kenyan father, he fits the description in a purely technical sense. However, does logic dictate attaching the same label to so-called black race members whose parents were native to U.S. soil – like his wife Michelle, for example? What on earth is African about her?

Regarding the business whereby Indians are now recast as Native Americans, we’ve always been under the impression that such term applies to anyone born in the United States, irrespective of heritage. Why should we limit said designation to those people who owned the Americas before the white man arrived to give them a merciless undeserved drubbing?

As we all know, the word Indian is totally incorrect, thanks to our friend Chris Colombo’s misconception. The British label Red Indian fits better, but only a tad. Nevertheless, we still refuse to buy the Native American bit solely for this particular racial group.

Since we’re doing a magnificent job at kidding ourselves, through well-chosen wordings, into believing that white supremacist thinking no longer exists, why not relabel all locally-born Jews, who are and likely always will be subject to Christian prejudice, as Israeli-Americans? In turn, we might similarly honor Asian-Americans and Hispano-Americans, or else just attach any appropriate foreign country prefix, e.g. Franco-, Germano-, Russo-, Czecho-, or whatever. That would make looking down our noses at the entire lot much easier.

By way of conclusion, therefore, why can’t our terminology practices be boiled down to a single-word designation for any human being born or legally naturalized in this country? What would be so wrong, not to mention far more respectful, with simply calling everyone so qualified as a plain American?

A SPOT OF NOSTALGIA

2009-09-12T13:17:00.001-07:00

Since the majority of our readers are probably too young to have experienced the days when full-sized dance bands reigned supreme in the popular music world, we can only consider them unfortunate for having missed out on a brief but glorious age. Those years from approximately 1934 up until the close of the second world war remain a treasured memory in this fellow’s eyes. Its sudden decline is personally viewed as comparable in historical significance to the 1929 stock market crash and Soviet Russia’s downfall many moons afterward.

The music genre of that fabled era had actually originated late in the nineteenth century, but was pretty much limited back then to entertaining riverboat passengers or saloon and brothel patrons, quite often on piano only. The gradual progression to the early 1920s brought on numerous multi-instrumental groups, who had found a new home in the country’s recent innovation, the speakeasy. Their output sounded a bit raw much of the time, with individual members tending to strive more for originality than note-playing unison. In any event, the attentive listening public still consisted mainly of unlawful drinkers and bawdy house clientele.

By the latter 1920s, however, as evidenced by the orchestral works of Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, and Paul Whiteman, much of the raggedness had been smoothed out. Such refinement continued into the mid-1930s, at which point a big bang suddenly occurred, helped considerably by the advancing development of radio, along with a clarinet-wielding bandleader named Benny Goodman’s bursting into prominence.

Benny’s outpourings hit the proverbial jackpot, and in virtually no time, scores of similar outfits began to spring up like mushrooms. Jazz, a term bearing an obscene connotation, quickly became relabled “swing”, and all hell proceeded to break loose across the land. The more youthful congregation felt an enthrallment bordering on sheer ecstasy, with a universal clamor for this purportedly new musicianship style. The age of fourteen-plus instrument bands had come up like more thunder ever seen from China ‘cross the bay.

Goodman’s superb clarinet artistry popularized that particular instrument no end. Additionally, the flashy stickwork and facial mugging of his drummer Gene Krupa introduced a new role for the tub-thumpers. They quickly became heroic figures, no longer mere providers of beat support for the horn blowers. Benny had also hired a chap named Lionel Hampton, who converted the hitherto unknown and unappreciated vibraphone into a longlasting modern music element.

While the kids of the realm reveled in their day-to-day enthrallment over the likes of Goodman, the Dorseys, Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, Woody Herman, and the rest, their forbears viewed the swing exponents with downright scorn. The parental generation, a collective entity which hadn’t yet stopped mourning the Titanic, considered such output as Satan’s own doing, or more simply “just noise”. How did those whippersnappers dare play a tune other than note-for-note the way it had been written? Wasn’t the rendering of Loch Lomond and other such semi-sacred pieces with a bouncy beat virtual blasphemy? Mercy, this sacrilege couldn’t go on!

Nevertheless, it did. Benny Goodman’s 1938 concert held at Carnegie Hall became a monumental contribution to modern music. The entire realm of ultraconservative thinking was shattered in a single evening.

By way of an aside, that enraptured gang of youthful fandom would eventually grow up to condemn rock music one fine day, just as their predecessors had frowned upon the big bands and their swinging ways years earlier. Like the man said, sic transit gloria mundi.

Looking back again on that brief but glory-laden period, the standard orchestra complement of reeds, brass, and rhythm instruments also featured a pleasant-to-gaze-upon girl singer, a good-looking male counterpart, perhaps a band member who doubled as a comedic or belt-it-out vocalist, and even a supplementary warbling trio or quartet. Down Beat and Metronome, the two leading popular music industry magazines, staged annual reader polls to select their favorite outfits, individual sidemen, and balladeers.

Bands traveled by chartered bus from city to city, offering lone club or dance performances, then immediately hopping off to the next engagement. This modus operandi became known as giving one-night stands, whose definition bore no resemblance to our more modern, somewhat quickie romance connotation.

We can’t really say that World War II caused the big band age’s downfall. The demise had to be inevitable for whatever reasons. By 1946, it was no longer as practical or profitable to lug a gang of musicians across the country night after night. The demand for mellow and brassy swing numbers had dimmed in relation to the supply. The mass hysteria suddenly switched to the likes of Frank Sinatra and his fellow crooners.

Yes, individual vocalists had now taken center stage, many having emerged from the big bands to continue on their own. However, the instrumental chaps didn’t just give up and go home. Goodman, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Woody Herman, Harry James, Gene Krupa, Stan Kenton, and others remained intact for a long while, with either their full crews or perhaps having cut them down to small combos. Still, things could never be the same again. The era of perpetual madness had passed. The output of these once-deified people brought only reminiscences, not the so-called real thing anymore.

Although that illustrious age will never return, we can at least thank heaven for today’s CDs, which have replaced the old scratchy, highly fragile phonograph records, and offer reprocessed jazz masterpieces galore. Those among us old enough to have reveled in those times when the first words uttered to a schoolmate each morning would be “Did you hear Glenn Miller last night?” are thus able to relive the pleasures of an unforgettable period.

UNILINGUINITY -- A DECIDED ATTITUDE SHORTCOMING

2009-09-09T14:04:00.000-07:00

In the course of this writer’s reasonably extensive global meanderings, he has all too often come into contact, casual or otherwise, with folks who hold steadfastly to certain beliefs, which we can most fittingly define as “onlyoneism”. What this piece deems as deplorable is how so many of our ultra-narrow minded clansmen feel that:
· There is only one country in the world, being the USA;
· There is only one religion, namely Christianity, under whatever denomination umbrella
applies;
· There is only one language worth speaking and writing (yes, you guessed it), English.

Our purpose here is to concentrate exclusively on the third-cited above case, dealing with pure and strict unilingualism. Despite our lack of sympathy with the other two highly prevalent attitudes, we’ll reserve further comment on such matters for another day.

We once heard the following joke, which tends to circulate among native Europeans, and expresses a mild degree of contempt in its context:

PAT: What do you call a person who can speak two languages?
MIKE: Well … er … bilingual.
PAT: Three languages?
MIKE: Trilingual.
PAT: Now then, how about a person speaks only one language?
MIKE: That’s easy. American.

Unhappily, we’ve found the impression so conveyed to be quite true.

Still, we’d be the first to admit that the ability to master a second language doesn’t lie within everybody, especially since so many born and educated in this country can’t even handle English adequately. Nevertheless, we see no excuse for the utter disdain so frequently observed even to make a stab at a foreign tongue, if just to learn the more common pleasantry expressions, and attempt to pronounce them properly.

We can readily excuse instances where such French terms as bon voyage and déjà vu have been absorbed into English and duly mispronounced. On the other hand, careless or downright intentional opposite language phrase distortion, a practice often carried out by diehard anglophones in such locations as Canada’s Quebec Province, a distinctly bilingual area, are totally unacceptable to our sensitive ears.

All we really seek in this exercise is a touch more of worldliness among our countrymen, as opposed to the overly-prominent verbal isolationism. Spanish has become a rather widely-used tongue on American soil, especially in New York City, the Southwest, California, and elsewhere. French has established a minor foothold in the Northeast. The West Coast offers a variety of Southeast Asian languages, and a person can hear literally dozens of others being spoken by just walking up or down Broadway at any hour.

What, therefore, could be so wrong with this vast band of onlyoners biting the bullet and accepting the fact that the U.S. has evolved into an intensely internationalized country, occupied by scads of respectable immigrants? Why not put forth a little effort to learn at least a smattering of their native speech, for no other reason than to be more friendly and communicative? Immigrants face a need for English proficiency solely by virtue of being here, and are sure to appreciate some reciprocation, albeit limited. It’s the thought that counts.

Furthermore, we consider the idea right neighborly.

DAVID KOUVEK'S OWN ADVENTURES IN GOOD EATING

2009-08-15T13:17:00.000-07:00

Unlike Duncan Hines, America’s well-known twentieth century gourmet, who used to roam about the country in search of exotic tastes, this writer is just a fellow who has traveled a fair bit, thus having had frequent opportunity to drop in for a bite after a hard day’s journeying and sight-gasping. Furthermore, we won’t be citing the most renowned hash houses throughout the globe, but only those where memories of a delightful repast or two has been immensely enjoyed. For example, we’ve never been to Maxim’s in Paris, Amsterdam’s Five Flies, or Antoine’s, down New Orleans way. Actually, a few of our chosen eating spots are small-sized, removed some distance from the fast-track tourist areas, and never prominently displayed in the brochures.

Unfortunately, this article can hardly be usable as a guide to would-be travelers/diners. Many of our choicer beaneries may well have either ceased to exist, declined in quality, or been converted to airline ticket offices, since long years have passed since we last visited the cities mentioned. It’s simply that the recollections refuse to fade from memory.

Unhappily, the identities of a certain select few have been irretrievably forgotten. Among others are the delightful spot in Vienna which served a marvelous black forest cake for dessert, and the Michigan ski area emporium where, if you ordered a steak, they’d throw away the horns and the tail before bringing you the rest.

Anyway, our list of the fifteen most memorable appears below, alphabetically by city.

BANGKOK, THAILAND – DUX
As pleasant a spot to visit for lunch as we've found anywhere in the entire world. Not only was the food excellent, but a person could hardly tire of the unusual decor -- miniature duck figures large, medium, and small by the dozens, viewable both within the dining area and the outdoor garden, visible to all patrons, hence the establishment's chosen name. We must sadly report, however, that for undetermined reasons, the owner closed this delightful eatery a few years ago. Having since moved away from Thailand, we can't be certain if he reopened elsewhere or not. In either case, the memory of our favorite noontime restaurant will remain with us always.

BRUSSELS, BELGIUM – LE BERLAIMONT
Located just opposite the Common Market Building, in our opinion, no better steak house exists worldwide. The smallish place used to be run by a gracious middle-aged lady, who served as maitresse d’, bartender, and lone waitress all by herself. The menu selection proved bountiful. The sole drawback was the cigarette smoke drifting over in cloudlike formation from the bar adjacent to the dining room. Perhaps that has since been rectified by law. This place caters chiefly to locals, so if the owner is still on hand doing her multiple chores, we recommend taking along a friend who speaks either French or German, unless you happen to be skilled at ordering in sign language.

CHIANG MAI, THAILAND - BRUNO'S
The native Swiss proprietor offers a most delightful atmosphere, coupled with superb food and an impressive wine list. As in other cases we cite here, a meal at Bruno's will be long remembered.

CHIANG MAI, THAILAND – THE WESTIN HOTEL DINING ROOM
The Westin offers the most prolifically-laid out buffet we’ve ever seen in the whole world. A meal there is an adventure unto itself. This particular city lies an hour north of Bangkok by air.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS – GEORGE DIAMOND’S STEAK HOUSE
This city has as vast an array of superb beaneries as one might find anywhere, including New York City. To us, however, George Diamond’s remains the most recallable. The management very wisely kept the dining area small enough to be well occupied throughout any mealtime period. As a result, most patrons would be required to first wait at the bar, but with tables becoming miraculously available just as the second cocktail had been poured. This surely helped boost a day’s profit. The steaks were excellent, and the house adamantly refused to bring catsup or any other condiment which would compromise the meat’s taste. You either ate it as broiled or went hungry.

CLEVELAND, OHIO - CAVOLI'S
Without a doubt, the best eating spot in all of the city's west side. Although the bill-of-fare selections are varied and plentiful, our personal suggestion is to go for one of the Italian specialties.

CLEVELAND, OHIO – MAX GRUBER’S
Max used to run the best restaurant in Cleveland, and hopefully his heirs still do so. Be sure to order sauer kraut balls as an appetizer. Beyond that, whatever you choose off the menu will be tops.

CLEVELAND, OHIO – THE THEATRICAL GRILL
Located in the heart of Cleveland’s business district, this delightful watering hole and eatery used to be owned by Morris “Mushy” Wexler, alleged to have a few underworld connections. However, who cared? In addition to excellent food, and bartenders you felt you’d known for twenty years, there was high-level musical entertainment every evening.

CINCINNATI, OHIO – TED KLUSZEWSKI’S
Although the writer had learned to shun eateries owned by former athletes, this turned out to be a definite exception (Jack Dempsey’s in New York being another, but not outstanding enough to make our list). Aside from the steaks offerable at Brussels’ Le Berliamont, Ted’s emporium served the best one we’ve ever demolished. The ex-home run hitting first baseman has since left us, but we hope the restaurant remains, with the output just as exemplary.

COLUMBUS, OHIO – THE JAI ALAI
Not the most highly publicized dining spot in town, but decidedly preferable to any other, the Jai Alai used to feature the old-fashioned free lunch table(well, everything cost a nickel then) from bygone days. Over and above that, the regular meals served were first rate.

GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN – SCOTTIE’S
This spot had delightful atmosphere, excellent service, and the best food ever recalled in the state of Michigan. Run by a gentleman, who tended the bar, and his wife, who seated you, it was limited in space, but great in all other respects.

JACKSON, MICHIGAN – BILL CONE’S
In an area known for its multiple buffet-style locations, Bill’s always seemed to stand about all the rest, including the more renowned Win Schuler establishments. Perhaps the marvelous service had much to do with it. In addition, nobody ever left after a meal there still feeling the slightest bit hungry.

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA – LAWRY’S THE PRIME RIB
Run by the makers of Lawry’s Salt for meat-flavor enhancement, this restaurant rates among the most unique in our memory, the reason being that it offered a single entrée only. The waitress would hand you no menu, but merely ask how you would like your prime rib of beef cooked – from rare up to well done. You’d never regret having been there, unless you happened to be a sworn vegetarian. The place would also catch the interest of the movie-star gawking types, because they’d be apt to see a few at other tables.

NEW YORK CITY – KEEN’S ENGLISH CHOP HOUSE
Keen’s may be more famous for its key atmospheric feature than its bill-of-fare, but you’re still bound to find the English mutton chop specialty quite satisfying. The big extra is the ability to enjoy a relaxing smoke on your private old-fashioned clay pipe following the meal. We dare not go back, though, having licked the tobacco habit long ago.

NEW YORK CITY – MAMA LEONIE’S
True, Gotham has many more fantastically-arrayed bistros than Leonie’s, but what remains most vividly in memory is the wide range of tasty food served, usually as supplements to the meal as ordered. This spot merits patronization for the culinary variety alone.

PARIS, FRANCE – LE TOKIANA
Most likely, few readers have ever been to this location, or even heard the name mentioned. Strictly a family eating place, and tucked away in a remote city neighborhood, even the taxi driver may have trouble finding it. If you do succeed in getting there, you won’t forget the meal. Make certain to order crepes flambees at dessert time, even if you’re already stuffed to the gills. The restaurant’s limited publicity stresses that it offers Basque food, whatever message that conveys.

ROME, ITALY – HARRY’S BAR
This very fine restaurant mustn’t be confused with the famous Paris bar bearing the same name, and occupied liberally by ladies of the night at any time. Our Harry’s lies at the very end of Rome’s widely-known Via Veneto, just before the entrance to the Villa Borghese, a public park. Perhaps the memory of a wonderful dinner was amplified by our charming guest companion.

WHAT'S PLAYING AT THE MOVIES TONIGHT, DEAR?

2009-08-12T13:42:00.000-07:00

(A Domestic Drama in One Act)

Dramatis Personae:
Sam Evening, a husband home after a hard day’s work
Janet Evening, his wife, who had a tiring afternoon of bridge with her friends

The Setting:
Their living room, just following dinner

(Curtain)
Sam: What’s playing at the movies tonight, Dear?
Janet: (Turning newspaper pages) Hmm, let’s see ….. well, the Detroit has Gilda.
Sam: Who’s in it?
Janet: Gwyllyn Samuel Newton Ford and Margarita Carmen Cansino.
Sam: Seen it. What else?
Janet: The Graduate is on at the Hilliard Square. That’s the one where Anna Maria Luisa
Italiano seduces that young fellow just out of …..
Sam: Naw, too much sex. How about the Granada?
Janet: Aha! That exciting chariot race film, Ben Hur, with John Charles Carter.
Sam: Don’t like movies about horses. What else?
Janet: The Lincoln has a double feature. The first is Gone with the Wind. Remember, Vivian
Mary Hartley won an Oscar as …..
Sam: About the Civil War? Fooey. What’s the second one?
Janet: A horror film, the Son of Frankenstein. It has Philip St. John Rathbone, with William
Henry Platt as the monster.
Sam: Who plays Igor?
Janet: Umm ….. Bela Ferenc Dezso Blasko.
Sam: Naah, no frightening shows for me tonight. Anything else?
Janet: At the Lucier it’s Pillow Talk, a husband-wife comedy, with Roy Harold Scherer Jr. and
Doris Mary Ann Von Kappelhoff. Sounds good. What do you say we …..
Sam: Not tonight. Is there anything with a lot of dancing?
Janet: You bet. We can go to the Beach Cliff and watch Frederick Austerlitz and Virginia
Katherine McMath in …..
Sam: Never mind that. Try some of the downtown theaters.
Janet: Aah ….. at the Palace they have a cowboy flick starring Marion Michael Morrison, and the
State is featuring West Side Story, with Natalia Nikolaerna Zakharenko as the girl who
tragically gets shot …..
Sam: Doesn’t sound so hot to me. Try the Stillman.
Janet: They have that film about the criminal running around the Casbah to avoid the cops, but
falling for his girl friend, and …..
Sam: Who plays the female role?
Janet: That Austrian beauty, Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler.
Sam: Aw, I was hoping you’d say Greta Lovita Gustafsson. I liked her. Do you see her name
anywhere?
Janet: No. Sorry, but we might try the Hippodrome.
Sam: What’s there?
Janet: Psycho, where Jeanette Helen Morrison is stabbed to death in the shower.
Sam: Too gruesome. How about the Allen?
Janet: Oh, this looks pretty good. Love Is a Many Splendored Thing, with William Franklin
Beedle Jr. and Phyllis Lee Isley.
Sam: Too slushy for me. Let’s stay home. Look at the TV schedule.
Janet: (Turning more pages) Well, for the old movies, there’s Bernard Schwartz in the Boston
Strangler.
Sam: Hey! Knock it off with the violence!
Janet: Well, a slightly more toned down one could be I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang.
Sam: Who played in that?
Janet: A very fine method actor, named Meshilem Meier Weisenfreud.
Sam: Maybe. Still, I don’t go for prison movies that much. Any variety shows on? Singers and
stuff?
Janet: We can see that comedy piano player, Borge Rosenbaum ….. or the girl who had such hits
as Tennessee Waltz and Mockingbird Hill.
Sam: What’s her name?
Janet: Clara Ann Fowler.
Sam: How about old Lucy Shows?
Janet: Yes, at ten o’clock, starring Dianne Belmont, as always. Then, at eleven is a rerun of
Maverick, with James Scott Baumgarner, or else the Aaron Chwatt Show. You
remember, don’t you, the comedian who used to sing Strange Things Are Happening and
the Ho-Ho Song?
Sam: No.
Janet: All right, then, if you want to stay up until three AM, we’ll be able to see the old movie
My Fair Lady.
Sam: Who’s in that? I forget.
Janet: Reginald Carey Henderson as Professor Higgins and Audrey Kathleen Ruston as Eliza
Doolittle.
Sam: That sounds too corny. (Yawn) Guess I’d better hit the sack early. Big day tomorrow.
(Janet folds paper and sits back in her chair as the curtain falls)

PUBLIC OPINION POLLS: WHO EVER INVENTED SUCH NONSENSE?

2009-08-11T06:38:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the most fitting quote we’ve ever heard regarding public opinion polls was offered years ago by comedy writer Goodman Ace, when he remarked that “Everybody pays attention to them, from the lowest ranked office boy in any business firm all the way up to Thomas E. Dewey, President of the United States”.

The astute Mr. Ace seemed to capture the very gist of the pollster universe in a nutshell with that simple observation.

For those too young to expressly remember the reason underlying such comment, the Gallup, Roper, and whatever other poll services did their thing back during the 1948 presidential campaigns, kept pumping out periodic findings, with barely a variation from start to finish. The consistent prediction was that mudslinging champion Dewey would thump Harry Truman by a significant margin.

It goes without saying that we were all extremely surprised when election day evening rolled around, and we could see a victorious Truman beaming before the camera, as he held up an anticipatorily optimistic Chicago Tribune issue proclaiming DEWEY ELECTED. The paper’s editors had obviously considered the poll results equivalent to the Gospel of St. What’s-his-name. What’s more, bookies across the country were quick to admit they had not only lost their shirts, but their undershirts as well.

The ill-fated 1948 polls, however, were not the most climactically erroneous in history. During the early 1930s, a well-respected magazine called the Literary Digest, which had existed since 1890, rolled off the presses at Funk & Wagnalls every week. Current opinion articles and news analysis formed the heart of its coverage.

Then came 1936, a presidential election year. Five candidates had reached the final showdown, but the only possible winners were Republican Governor Alfred M. Landon of Kansas and the incumbent Oval Office occupant Democrat Franklin D. Roosevelt. No doubt as a means for attracting greater reader interest, the Literary Digest conducted an ongoing poll to predict the November winner.

Being nowhere nearly as sophisticated or objective as our 21st century canvassing wizards, the magazine solicited its prospective voter preferences from the following sources only:
1. Their own readers, which consisted of the better-off incomewise, since the country was
enveloped in a deep depression, making erudite publications less than affordable to the
majority.
2. Automobile owners, at the time another group whose membership was limited to the higher
earners.
3. Telephone service subscribers, whose capability of having their homes adorned with such
gadgetry amounted to nothing less than a virtual luxury.

This naively-administered poll assured an overwhelming landslide victory for Governor Landon. The magazine folk had completely ignored the countless downtrodden citizens, whose sympathies consequently lay with FDR.

When the votes had all been counted, the tally came out Roosevelt 46 states, Landon 2. Never again has a supposedly well-conceived poll been so far off the mark. Needless to say, the Literary Digest ceased to be published shortly thereafter. Who in blazes would want to read a magazine that had exhibited such utter stupidity?

With that long since under our belts, we now jump to the present day. To express our current feelings in a couple sentences, we find ourselves up to our so-called arsses with one poll after another being waged on this subject or that. Frankly, we object to being inundated day after day with pronouncements over almost every politically-related or nearly so issue under the sun.

In fact, this writer’s former steady habit of watching CNN on the boob tube has been abruptly stopped, as if its airwaves emitted bubonic plague. We don’t wish to hear the results of polls, polls, and more polls ad nauseam any further.

The majority of today’s public opinion surveyors have likely attained optimum sophistication in their methods. Still, we believe some may be dishing out questionnaires rather slanted at times. Straightforward or otherwise, though, we’re mighty fed up with the whole lot.

Our longstanding and ever continuing preference is to deal solely with established facts, not shady suppositions.

THE GOP

2009-08-11T04:06:00.000-07:00

Based on the Republican Party’s traditional behavior patterns, we’ve finally been able to figure out what those three code letters stand for: GREED, OBSTRUCTIONISM, PROCRASTINATION.

HOLLYWOOD'S WAY: TELL IT LIKE IT WASN'T

2009-08-10T17:13:00.000-07:00

Although a confessed movie buff from way back, this writer has found ample reason for shying away from any contemporary or future films of a biographical or historical nature. When the facts surrounding a particular event or an individual’s characterization often become flagrantly twisted merely for added audience enjoyment purposes, our rebellious outlook springs to life. Over the years, we’ve watched a good many Hollywood productions which have contained either major or less significant distortions, usually sufficient to convince us we should have better stayed at home and read a book.

We’ve picked out a dozen examples where Hollywood’s penchant for deviating from realism or reality remains indelibly in mind as deplorable misstatements and misrepresentations, where people or situations are involved. There are obviously many more, but it’s the principle involved, not the overwhelming volume of script falsifications, that we’ve chosen to focus upon.

MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY (1935 and 1962)
Captain William Bligh was not a downright schmuck who inflicted harsh and unjust punishments to crew members, apparently for sadistic personal satisfaction. His true character lay on the reserved side, with fairness often guiding his judgment. Although the causes leading to the legendary mutiny still aren’t fully clear, they certainly didn’t arise from his abject cruelty.

KNUTE ROCKNE, ALL-AMERICAN (1940)
This case may be relatively minor, but it stands as an unmitigated insult to one of America’s most revered football coaches, to portray how he decided to alter his team’s backfield coordination strategy after watching chorus girls dance in unison at a night club floor show.

PRIDE OF THE YANKEES (1942)
The immortal Lou Gehrig decidedly did not precede his first ever trip to the plate by clumsily falling over a row of baseball bats lying outside the dugout, nor did the crowd’s uproarious laughter then quickly subside, allowing his eventual missus to loudly cry “Tanglefoot!” from the front row. Yish!

TILL THE CLOUDS ROLL BY (1946)
This film gives the viewer the distinct impression that Jerome Kern handled the full composition effort, i.e. both words and music, for his countless songs. Credit due to Oscar Hammerstein II and other affiliated lyricists received the absolutely scantest mention. We deem this grossly unfair, especially considering the marvelous talents of those people summarily overlooked.

WORDS AND MUSIC (1948)
As a homosexual, Lorenz Hart could have hardly spent his entire career mooning over a girl who spurned him from the outset. Additionally, the scene with Mickey Rooney (as Hart) and Judy Garland (as herself) singing a number together at a party is completely anachronistic, she having been only a little girl in real life at the time of the film’s setting.

THE STRATTON STORY (1949)
Monty Stratton pitched effectively for a few seasons with the Chicago White Sox, but gained only limited status, not the league-shattering prominence the film depicted, up until his tragic leg loss in a hunting mishap. He tried returning to play with an artificial limb in sandlot games, but never one so important as an all-star event, according to the fabricated script.

THE WINNING TEAM (1952)
Ronald Reagan portrayed National League pitcher Grover Cleveland Alexander as a man who received his inspiration for striking out opposing batters just by seeing his wife’s face in the stands. This has to be the most ridiculous giggle in any sport movie ever turned out. As a moundsman of the highest caliber, but encumbered with a personal problem, his hang-up had nothing to do with the need for affectionate looks. He was a lush of the first order, said on occasions to head straight to the ball park following an extended drunken binge.

THE BENNY GOODMAN STORY (1956)
Perhaps the real Benny did possess an innate shyness which delayed proposing marriage to his first wife, as the plot went. However, the scene where he finally pops the question by playing his clarinet and looking out at his lady friend seated in the Carnegie Hall audience wins the all-time preposterousness prize. How silly can those Hollywood folk get?

SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME (1956)
Rocky Graziano was a lowdown street-brawling hoodlum, who could barely control himself, often resorting to his fists when slightly disgruntled, thus leading to continuous trouble. The affable and readily likable Paul Newman should never have been cast in the lead role.

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI (1957)
Beyond question, this ranks among the finest movies ever produced. The misleading aspect is that British commandos never did sneak up and blow the bridge to smithereens. Factually speaking, it remains standing and in use today, far more sturdily constructed than the film showed.

FUNNY GIRL (1968)
Fanny Brice’s husband (the second of three in real life, not the first of two) Nicky Arnstein may not have had an honest or decent bone in his entire body, being an out-and-out swindler. The boys certainly cleaned up the character for Omar Sharif’s impressive nice upstanding chap performance.

GABLE AND LOMBARD (1976)
This production has to stand high among filmdom’s stinkeroos from the distortion angle. For openers, Carole Lombard did play several successful comedic lead roles in the 1930s, but never once reigned as undisputed queen of the cinema, as they would have us believe. Moreover, the supposed paternity suit filed against Clark Gable was totally fictitious, having been lifted instead from actual cases involving Errol Flynn and Charlie Chaplin during that era.

CLOSING COMMENT
What else can we say except oh, boy?

A FEW THOUGHTS ON POUNDAGE AND ROTUNDITY

2009-08-10T11:38:00.000-07:00

Not long ago, one of our blog entries suggested that it might be an excellent idea if obesity were considered a misdemeanor, punishable by fine or imprisonment. We have to admit that’s stretching the issue a bit far. Nevertheless, what more revolting sight is there than a woman out in public carrying enough bulk to qualify her as a potential defensive tackle for the Green Bay Packers?

In fact, “her” isn’t the correct pronoun. Based on observations whenever we go out seemingly anywhere, it’s a case of “them” instead. Lardbutt types keep showing up in droves these days.

Still, we mustn’t just point the finger at overly fleshed-out females. A man sporting a prominent lower gut is almost equally regurgitating to view. We honestly fail to understand how an obese member of either sex can stand before a mirror without feeling utterly disgusted at the image.

Speaking of sex, now that we’ve used it in context, that leads to another element. Becoming so aroused is clearly a natural inclination, especially upon seeing a slim, trim lass, or else a gentleman whose build somewhat resembles that of a Greek god. On the other hand, we’d believe it extremely difficult for one’s libido to register any charge at all over an opposite gender’s figure which amounts to a mass of sheer fat, clothed or otherwise. Maybe our present-day prevalence of extra-marital activity has been furthered to a certain extent for this reason.

On the numerous occasions when we are so unfortunate as to spot a gentleman with an obvious ultra-protuberance in the abdominal area, our standard private comment is “I hope it’s a boy”. Maybe we’d accomplish something by walking up to the fellow and thus advising him, but that could be deemed too much of a direct insult, albeit deserved.

During our schooldays long ago, a certain male classmate is recalled as having stated almost passionately that he could never resist peanut butter. Upon recently seeing an up-to-date photo of the fellow, hence at a much more advanced age, we realized in an instant that his uncontrollable taste for such edible commodity had obviously never abated, as determinable by how his lower t-shirt area bulged outward.

Having let it all hang out, so to speak, we now feel obliged to recommend what punitive steps might be desirable regarding that abundant array of folk who are so thoroughly frightful to observe, and for which the fault rests almost exclusively with themselves.

We would strongly urge, at the very least, that such overly-padded members of either sex be required to remain at home and inside for, let’s say, 144 hours each week, with exit permission only during the other 24. In addition, we’d love to see legislation subjecting them to fines of up to perhaps $2,000 for ever appearing at public beaches or pools in swimming attire.

WINCHELL WAS AHEAD OF HIS TIME

2009-08-09T07:01:00.000-07:00

In those late 1940s and early 1950s days, with postwar inflation beginning to take its firm hold, a person soon came to realize that a single dollar could no longer buy a candy bar, a pack of chewing gum, a pay telephone call, a cup of coffee, a couple donuts, a trolley car or bus ride, admission for two to a movie theater, and a hot fudge sundae for your girl friend after the show. On a particular evening, we heard the famed, yet not exactly lovable columnist and radio commentator Walter Winchell voice a contemporary era joke over the airways.

The semi-grim witticism featured the proverbial fellow asking his friend “Hey, did you hear the government is going to stop making one dollar bills?”, to which his compatriot typically answered “Why?”
Then came the first speaker with “What good are they?”

Although Walter’s point wasn’t quite that true at the time, more than a half-century has since gone by, and the joke’s underlying principle has not only remained, but expanded considerably.

Today, we fail to understand why the U.S. Mint continues producing coins below a quarter. By updating Winchell’s punch line, we sincerely ask why waste time, effort, and needed government expenditure churning out pennies, nickels, and dimes? What on earth can a person buy today with any such chunk of metal? The price of smaller value items could easily be rounded up a mite to arrive at the nearest twenty-five cent piece multiple as appropriate, and the consumer would barely notice or probably not even care.

In these days of world economic crisis brought on by our Republican masterminds when they were calling the shots, we believe our idea has merit.

A PLEA FOR MERCY

2009-08-08T07:50:00.001-07:00

We can’t help but feel that an injustice has been committed in the case of Bernard Madoff. Accordingly, we strongly urge citizens everywhere to contact their Senators and Congressman, seeking mercy on the man’s behalf.

Our recommendation is that his prison sentence be reduced from 150 to 75 years. After all, we must be fair.

THE U.S. ARMY'S 106TH INFANTRY "GOLDEN LION" DIVISION -- MORE OF A PUSSYCAT ACTUALLY

2009-08-07T14:10:00.000-07:00

GENESIS AND EXODUS
The 106th Infantry Division was activated on March 15, 1943 at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, thus becoming the army’s most junior combat outfit. The newly-designed shoulder patch portrayed a lion’s face, which looked downright timid in comparison to the famous MGM mascot. Its central color seemed more like yellow than gold, against a darkish blue background and a red outer border. Despite whatever imagery might have been intended, ferociousness certainly didn’t come to mind.

Historically speaking, this division may have been the shortest lived ever. After only 63 days in European Theater front-line action during World War II, it was officially deactivated on October 2, 1945, aged two years, six and a half months.

Despite this unusually short life, the 106th became heralded for its defensive stand against the counteroffensive attack launched by German forces in the Ardennes area, which began on December 16, 1944 and essentially ended only a few days later. Some high-ranking military officers praised its performance rather glowingly, and an American newscaster even wrote an extremely complimentary book, published as early as 1945.

Nevertheless, from our direct personal observation, the accolades heaped on the Golden Lion boys appear way overblown. Before elaborating further, more background information seems in order.

Following the Fort Jackson inauguration ceremony, the division’s travel itinerary was limited to Tennessee Maneuvers, then Camp Atterbury, Indiana, Camp Myles Standish, Massachusetts, to England by sea, and finally France, Belgium, and Germany. That last stop proved to be just in time for annihilation by a better trained, albeit inadequately supplied enemy.

During the Camp Atterbury period, which ran from March 28, 1944 until early October of the same year, the unit chiefly became a source for replacements to fill casualty-incurred gaps in combat zones elsewhere. Although the Tennessee Maneuvers experience had hardened the troops to a minor extent, the subsequent decimation process necessitated the thinned-out ranks to be replenished by a flood of fuzzy-cheeked youths, fresh from basic training, which had been subjected to severe curtailment in many instances. One resultant effect was the outfit’s overall average age drop to 22. Consequently, autumn of 1945 found perhaps the greenest infantry organization in U.S. military annals packing up and bundling off toward a waiting battleground.

BATTLE STATIONS
When the very brief so-called training and toughening exercises on English soil had been deemed sufficient, the geniuses who ran the U.S. Army from the upper levels plunked the 106th Division into the Ardennes area, smack in front of the entrenched German forces, and deployed over a geographical range roughly five times the standard width span for a unit of that size. Weather conditions precluded air support, the artillery never became fully oriented with its targets, the terrain was far too hilly for tank operations, and much-needed winter clothing lay in short supply. The critical situation rounded out with the presence of a youth-infested organization which had no prior fighting experience whatsoever.

December 16, 1994 opened with crack enemy forces proceeding to overrun and surround the poorly-geared Americans, repelling any defensive thrust attempts. A steady three-day assault found two entire U.S. regiments obliged to surrender, along with affiliated artillery batteries, engineer battalions, and others.

The division’s casualty statistics appear somewhat skewed in contrast to usual conditions, with 417 killed, 1,275 wounded, and a massive 6,697 taken prisoner. We can’t help but wonder if any other U.S. military organization has ever suffered a record of such relative disproportion.

This Ardennes Counteroffensive quickly earned the label Battle of the Bulge, due to the bubble-shaped image formed on the map as Hitler’s legions broke through the feeble and utterly useless barriers confronting them. We can say with absolute certainty that the actual events barely resembled those shown in the movie of the same name twenty years or so afterward.

Moreover, the ensuing prisoner of war life endured by those 6,697 fellows, with not everyone managing to survive the ordeal, involved absolutely no well-conceived subterfuge and espionage acts as pulled off by Hogan’s Heroes in the popular television series later on. The camps weren’t run by nincompoops like Colonel Klink and Sergeant Schultz either.

What the 106th actually achieved amounted to simply lying in the enemy’s way, offering pocket resistance to the fullest possible extent, thus altogether causing important delay, instead of the planned more rapid movement. This is the sole reason for the unit’s commendation, with a presidential citation medal being awarded to the division as a whole. For an outfit that did little more than get its proverbial ass resoundingly kicked, such honors seem unwarranted. Nevertheless, the U.S. military has traditionally chosen to bend over backwards in voicing praise of its troops under fire.

THE AFTERMATH
Presumably, most or maybe all division, regiment, or other war machine entities in past or ongoing existence have established “alumni” associations as a commemoration means. The 106th Golden Lions are no exception. Since the minimum World War II participation age in 1944 was 18, and the outfit has only a single battle to reflect upon, any veteran member still around today must be at least 83 years old. As a consequence, a game of last man standing is in force among the surviving troops.

What tends to make matters a mite perplexing is the alleged sanctity attached to a lone combat confrontation, followed by approximately four months’ barbed wire captivity, punctuated with lengthy intercamp forced marches, for thousands of young chaps under near-starvation and inclement weather conditions. If this adds up to glorious battlefield achievement, we have trouble seeing the connection.

Within recent years, this writer happened to stumble upon an exhaustive analysis of the December 16-19 fun and games in the Ardennes, published on the internet. It had been prepared in 1950 by an officer from the same battalion, for training of prospective new lieutenants at Fort Benning, Georgia. Although the material compiled was extremely thorough, due to the author’s having been right on-scene, a few small but significant flaws were readily noted, because we had also been there, immersed in the same bitter fracas.

In a noble effort aimed toward correcting innocently-derived misinformation, we wrote to the training material author, long since retired, pointing out where his text had contained certain inaccuracies, based on personal direct observation while under enemy fire.

Fully expecting a “thanks very much for the enlightenment” reply from yonder end, we received instead a harshly worded admonishment, rife with criticism for challenging poured-in-concrete battle records, along with a retroactive “chewing out”, due to our casual admission of having abandoned a severely broken and useless radio. Our correspondent insisted that replacement parts were always on hand and available. In other words, with shells dropping all around and an enemy virtually behind every tree, we’d merely have needed to visit the nearest supply room and get the mechanism fixed pronto.

Over and above the merciless salvo fired across the email waves, our enraged correspondent disdained addressing any of the points with which we had taken issue. Obviously, our attempt to disrupt the long-dead unit’s combat sanctity was totally forbidden.

Perhaps the lesson thus learned should be to avoid trying to be helpful in matters such as this, because history is history is history, officially documented for posterity, and must forever go unchallenged, even to the remotest degree.

We’ve probably committed a cardinal sin as well by stating earlier that our esteemed 106th Division really got its butt kicked in the Ardennes conflict.

HOW ABOUT A TOUCH OF REVENGE?

2009-08-06T14:43:00.000-07:00

Watching television for hours at a stretch these days means that the viewer is certain to be driven to distraction by one semi-nauseating commercial message after another. Since they are far too numerous and altogether much too lengthy, relief from them by making bathroom trips doesn’t provide sufficient escape time, unless either one’s bowels or kidneys are working double time.

Consequently, what we’re proposing here is a kind of “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” approach, but in a negative way. The idea might just ease your captive viewing ennui, while tossing a little confusion into what we consider the enemy ranks.

All too many of these agonizing, yea asinine, messages offer either a product or service which will supposedly fix your wagon in countless different respects. Perhaps 5% or so are presented in meaningful good taste, and give no justifiable cause for counterattack effort. It’s that obnoxious, intelligence-insulting majority which deserves nothing less than utter molestation. Unhappily, we have no means for reaching such goal. However, we do have a program to suggest which should at least bring about a little extra peace of mind to John or Jane Q. TV Victim.

When a product or service is involved, the screen normally shows an 800 number to call, where the response will most likely be from a machine, advising you what to punch next, depending on the issue at hand. We therefore urge our readers to strike whichever they choose, then wait a short while before some low-life degenerate comes on the line to give you the canned sales pitch runaround. Since the words you’re about to utter might be recorded, that’s so much the better for “our side”. The people you're dealing with are fittingly describable as Adolf Eichmans of the commercial business. They are merely following orders from their shady superiors.

We’re attaching a selection of counterpunch statements, some of which have been lifted from age-old radio commercials, along with others from numerous sources, which mostly amount to sheer nonsense. Rather than let the telephone solicitor take control at the outset, why not muddy the waters a bit instead by belting out an opener of your own? As far as we’re concerned, any means for upsetting those creeps even slightly is well worth the effort.

Our looney list follows below. Take your choice or choices according to whim, and use them to strike back just a mite at the nefarious system today’s misguided public is forced to contend with.

Adams Clove Gum, by Jove, buy Clove
Ambrose Stables, we serve oat cuisine
Birdseed Company, everything we make is for the birds
Bugs Bunny’s Hole, what’s up, Doc?
Cannibal Club, everyone’s having a ball
Casablanca Bar and Grill, play it again, Sam
Daily News, black and white and read all over
Elger Plumbing Company, piss on our products
Emery’s Emetics, strong enough to make Wyatt Earp
Exterminator’s Paradise, we have rats and snails and puppy dog tails
Fort Apache, with Shirley Temple as Philadelphia Thursday and Henry Fonda as her father
Grace Dart Hospital, we’re sick sick sick
Hell’s Kitchen, we serve noodle noodle poodle kyoodle noodle soup
Hello, Duffy’s Tavern, where the elite meet to eat, Archie the Manager speakin’, Duffy ain’t here
Ipana for the smile of beauty and Sal Hepatica for the smile of health
Irish Horan speakin’, while daredevil buddy Joe Paskunyac goes through the loop-de-loops
Juliet’s Jams and Jellies, if you want to propose a toast
Jumpin’ Jive, makes you nine feet tall when you’re four foot five
Kelly’s Pool Hall, with the best tunes of all, not Carnegie Hall
Light Brigade Headquarters, send three and fourpence, we’re going to a dance
Little Big Horn Battlefield, General Custer’s too busy to come to the phone
Little Girl Supply Company, sugar and spice and everything nice
McDonald’s Hamburgers, spreading American non-culture throughout the world
Monopoly Board, go to jail, go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars
Never-Never-Never Land, first turn to the right and straight on until morning
Oscar Mayer Wieners, we’re full of baloney
Parker’s Bakery, like the Sun, we rise in the yeast
Polly’s Pet Shop, where the pigeons come home to roost
Powerhouse Candy, always keep it handy, because it’s dandy
Quaker Meeting, no more laughing, no more fun
Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers, say it fast three times
Sam Spade Detective Agency, we seen you when you done it
Sandy Sherman’s, we sell seashells by the seashore
Schmaltz’s Laundry, in at nine dirty, back clean five-thirty
Sealy Mattresses, for the rest of your life
Sweeney’s Soup Salon, peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold
This is the forest primeval, the murmuring pines and the hemlocks
Tigris and Euphrates, we make a Mesopotamia
Tree Residence, Douglas Fir speaking, Jack Pine isn’t here
Twenty-Fifth Century Fox, Buck Rogers speaking
U.S. Government, which corrupt person do you wish to speak with?
Ulster House, we breathe Londonderry air
Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Christopher Darden speaking
Vinny’s Vineyards, our vin will give you vim, vigor, and vitality
Walrus and Carpenter, we serve oysters on the half shell
Wilson’s Butcher Shop, you never sausage meat
Witches’ Cove, double double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble
Xanadu where Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decreed
Yule Log Company, we don’t mind getting burned
Zinzinnati Zoo, we haf Zebras from Zambia, Zanzibar, and Zimbabwe

GREAT AND NOT-SO-GREAT AMERICANS: TWO ONGOING UPDATABLE LISTS

2009-08-06T12:49:00.000-07:00

One evening quite a few years ago, this fellow attended a huge party at the home of a contemporary business colleague. The house was quite expansive, featuring a large entertainment room, along with a back yard vast enough to absorb any overflow.

It so happened that the hostess and the writer were cut from the same cloth politically-orientationwise, that is slightly to the left of John Kennedy and somewhat to the right of Fidel Castro. At that particular time, the Nixon-Kissinger duo was staging a senseless and futile war against the North Vietnamese, not unlike the Bush-Cheney Middle East shenanigans which followed decades thereafter.

For reasons we can’t specifically recall, a brief chit-chat with the sympathetically-minded hostess suddenly caused us to begin playing a sort of private game, which we agreed to dub “Great Americans”, but strictly in a derisive mode. For the next two or three hours, she and I, even though often a fair distance apart physically, kept taking turns shouting out names in our most insulting fashion. Every person so identified by either of us would be some right-wing conservative type for whom we both felt nothing but contempt. A number of the other guests listened in wonderment as to what we were up to. Nevertheless, we simply carried on with our loud pronouncements, not bothering to offer any explanations.

That personally memorable session so many years ago eventually inspired this writer to sit down and compile a list of 35 names viewed as representing our selection of history’s worst Americans. Correspondingly then, we decided that a contrasting roster of our chosen 35 greatest should be in order.

The end result of this exercise is presented below, by appropriate contributory classification. We feel that every entry stands on its own as being self-explanatory. Both listings have been subject to periodic revision as national and world conditions have dictated, and we reserve the right to update further, whenever so motivated. The numerical quantities will remain intact, however, in which case any added names must be by substitution only.

At the present date, our good guy and villain selections appear below alphabetically.

THE 35 GREATEST
Carl Bernstein, Muckraking
Art Buchwald, Philosophy
Cassius Marcellus Clay aka Muhammad Ali, Sports; Human Rights
Samuel Langhorne Clemens aka Mark Twain, Philosophy
Walt Disney, Entertainment
Thomas Alva Edison, Invention
Benjamin Franklin, Founding
Erle Stanley Gardner, Justice
Jim Garrison, Justice
George Gershwin, Music
Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., Justice
John Fitzgerald Kennedy, Politics
Robert Francis Kennedy, Politics
Martin Luther King, Human Rights
Kenesaw Mountain Landis, Sports
Abraham Lincoln, Politics
Henry R. Luce, Communication
John Marshall, Justice
Bill Mauldin, Front Line Combat Reporting
Ralph Nader, Muckraking
Barack Obama, Politics
Ernest Taylor Pyle, Front Line Combat Reporting
Branch Rickey, Sports
Norman Rockwell, Art
Will Rogers, Philosophy
Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Politics
Theodore Roosevelt, Environment
Jonas Salk, Medicine
Upton Sinclair, Muckraking
Oliver Stone, Entertainment
Robert Alfonso Taft, Politics
Ted Turner, Communication
Myron Wallace, Muckraking
Robert Woodward, Muckraking
Larry Zeigner aka Larry King, Communication

THE 35 WORST
Spiro Agnew, Politics
Jonathon Bilbo, Racism
George Bush, Politics
George W. Bush, Politics
William Calley, Military
Calvin Coolidge, Politics
Thomas E. Dewey, Politics
David Duke, Racism
Allen Dulles, Espionage
Henry Ford, Business
Daryle Gates, Law Enforcement
Barry Goldwater, Politics
David W. Griffith, Entertainment
Warren Gamaleil Harding, PoliticsWilliam Randolph Hearst, Journalism
Herbert Hoover, Politics
John Edgar Hoover, Law Enforcement
Robert Maynard Hutchins, Education
Henry Kissinger, Politics
Curtis Lemay, Military
Rush Limbaugh, Communications
Henry Cabot Lodge I, Politics
Joseph Raymond McCarthy, Politics
Colonel Robert McCormick, Journalism
Richard Milhaus Nixon, Politics
Ronald Wilson Reagan, Politics
John Davidson Rockefeller, Business
George Lincoln Rockwell, Racism
Donald Rumsfeld, Politics
Louis B. Seltzer, Journalism
Eugene Tallmadge, Racism
Herman Tallmadge, Racism
George Wallace, Racism
Robert E. Welsch, Reactionism
Sonny Werblin, Sports

SOULMATES

2009-08-06T12:08:00.001-07:00

Although the nature of this piece seems to be seldom discussed between friends and associates, it’s likely that many individuals have their own private role models. For example, not too long ago we listened to a certain business colleague glowingly declare his personal allegiance to General George S. Patton of World War II fame, identifying the man as the one most admired and emulated by him.

Ironically, we’re unable to recall off-hand any additional conversations of this sort ever, yet we do embrace belief that such vicarious coexistences are really somewhat universal, and will now seize the opportunity to reveal our own deeper convictions on the matter. In our case, there happen to be five persons, all men, from varying walks of life, with whom we find virtual identity. We prefer, however, to classify them as soulmates, because what we sense are spiritual kinships, not outright hero-worship.

So that we might emphasize our relative equality of favoritism toward each gentleman and his reasons for inclusion here, our presentation follows in alphabetical sequence by surname.

BILL COSBY
This fellow possesses a pure and nonchalant down-to-earthness, prominently exhibited in everything we’ve ever heard him say, seen him do, or enjoyed listening to him recount his highly amusing personal life experiences, be they authentic or semi-fabricated. From a straight personability standpoint, he’s simply my kind of guy.

RICHARD HALLIBURTON
In younger days we were enthralled many times over by this man’s adventurousness and daring deeds, subsequently described most vividly in his books. Although we never personally came close to attaining heights comparable to his, we did our best to emulate him, through extensive world travel and meeting of the many foreign land challenges that arose.

JOHN FITZGERALD KENNEDY
JFK wasn’t just our 35th President. For his consistently youthful exuberance and driving spirit toward true democratic ideals, he represented, in our eyes, the living individual personalization of the United States itself, and what the country is really supposed to stand for.

FRANK SINATRA
To us, Frank was far more than one of the greatest overall entertainers the modern world has seen. The moralistic-minded and do-gooder types may frown on his allegedly sinful ways, but we can’t overlook the open gutsiness in speaking his mind honestly, while exhibiting a sense of independence which influenced the manner whereby he steadfastly refused to take guff from anybody anywhere.

HENRY DAVID THOREAU
This man stood prominently as a 19th century lifelong devotee to personal disobedience, in line with the dictates of his conscience, against the perennial “establishment”. Unfortunately, we have grossly inadequate space here in which to describe his outlook on life qualities to a sufficient degree. We’re obliged instead to settle for a brief but sincere tribute to one of our country’s finer, albeit less than fully-appreciated thinkers.

WIND-UP
Any of our readers is accordingly invited to declare similar pseudo-kinships which may exist with other persons, living or otherwise.

TINSELTOWN'S ANNUAL TURMOIL

2009-08-06T08:25:00.000-07:00

At Hollywood’s very first academy award presentation affair in 1929, Janet Gaynor was accorded best actress honors for the past two-year period. With radio only an infant back then, and television no more than a gleam in David Sarnoff’s eye, the surrounding publicity could have been minimal at the most. We’ve also learned that Miss G went straight home and to bed following the ungala ceremony, because she had to be on another film set early in the morning.

In absolute contrast today, this whole Oscar business begins around January each year, as a covert buzz-buzz over who the nominees and winners might be. The hubbub then steadily grows and the suspense mounts considerably until that climactic early spring evening when Hollywood’s answer to the Super Bowl takes place in regal splendor, with far more pizzazz and hoopla than we feel is deserved.

Please don’t misunderstand, Folks. This fellow actually likes good movies, and thoroughly appreciates superb acting performances. We can’t help having reservations, though, about the overblown importance of the final winner names read from the heretofore closely-guarded secret envelopes, followed by gasps and shrieks, not to mention some “oh, nuts” shrugs.

Although we never fail to watch the annual spectacle, to us it’s just a show, not a nail-biter while waiting to see who has won out, category-by-category. Furthermore, our interest focuses solely upon the actors, actresses, and directors. We couldn’t care less about the color cinematography, the sound level monitoring, the dialogue editing, or whatever else the industry chooses to honor.
As for those select groups that capture our attention, we don’t really cheer over which persons end up emoting to the audience, but rather all five nominees in each case. We deem each one a winner, simply for the worthiness consideration bestowed by his or her peers.

According to what we once heard, actor Jack Oakie burst into tears at the ceremony, upon learning that someone else had been awarded the male supporting role Oscar for 1940, thus purportedly exceeding his performance in The Great Dictator. Why a grown man should become so unduly unglued over a lousy mantelpiece token lies beyond our comprehension, when simple nomination constitutes an honor unto itself in our book.

With such reasoning in mind, for some years we’ve been maintaining a private record, subject to annual update, of course, showing each actor, actress, and director nominee’s name. Who won? The hell with that. Our files don’t even mention which persons took the little bronze gizmos home with them.

We’re quite aware, though, that petty politics, personal rivalries, and fabricated prejudices often play a part in the yearly nominating and voting process, with deserving parties occasionally being overlooked. There has long seemed to be strong collective feeling against Barbra Streisand, for whatever small-minded reasoning might apply. Madonna failed to earn the slightest recognition for her memorable Evita role. Perhaps the moralist viewpoint held sway there, since she’s not exactly a candidate for casting as the Virgin Mary. We’ve never managed, however, to fathom why Debbie Reynolds was completely shunned, despite her performance in Mother.

One of Bette Davis’ many nominations was for her obnoxious characterization in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? We’ve read that if co-star and sworn enemy Joan Crawford had had her way, Miss Eyes would have received nary a mention, actually launching a hate campaign against her. It’s also unlikely that inimical sisters Joan Fontaine and Olivia de Havilland would ever have supported or voted for each other.

Anyway, the dirty end notwithstanding, we hold to the opinion that the film industry’s worthiest actors, actresses, and directors are best determinable by the relative number of nominations received over the years.

Unfortunately, such simplified methodology disqualifies the Gables, the Stewarts, the Bogarts, and a wide array of competent actresses. Still, that’s how the mop happens to flop.

In case any reader isn’t so aware from other available sources, our private list by chosen category appears below, the sole criterion being five or more yearly nominations.

ACTORS
Jack Nicholson (12)
Laurence Olivier (10)
Paul Newman, Spencer Tracy (9)
Marlon Brando, Jack Lemmon, Peter O’Toole, Al Pacino (8)
Richard Burton, Dustin Hoffman (7)
Michael Caine, Robert De Niro, Robert Duvall, Paul Muni (6)

ACTRESSES
Meryl Streep (15)
Katharine Hepburn (12)
Bette Davis (11)
Geraldine Page (8)
Ingrid Bergman, Jane Fonda, Greer Garson (7)
Ellen Burstyn, Judy Dench, Deborah Kerr, Jessica Lange, Vanessa Redgrave, Thelma Ritter,
Norma Shearer, Maggie Smith, Sissy Spacek, Kate Winslett (6)

DIRECTORS
William Wyler (12)
Billy Wilder (8)
David Lean, Fred Zinneman (7)
Woody Allen, Clarence Brown, Frank Capra, Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg (6)
Robert Altman, George Cukor, John Ford, Alfred Hitchcock, John Huston, Elia Kazan, George
Stevens, King Vidor (5)

Despite our unalterable rules, we must apologize for any reader’s favorites who’ve been left off.

OUR PERSONAL QUEST FOR A SIMPLER, FAIRER, AND MORE SETTLED WORLD

2009-08-03T07:12:00.000-07:00

It seems true to this writer that every person’s across-the-board well-being might be vastly improved upon if only certain fundamental changes could be enacted – some seemingly rather complex, but most of them simple, at least in principle, and not really all that impractical. We feel they would bring about tremendous improvement to mankind’s ultimate benefit and peace of mind.

Wouldn’t it be nice if:
· Israel would cease to be a political entity and become only a religious haven?
· Congressional lobbying were completely outlawed?
· Religion were practiced by everyone on a seven-day per week basis, instead of just one?
· Corruption would be declared a crime punishable by death or life imprisonment?
· The people of Northern Ireland would decide to agree on what constitutes Christianity?
· TV commercials were outlawed?
· News broadcasts were limited to simple reporting only, totally devoid of analytical comment?
· All Republicans would shut up?
· The reformer-for-better-health types would attack candy, gum, and soft drink consumption, as well as that of cigarettes?
· Passenger automobiles would be made to disappear completely, restricting street and highway traffic to trucks and buses?
· Being obese would be deemed a crime punishable by fine or imprisonment?
. Every smoker could acquire a strong enough will to kick the habit?

PANSY AND BUTCH: A BOOK OF REVELATIONS UNTO THEMSELVES

2009-08-02T08:24:00.000-07:00

Just recently we composed a theme devoted to the somewhat unsavory matter of suicide, based on Wikipedia’s long long long personal self-destruction listings. In slight contrast to the hackneyed expression about life being full of surprises, we quickly learned that so is death, considering how many famous names were thus identified without our previous awareness.

Being ever intrigued with new vistas to analyze, we then followed up by taking a look at Wikipedia’s even more extensive roster of confirmed gay gentlemen and lesbian ladies. To say we were astounded at times is one of those gross understatements for the ages – not only in respect to the huge unexpected quantity, but seeing many more specific individuals so categorized than we had remotely imagined.

According to Wikipedia, everyone shown as being on the gay or lesbian side is not exclusively oriented in that direction. The list actually includes any number of “both ways” venturers. On the other hand, those persons about whom mere rumor or innuendo has been put forward are expressly excluded. This rules out J. Edgar Hoover and his regular housemate Clyde Tolson, not to mention long term cohabitants Cary Grant and Randolph Scott, among others similarly suspected through sheer presumption.

Aside from the frequent “oh my gosh” and similar statements we uttered upon reviewing the roster, we couldn’t help but note the relative counts by field of occupational endeavor. The entertainment industry has amazingly produced the largest number of characters who’ve strayed across the supposed morality line, as either a full- or part-time practice. Whatever whys and wherefores brought about such conditions must remain a matter for our readers to resolve in their own minds. We’re not concerned here with conjectural reasoning, only cold numerical facts.

Our mini-list of nearly 150 readily recognizable people is headed by the actor/actress group, standing head, shoulders, torso, and waistline above all the rest. Even though the transgressive activities of Rock Hudson, Charles Laughton, Marlene Dietrich, Jodie Foster, Farley Granger, Rosie O’Donnell, Ellen DeGeneres, Tommy Kirk, Tallulah Bankhead, and a few others have been common knowledge for quite a while, we didn’t expect to find such roughshod, staunchly masculinish lads like Marlon Brando, Raymond (Perry Mason himself) Burr, Alec Guinness, and Laurence Olivier included. The same comment goes for the distaff side, with such names as Joan Crawford and Greta Garbo, whose straightline bedroom affairs were a matter of public record, along with Kay Francis and the demure, matronly Spring Byington.

Moreover, what about male figures Dirk Bogard, Richard Chamberlain (TV’s Dr. Kildare), the strikingly handsome Montgomery Clift, the venerable John Gielgud, and Ramon Navarro of the first Ben Hur chariot race fame? Then there’s Robert Reed, the home-loving husband in the still-running Brady Bunch television series, rugged Latino gangster type Cesar Romero, David Ogden Stiers from M*A*S*H days, plus strong-willed character portrayers Monty Woolley and Clifton Webb.

Richard Deacon, comedy performer from the Dick Van Dyke show, appears on the list. So do the gifted James Dean, as well as Tab Hunter, Sal Mineo, and George Grizzard. We weren’t overly surprised about Paul Lynde, considering his effeminate on-screen mannerisms. Still, Alan Bates, Gene Raymond, and Anton Walbrook always impressed us as evidencing strict manliness.

British performers Denholm Elliott, Michael Redgrave, Dennis Price, John Inman, and the comedic Frankie Howerd’s presence startled us a bit, as did America’s Jack Cassidy, Richard Cromwell, and that lovable codger Will Geer. Nils Asther and Jack Smith round out the male actor array.

We registered some surprise at the inclusion of Nancy Kulp, the highly efficient, sex-starved Plain Jane from the Beverly Hillbillies series, and such more feminine types as Anne Heche, Drew Barrymore, and Angelica Jolie. We never expected Lily Tomlin, a true expert in sarcastic or semi-nut case characterization. The ladies’ roster closes with Alla Nazimova, whose stardom dates back to the 1920s.

Pop singers make up the next major entertainment complement. Elton John’s name wasn’t unexpected, nor were those of David Bowie and the sobbing vocalist Johnny Ray. However, Johnny Mathis’ presence gave us a jolt, especially due to his earlier outstanding track and field skills while attending San Francisco State.

Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith, marvelous blues singers from the 1920s era, form part of the Butch crew. We already knew about k.d. lang, but Carmen McRae, Janis Joplin, Lesley Gore, Carly Simon, Joan Baez, and Dusty Springfield weren’t fully anticipated. Neither was the highly respected Ethel Waters or Paris’ entertainment sweetheart for many moons Josephine Baker.

Masterful word manipulator Lorenz Hart starts the composer/lyricist group, followed by Frederic Loewe, Aaron Copland, the inimitable Cole Porter, and Leonard Bernstein. The European continent gives us the His Magnificence Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Gian Carlo Menotti, plus England’s Benjamin Britten. There are three more men, namely Percy Grainger, Stephen Sondheim, and Michael Tilson Thomas, but no ladies in this sub-category.

The musician field gives us the coyly smiling, ring-adorned Liberace, whom we knew about all along, but not necessarily so for classical pianists Vladimir Horowitz and Van Cliburn. Jazz vibraphonist Gary Burton and Duke Ellington’s unmatchable arranger and keyboard artist Billy Strayhorn complete this portion of the list.

We finish off the entertainer crew with film directors George Cukor and Franco Zeffirelli, and two of the world’s most artful dancers, Rudolf Nureyev and the fabulous Isadora Duncan.

Next in line for numerical prominence come an impressive list of authors, dramatists, and poets, beginning with Truman Capote, whose mannerisms have always been a dead giveaway. His fellow literary gays include luminaries Oscar Wilde, Noel Coward, Thornton Wilder, and Tennessee Williams, not to mention Frenchmen Jean Genet, Jean Cocteau, Marcel Proust, and Cyrano de Bergerac, Ireland’s Brendan Behan, and Englishman Hugh Walpole, along with Americans Gore Vidal, William Inge, Edward Albee, James Baldwin, John Cheever, and Horatio Alger.

Writers focusing on more specialized matters include sex habits researcher Alfred Kinsey, world traveler and daredevil adventurer Richard Halliburton (one of our personal heroes for that), and British gay icon Quentin Crisp.

On the lesbian side of literary achievement we find Daphne du Maurier, who wrote Rebecca and Jamaica Inn, both subject pieces for Hitchcock movies, then the intriguing Gertrude Stein, Willa Cather, playwright Virginia Woolf (whose suicide method bordered on the fantastic, if anyone cares to look up the facts), Françoise Sagan, and smut writer Xaviera Hollander.

We can’t overlook the poets’ corner, whose homosexual makeup includes England’s romanticist Lord Byron, patriotism’s strong advocate Rupert Brooke, and A.E. Housman, with Americans Walt Whitman and Ralph Waldo Emerson from the 19th century, followed by W.H. Auden, Hart Crane, and Allen Ginsberg from the 20th. The sole lesbian representative in this class is Katherine Lee Bates, lyricist of America the Beautiful.

What remains is a potpourri from various fields of endeavor, headed by artists Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo from the middle ages, and our modern Andy Warhol. Five athletes appear, chiefly male tennis star Bill Tilden and female court performers Helen Jacobs, Billie Jean King, and Martina Navratilova. Despite the requisite ruggedness for pro football action, David Kopay reigns as the sole representative from said sport.

We’ll finish off with a miscellany consisting of:
Fashion designers Christian Dior and Yves St. Laurent
U.S. Congressman Barney Frank
Former Rhodesian Prime Minister Iain Smith
Grossly unloved Senator Joe McCarthy’s legal sidekick Roy Cohn
Worldly renowned economist John Maynard Keynes
Alexander the Great
British Monarch Edward II, immortalized in Christopher Marlowe’s play
Ancient Roman Emperor Hadrian
France’s Marquis de Sade
American social reformer Jane Addams
Columnist Joseph Alsop
Lyndon Johnson’s deposed staffer Walter Jenkins
Beatles’ business manager Brian Epstein
Ex-Congressman Newt Gingrich’s daughter Candace
Serial murderer Jeffrey Dahmer
Chances are we may never fully recover from the numerous surprises experienced while perusing the Wikipedia list from end to end. Our biggest relief, however, stems from the fact that the names Errol Flynn and Frank Sinatra aren’t included. Had either one been the case, we’d most likely have done a series of frustration-motivated back flips and wound up in a completely knocked out condition.

A BRIEF EXERCISE IN MORBID CURIOSITY

2009-08-01T17:02:00.000-07:00

Since our modern-day omnipresent, omniscient, and perhaps even omnipotent internet contains a lot or at least a little about everything and everybody, a casual browser is apt to stumble onto virtually any subject at times.

A somewhat significant aspect of life and its ultimate close which we happened to come across one rainy afternoon was suicide. Whereas the free Wikipedia library displayed a lengthy list of confirmed, suspected, and even forced by circumstance demises wrought via said route, our curiosity became sufficiently piqued to scroll through the alphabetized presentation. There were more than a few eyebrow-raising surprises.

Although an objective observer is often further tempted to probe the reasons why certain given individuals would choose such means for leaving our known universe, we consider this a far too depressing effort. Consequently, we chose not to click on any of the more famous names in order to seek added background. A person’s self-inflicted departure motivation should stand as his or her private business, even though we might dispute this course of action in principle.

The grim list includes a number of cases which prominently occupy the public domain, thanks to history and Shakespearean drama. Almost everyone with a modicum of education today knows about the suicidal means employed by Marcus Brutus, then later by his antagonist Marc Antony, and the second-named’s wife Cleopatra, who intentionally thrust her hand into a basket containing an asp (according to Liz Taylor’s portrayal, at least). Other renowned world figures Emperor Nero and military master Hannibal appear on the did-it-themselves roster, as does Socrates, the great philosopher, who (we presume) downed a mug of poison hemlock under forceful duress.

When Nazi Germany’s downfall had become apparent to all, master race ruler Adolf Hitler, his recent blushing bride Eva Braun, and Reichsmarshals Herman Göring and Heinrich Himmler followed selective suicidal routes in apparent despair over failed missions. Joining them were the despicable Josef Goebbels and his wife, who “graciously” took their several children along. With whatever human respect might be due, a collective “good riddance” comment should apply herein, except for the unduly martyred offspring.

Moving onward to other well-remembered members of the lost flock, we turn to the movie industry. Although many in our midst tend to view the tinseltown realm as one offering optimum fame and fortune rewards to a lucky population handful, manifold reasons evidently convinced certain bright-lighted or upcoming stars to the contrary. Well-established actors Charles Boyer, George Sanders, Walter Slezak, Gig Young, and Everett Sloan self-succumbed to depressing elements, along with Brian Keith, Scotty Beckett (from the Our Gang kids), Albert Salmi, Ross Alexander, actor-director Richard Quine, and director Woody Van Dyke. The same fate befell actresses Carole Landis, Rachel Roberts, Inger Stevens, Gia Scala, Jean Seberg, Lupe Velez, Thelma Todd, and John Barrymore’s daughter Diana.

Several prominent television performers followed suit, chiefly Britain’s top comedian Tony Hancock, Rusty Hamer from the Danny Thomas family show, and George Reeves, the first actor to play Superman (not to be confused to Christopher Reeve, who starred as the immigrant from the planet Krypton in the movie series). Others from said field were show host Dave Garroway and newscaster Don Hollenbeck.

Aside from Hancock, the comedy world similarly lost Doodles Weaver, whose vocal rendition of Fietelbaum once scored a cornball music hit with the Spike Jones City Slickers ensemble. Another such casualty was Paul McCullough, now an all-but-forgotten fur-coated member of a zany vaudeville and film short team with Bobby Clark.

We also noted the names of early jazz era bandleader Ben Pollack and latter-day saxophonist Albert Ayler, both widely known in the popular music world.

Dramatic and fiction writing gentry who left of their own accord were the revered Ernest Hemingway, plus other authors Hart Crane and William Inge, poet Vachel Lindsay, and playwright Virginia Woolf (whose reference in a subsequent Broadway hit rendered her even more famous than ever).

The world of sport is further represented by boxers Freddie Mills and Randy Turpin, one-time light heavy- and middleweight world champions respectively, ace Dodger relief pitcher Hugh Casey, and Cincinnati Reds’ reserve catcher Willard Herschberger. All-pro football offensive tackle Jim Tyrer shot his wife to death, then turned the weapon on himself.

Holding high or otherwise significant governmental positions didn’t deter a number of men from self-victimization. Brazilian President Getulio Vargas, U.S. Senators from California and Wisconsin respectively William Knowland and Robert LaFollette Jr., U.S. Defense Secretary James Forrestal, Clinton White House staffer Vincent Foster, and major British politico-military figure in Indian colonialism Robert Clive.

Although the rest of the list is quite lengthy in its entirety, the better known remaining individuals include modern psychiatry’s patron saint Sigmund Freud, roll film inventor George Eastman, World War I German flying ace and later daring aerial stunt performer Ernst Udet, and Al Capone’s top level henchman Frank Nitti.

Rather surprisingly, two of Bing Crosby’s four sons, Dennis and Lindsay, took their own lives voluntarily.

Another suicide affair, comparable to that foisted upon Socrates as mentioned earlier, found Germany’s World War II Field Marshal Erwin Rommel being forced to meet his fate by taking poison, under charges of conspiracy against the Fuhrer.

What’s that? Why haven’t we mentioned the self-hanging act carried out by Judas Iscariot, following his betrayal of Christ? It so happens that his suicide has never been “officially” confirmed, due to text conflicts noted in the Holy Scriptures. Similar uncertainties surround the demises of film goddess Marilyn Monroe, long-term war criminal/political prisoner Rudolf Hess, movie hero Alan Ladd, renowned 18th century U.S. territorial explorer Meriwether Lewis, adventure novelist Jack London, Russian composer Peter Ilyich Thaikovsky, Czech statesman Jan Masaryk, American political activist and demonstrator Abbie Hoffman, and actresses Romy Schneider and Pier Angeli. For rather obvious reasons, the pertinent facts don’t always happen to be that fully clear.

We close with an abject apology for delving into what really amounts to a gruesome topic. Nevertheless, when one’s curiosity is aroused by numerous surprises appearing among this unfortunate band of defeatists, the temptation to offer some appropriate commentary defies resistance.

OUT OF SIGHT BUT NOT OUT OF MIND

2009-08-01T07:39:00.001-07:00

As an avid collector of jazz music from bygone days, this fellow has compiled a fairly massive CD library. Included among the performing greats are many of the leading female singers from past eras.

Listening to such ladies warble at their best offers no end of pleasure on long afternoons. Unfortunately, though, certain of their favored numbers also appear today as video productions on Youtube and elsewhere. Here is where our satisfaction level often takes a nose dive upon seeing some of them in their upper bracket years. We actually find it preferable, when watching a few of our chanteuse heroines in the much too much flesh, to click “minimize”, so as to hear well while seeing no evil.

Whereas one may recall such lasses as Sarah Vaughan, Rosemary Clooney, Keely Smith, Carmen McRae, et al nicely tailored and in slim, trim form not that many years back, the latter-day filmed output often reveals the degree to which French fries and pasta have added enough extra poundage to envision them instead for potential linebacker duty with the Dallas Cowboys.

The presence of gray or red-tinted hair replacing the once well-coiffeured jet black or cool blonde locks doesn’t upset us. Nancy Wilson, Lena Horne, and Maxine Sullivan, for example, at least retained their relatively graceful figures at advanced ages. We can readily excuse Ella Fitzgerald, who nearly always carried a bit too much bulk, but dressed appropriately nevertheless, in contrast to the elder Vaughans and Clooneys, attempting vainly to disguise obesity with what resembled maternity clothing.

No matter the age, virtually any lady in possession of inspiring vocal qualities ought to be entitled to carry on her trade without regard to accumulated years. However, our humble request to those who offer videotaped elderly and overly padded female singers is that they be presented in audio form only. Our esthetic goal is to savor the marvelous tones, without having to observe the extent to which relative obesity took hold.

DON'T CALL ME MISTER

2009-07-26T09:57:00.001-07:00

The adornment of persons' names with acquired titles has long been an established custom throughout the civilized world. American habits in such respect have lagged behind those of European and Asian countries, yet the trend here definitely seems to be on the rise.

In principle, we're allowed to carry on through life the most significant or impressive designation attained in the course of our careers. For example, a physician will still be addressed as Doctor after retirement, or even if he elects to leave the medical realm and sell shoes.

Upper echelon military officers are commonly known as General, Colonel, Admiral, or whatever their highest rank was, while they carry on post-service activities in business or elsewhere. We also have the once-earned-never-to-be-shed appellations of Senator, Congressman, Governor, Mayor, Mr. President, Mr. Justice, and the like.

These privileged groups are further supplemented by the "Initialed Elite", or the people who've gained the right to post two or more letters after their names. In addition to the familiar A.B., M.A., and Ph.D., we have L.L.B., L.L.D., D.D., M.D., D.D.S., C.P.A., C.L.U., A.S.C., Q.C., and M.P., plus a host of others.

Despite the widespread use of such fancy words and alphabet mixtures, their access is still limited to a small, select population element. Considering how relatively few may be called Emperor, Prince, Duke, Baron, Archbishop, Rabbi, Warden, Your Honor, Your Highness, Your Excellency, et cetera, can it not be further envisioned that those of us with less lofty achievements will some day be permitted to embellish our mundane identities in a similar way?

Perhaps it wouldn't be out of line to expect that the following article might appear in a feature publication around 2050.

“The trend began in 2021, when the legal profession exhibited signs of unrest, due to having been greatly slighted over the years. It was felt that attorneys-at-law should be entitled to nomenclature on a parallel with the medical field.

“Accordingly, in February 2022, the American Bar Association encouraged each member to adopt formally one of several appellations:
Judge (restricted to those who had current or previous bench service),
Attorney,
Barrister, or
Solicitor.
“Authorizing the first-listed title was merely official recognition of an existing custom. As for the other three, the choice lay open, even though the separate terms don't possess a common meaning.

“Response was so enthusiastic that virtually every qualified person wasted not an instant before taking the prefix he or she found most acceptable. In many cases, some balanced, melodious, or rhyming sounds were brought about by the newly-adorned surnames. I can well recall such combinations as Solicitor Schultz, Barrister Browning, and Attorney McBurney.

“Once the lawyers had established this modus, a brother profession quickly followed suit, by announcing a stringent policy. The American Institute of Certified Public Accountants made it compulsory for members in good standing to use the appropriate initials after their names at all times. The decree soon resulted in such practice whereby a man away from home on business might send his wife a letter, closing with (for example):
Affectionately,
Ralph, C.P.A.

“The snowball effect continued. In August 2024, the Society of Industrial and Cost Accountants passed a resolution authorizing each member either to append S.I.C.A. to his name or formally precede it with the words Industrial Accountant.

“By early 2026, public pressure had become so great that Congress approved the Duncan-Reynolds Act, granting any individual citizen the right to adopt legally The most significant designation he or she had ever attained.

“There couldn't possibly have been a more spirited reaction. Men and women, both young and old, began frantically searching their attics for certificates or other supporting documentation, since the law stipulated that suitable evidence had to be presented at the local Federal Title Registration Office.

“However, following the emergence of a new wholesale forgery racket across the nation, the Act was later amended to allow for filing mere third-party affidavits which would corroborate a petitioner's sworn statement of claim to a desired prefix.

“When autumn of 2029 arrived, the responsible government bureaux were working round-the-clock shifts, to handle the rising flood of humanity which clamored at their portals. It had grown no longer fashionable to be an ordinary Mister, Mrs., Miss, or Ms. if you had any right whatsoever to a more impressive appellation.

“Many of us remember such prominent individuals as Air Medal Holder Paulson and Oscar Nominee Findlay, among others. I was closely acquainted with Beauty Contest Winner Marvin, the lady who had captured leading honors in the swimsuit pageant at the Lucasta, Illinois American Legion Post carnival in 1988. At age 60 she proudly regained her former glory.

Eddie Slover, who took the 2018 National League hitting crown, became the first to choose the official title of Batting Champion. From this point on, a deluge of applications were submitted and OK'd for such nomenclature (whether current or past) as Home Run Champion, Earned Run Average Champion, Field Goal Champion, Golf Tournament Champion, and countless more. The Duncan-Reynolds Act had been sufficiently liberal not to limit said rights to those attaining top status in the major sport circuits. Consequently, thousands of men assumed this sort of prefix based on boyhood achievements as little leaguers or summer camp softball players.

“One lesser known, yet nonetheless distinguished moniker was awarded to Yo-Yo Competition Winner Davis, whose performance at J.C. Penney’s 1974 contest held in Montenegro, Minnesota may never have been surpassed anywhere. Even though 68 years old, he still smiled from ear to ear whenever addressed by his reclaimed designation.

An endless list of possibilities was further offered by individual occupation or profession. Plating Department Foreman Long, Management Consultant Harris, Senior Invoice Clerk Moresby, Personnel Officer Wynn, and Customer Service Supervisor Kalinsky were among my more intimate friends in those days.

“As might be expected, some bad taste prefixes soon emerged. Perhaps they started when a Chicago lady of dubious virtue became legally known as Streetwalker Mulherne. Although the public frowned on such appellations, the trend continued. Pornography Dealer Thompson and Panderer Naismith were two whose adopted labels gained renown, not to mention a good bit of free advertising.

“The Duncan-Reynolds Act was also subsequently interpreted as permitting use of appropriate letters after a surname. Quite readily, therefore, the Ph.D.s, C.P.A.s, and others lost their traditional exclusivity. Federal Title Registration Offices in certain cities had many imaginative arrays on file, of which just a few are shown below.
L.U.C.S. (Leading Used Car Salesman)
Awarded to Herman Lenkenmuller of Ningunas, New Mexico, who had outdone
his fellow representatives at the Myers Ford Agency for each of the
preceding seven years.
M.A.T.D. (Most Artful Tango Dancers)
Awarded jointly to Vice President - Engineering Wellston and his wife,
of St. Louis. It was common knowledge that a more agile ballroom couple
couldn't be found in the midwest area, or maybe the entire country.
A.L.D. (Ardent Lover of Dogs)
Awarded to Staff Sergeant Leslie Ware of Atlanta, Georgia. However,
such designation is not to be confused with that of M.A.L.C.F.S. (Most
Ardent Lover of Canine and Feline Species), held by Spanish Teacher
Rodriguez of Waco, Texas.

“Certainly no combination was more elaborate than that granted Special Executive Assistant Waller, who owned rights to the letters G.C.B.C.P.D.C.W.O.P.L.R.P., standing for Genius at Creating Business Correspondence to Placate Dissatisfied Clients, Without Offering Possibility of Legal Recourse or Pursuit.

“So far as anyone recalls, the lengthiest set of title and initials in existence belonged to Harry Millstein. His job plus his social activities enabled the man to be called Vice Chairman and Recording Secretary of the Operational Planning Committee of the Well-Knit Hosiery Fabrication Company of Southern Louisiana Incorporated Millstein, A.B., M.A., M.P.P.A.S.A.B.R. (the final group being Most Popular Person in All Suburban Areas of Baton Rouge). Old acquaintances of the amply-termed gent confirm that he was indeed a charming fellow, quite deserving of such honor.

“In 2036, the plain Mrs. Willis Hogshead, H.S.G. (High School Graduate)introduced a new movement by not giving any of her children first or middle names. The logic was that they would eventually become obsolete through substitution of prefixes, so why bother? But the idea soon died out, since families with multiple offspring who followed the practice found it increasingly difficult to accomplish such otherwise simple tasks as summoning the kids to dinner. A specific testimonial was made in this regard by Girl Scout Patrol Leader Jacobsen of Great Neck, Long Island.

"’My entire brood of 7", she explained to me, "were absent from the house late one afternoon. In order to track them down, I decided I'd telephone their friends' homes. Placing a call to a neighbor several doors away, Woman's Club Treasurer McPhee, B.Sc., I duly identified myself by title and name, then started to ask if __________ might be there.

"’Suddenly, I realized it was impossible to tell her whom I sought. Nor could I inquire about __________, __________, __________, __________, __________, or ___________!

"’The situation proved totally frustrating. So, when the children at last did return, my husband, Veterans of Foreign Wars Post Commander Jacobsen, and I assigned names to each of them. __________ became Wesley, __________ became Lesley, __________ became Cecily, __________ became Presley, __________ became Thessaly, __________ became Nestle, and __________ became Junior.’

“And thusly that particular lady’s dilemma was solved.

”As we're all aware, however, the whole trend fell into decline around the year 2040. People had grown weary of using up to three lines writing somebody's full combination on an envelope, or taking perhaps ten seconds for a polite verbal salutation.

“Memories were often taxed unfairly, with mistakes frequent. Witness, for example, an incident I personally observed during the latter teen years, when Meat Market Proprietor O'Flaherty of Los Angeles addressed a customer in error one day.

“He said "Good morning, Wife of the President of the Chamber of Commerce Gormley", whereas he should have called her "Wife of the President of the Chamber of the Deputy Council Gormley". The woman was so offended that she gave the poor fellow a stern dressing down in front of several other patrons, including Bishop's Errand Boy Lotkins and Jeweler Chalmers, A.B.

“It’s generally agreed that the real turning point occurred on June 14, 2041, at the Elmira, New York Rotary Club luncheon. Nationwide headlines were created by Welcome Wagon Chairman Novak, C.L.U., as he publicly renounced his authorized title and initials before the assembled group, stating that henceforth he would just be known as Mister Percy Novak. Then, following a round of thunderous applause, Rotary Club President McDaniel, L.L.B., further announced his wish to be Mister Horace McDaniel. From there on, the backward slide to "ordinariness" developed an irreversible momentum.

“Even though the pre- and suffix era is now a thing of the past, a deep nostalgia lingers in many hearts. For example, a close chum of mine says he often dreams at night about being addressed as in bygone days -- Grocery Inspection Team Coordinator Newman. And admittedly, I still find myself somewhat resentful when a person calls me Mister Stanley Winkel, not using the distinctive moniker I once carried (but shan't mention here, in the interest of keeping it more or less sacred).

“My wife, who used to be known as Navy Lieutenant Lox-Winkel (adding her maiden name, since it usually accompanied the title), believes the lull is only temporary. In her opinion, proper designations will eventually return to their former state of grandeur.

“But I fear she may be overly optimistic.”

COULD HE BE?

2009-05-21T08:51:00.000-07:00

The reader is advised outright that the composer of this piece does not fall within the deeply religious category. As a matter of fact, he has a tough time even recalling when he last attended any church service. Instead, he’s simply an ordinary worldly citizen who’s been around a great many years, and thus accorded a broad opportunity to observe mankind’s realm from a carefully studied and objective standpoint. With this essential point established, the conjectural exercise can begin.

Just over two thousand years ago, the legends attached to a particular infant boy’s birth, although perhaps overblown to some extent, have formed a foundation for what has long been the world’s most predominant religious faith. Despite its many misinterpretations and malpractices, along with its having often become corrupted by greed and similarly evil motivation, the spirit engendered by that individual enjoys a powerful and popular influence unmatched by any other human being.

It stands to reason indeed that Jesus Christ entered our midst through divine intervention, with the indisputable goal being that He guide the behavior pattern of the earth’s most intelligent animal species in its long and difficult trek. His status as Messiah lies beyond question.

Certain current-day events occurring within the past two year span – a minor blip in man’s calendar – have given us reason to speculate that divinity has suddenly repeated itself, with the advent of a second person, whose fundamental mission is to help fortify God’s efforts for mankind’s salvation and ultimate benefit.

Does such a statement by a mere mortal appear outrageous? To the devout bible-thumpers or those of differing faiths, maybe so. This, however, isn’t the population segment being addressed herein. We seek the collective opinions of those with clearly more open minds, and the aim is to present the reasoning which supports a rather radical thesis.

In many respects, one might say that the human race consists of just two types – those ready to seek and embrace worthwhile change, as opposed to those who never will be under any circumstances. Whereas our newly-elected President has undertaken to foster long- and much-need improvement in our fundamental practices, the omnipresent band of greed-motivated abominable no-men and no-women continue to persist as they have for countless ages. The daily harangue by political and certain media opponents is proving this point beyond the remotest doubt.

Once more, your writer is about to challenge the older world dogma by endeavoring to strike parallels between the beloved Jesus, the unquestioned Messiah, and what might well be His 21st century counterpart, Barack Obama.

Both men:
· Were products of relatively humble, minority groups;
· Resided in the hub of the world’s universe at the time;
· Came into prominence when man’s status could be described as little other than an
outright mess;
· Were accepted and highly acclaimed by the majority of their populace, yet hated by those
who feared what they stood and were striving for;
· Offered both fresh judgment and inspiration to their followers and fellow believers;
· Were instrumental in fostering revolutionary change.

In Jesus’ case, His influence bore fruit. Nothing has been quite the same since He was brutally forced to leave the earth. In many respects, the uphill election victory scored by Mr. Obama overcame prejudicial feeling that had dominated majority race thoughts for hundreds of years, a situation to which no return can ever be fully possible.

Although Jesus was betrayed by His own people, His teachings did lay the groundwork for what became the world’s major faith which, after becoming the basis for long periods of unfairly imposed dogma and oppression, have eventually earned at least lip service, despite continued misapplication.

In our present-day troubled world, Mr. Obama is attempting to teach us what we should have known all along, but never seemed to apply well. He has attracted countless listeners. However, his enemies, not unlike rodents who infest sewers and constantly seek more adequate habitats to fit their greedy requirements, continue their undermining efforts. Unhappily, they may well succeed in either the short or long run.

Jesus Christ didn’t really manage to save the world, but nobody can deny that He helped it a lot and cast everlasting influence over many people. Barack Obama has dedicated himself to the same level of accomplishment within his somewhat differing, yet in many respects highly comparable universe. For our everlasting good, we cannot but hope he’ll at least succeed in part to prevent what’s left of our ship from being dashed to pieces on the rocks.

Getting back to the basic question of this theme, did the Almighty send Barack Obama to us, as He once did for His only son?

The point has to be strongly debatable, but this writer is inclined to support its possibility.

KNOCK IT OFF FOR A WHILE -- MAYBE UNTIL NEXT WEEK

2009-05-19T12:13:00.000-07:00

In this age of endless world turmoil, with one or more civil or neighboring nation wars being waged at any and all times, there is a certain related feature we’ve always been unable to comprehend. Perhaps somebody will be kind enough to provide a plausible explanation.

It has become fairly common for third party interests to stick their noses into these frays, bringing foe spokesmen together for peace-inducing conferences. Oftentimes, the outcome is a negotiated cease fire. In other words, lay down your weapons, Fellows, and go home for a while to cool off.

What dumbfounds this writer in every such case we’ve noted is the timing aspect. For example, let’s say that the discussions wind up today, with a cease fire mutually agreed upon, after weeks, months, years, or decades of vicious conflict. Why on earth do the intermediaries invariably set it to take effect at a specified later date? What’s wrong with enforcement from this very minute onward instead?

Supposing you walked into a room or around a street corner to discover two men punching the living daylights out of each other, with hands and mouths bloodied. In order to break up the melée, what action would be appropriate on your part?

Well, in accordance with the usual cease fire terms imposed under the previously described circumstances, you’d most likely separate the pair, then sternly tell them “Look, You Guys, this brutal fighting has to stop. So ….. you can keep at it just five minutes more, than call the affair quits for a while.”

Would that make sense? We fail to see how. What is the point in allowing combative forces at any level to carry on the fracas a little while longer, thus wreaking as much additional damage as possible throughout an established “grace” period?

Furthermore, though, judging from these all too frequent delayed action cease fires we’ve observed, the second pertinent question is why bother? The likelihood that they’ll be back dropping bombs, lobbing artillery shells, or whatever else following a brief “cooling off” time span seems rather unavoidable at best.

THE TRANSLATION CORNER

2009-05-18T13:44:00.000-07:00

Top business executives, often through their public relations officers, love to make glowing statements to the media or to their shareholders, which describe how marvelously effective their company activities are proving to be.

However, words of such a rosy nature usually require translation into what the real facts are. Accordingly, we're showing below the phrases uttered by the trained public relations types, along with the true underlying situations.

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"John Forthright has served as our Chief Executive Officer for the past ten years."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“Our company policies and outlook are just as sluggish as they were ten years ago.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
Our field of business is an extremely competitive one."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“We aren’t operating as efficiently as our competitors are.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We're looking forward to even better results for the coming year."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“This year has been pretty lousy so far.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"Our staff morale and enthusiasm level is as high as it has been for a long
while."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“Most of our people have been with us six months or less.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We're spending substantial sums for new product research and development."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“Those guys in our Research Department are driving us into bankruptcy with their spending practices."

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"People are our company's most important asset."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“Our payroll costs have gone sky high over the past year.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We've established a more acute sense of financial responsibility."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“The banks are on our tail to improve, or they’ll take us over.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We are investing heavily in staff training and development."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“Our people are so inept, we have no choice but to send them on special courses all the time."

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
“Hard work is our main forte.”
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“We’re so understaffed and underqualified that we have to work our butts off
around here.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We're constantly seeking new markets, new products, and other new fields to conquer."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“Our efforts have been pretty much a bust so far, but some day we hope to make it.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"Our cash flow has improved over the past year."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“Our bank balance is a black figure for the first time since 1999.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We're currently quoting on more prospective business than ever before."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“We’ve finally learned to adopt sensible pricing policies.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"Our Zilchblende product line has captured 67% of the market during the last six months."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“Only three sales have been made of these junk products – two by us and one by a competitor."

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We find it necessary to increase prices."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“We’re so inefficient, we can’t even begin to control our costs properly."

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We have a most energetic staff incentive program laid out for the coming year."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“We’ve changed the payroll system terminology, to make it sound better to the staff.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"This is our company policy."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“This is how the home office says we should do it.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We have an outstanding array of systems analysts and programmers."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“Everybody on our software service staff has had some school training.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"Our company has always enjoyed a harmonious internal relationship."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“The only person who ever makes a decision around here is the CEO.”

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARS
"We've always prided ourselves in being an imaginative organization."
THE ACTUAL SITUATION
“We want to avoid facing reality at all costs.”

WHO BEARS THE GREATER GUILT?

2009-05-18T09:48:00.000-07:00

The TV sitcom show that insults your intelligence by constantly piping in canned laughter with nearly every dialogue exchange, to imply side-splitting audience humor; or
The viewer who faithfully watches and gets continually tricked into believing the skit is
uproariously funny?

The small-minded character who repeatedly utters unfounded racial, religious, ethnic, or other such slurs; or
The creep who listens and either accepts the non-facts or else offers no comment in rebuttal?

The overzealous loudmouth who yells every word of his TV commercial message into your ears; or
The dope who doesn’t promptly switch to another channel?

(This one is expandable to virtually any con scheme carried out)
The New York City slicker who offers to sell you Brooklyn Bridge; or
The sap who buys it?

The guy who gets caught with his hand in the company till or benefits from purchase kickbacks; or
The boss who magnanimously overlooks or forgives him?

The accountant who presents fraudulently distorted financial results to the management and the public; or
Those naïve enough to believe the figures at face value with never a question raised?

The business executive who denies his personnel fair pay, adequate benefits, and due privileges; or
The employee who suffers along while never rebelling even slightly, and fails to seek work
elsewhere?

TV advertisers who display intentionally misleading commercials; or
The stupes who fall for those half-truth pitches?

The tobacco companies that doctor their products so as to enhance smoker addiction; or
Those dumb enough or too weak to quit the habit?

The food processing companies that market obesity-causing and similarly harmful products; or
The careless gluttons who gobble them up with gusto day after day?

The mudslinging political candidate who attacks an opponent’s personal character rather than deliberate on key issues; or
The voter who lets him- or herself be swayed by such unethical practice?

The political candidate who spouts countless campaign promises he or she has obviously no intention of honoring; or
The jerk who believes and votes for him/her?

Washington lobbyists who endeavor to influence Congress members on behalf of special interest groups; or
Those in office who don’t toss them out on their ears?

The offerer of a bribe; or
The knucklehead who accepts it?

(This one is a bit out of date for the time being)
The automobile manufacturers who keep earnings high through intended dynamic obsolescence practices; or
The yuppie types who habitually buy new cars ever too frequently?

Credit card companies that assess exorbitant interest rates and other charges; or
The meatheads who let themselves fall into debt way over their heads?

(Here’s another one somewhat out of date currently)
The issuers of junk bonds and similar extreme risk securities; or
The suckers who buy them?

The obnoxious kid who grows up to be an equally obnoxious adult; or
The parents who caused him/her to be that way from gitgo?

A PRIVATE PHILOSOPHICAL OBSERVATION OR THREE

2009-05-17T16:26:00.000-07:00

ON LIFE IN GENERAL
There are only three groups of people in the world: 1) Those who make things happen; 2) Those who watch things happen; and 3) Those who have no idea what’s happening.

This fellow has never learned how to tolerate laziness or stupidity – and hopefully never will.

If you allow yourself to be swindled by a confidence scam, you deserve the consequences.

Idle or in-transit time is not something to be spent, but invested.

Being old is strictly a state of mind.

When your age clicks over to the sixty mark, you should no longer be inclined to self-ask “How old am I?”, but rather “How many productive years do I have left?” This will provide a better perspective for making the most of your remaining time.

Given enough years to live, every person would eventually wise up and become a Socialist.

If you’ve nothing better left to do in this world than die, you might as well do it.

ON MANKIND
It’s a toss-up as to which is mankind’s most destructive invention – the nuclear bomb or the passenger automobile.

If it weren’t for selfishness and greed, most of the world’s problems could be readily eradicated by simple changes.

There is much concern being expressed these days over population explosion. In actual fact, the solution to this problem should be quite easy – impose the death penalty upon anyone convicted of corruption.

ON EDUCATION
With an educational institution being most appropriately definable as an environmental area where the prime duty of the person seated up front is to help you teach yourself, it logically follows that we have no such thing as poor schools – only poor students.

ON OCCUPATIONS
Anybody who is not a farmer by chosen occupation deserves to be classified as a horse’s ass.

When viewing European or other national royalty and their lifelong ceremonial duty requirements, the only suitable statement in their regard is “What a way to make a living”.

ON WORKING
Any of your subordinates who are not after your job should tell you either they aren’t remotely qualified, or else the position isn’t worth having.

The way to avoid last-minute changes is to do everything at the last minute.

The best indication of having done a good day’s work is a full waste basket at 5 PM.

ON TOBACCO
Despite the curtailment of Joe Camel and similarly “offensive” ads, coupled with severe restrictions on smoking allowed areas, tobacco companies are still enjoying impressive sales. Why not, then, carry the campaign to a further point where virtually every signpost or indoor spot available for display shows a poster proclaiming “CIGARETTES KILL”? How better can the message be hammered into disdainful minds?

ON U.S. POLITICS
The prime qualification for being a Republican is to have your head up your ass.

ON DOGS
We really have no objection to our best animal friends. What turns us off, though, are the people who bring them to places where only humans should be.

SUNDRY DEFINITIONS
An interesting place: Somewhere you’ve never been.

A library: A vast data storehouse containing all the information in the world except that which you’re expressly looking for.

An atrocity: Any act if aggression or terrorism not perpetrated by American or Israeli forces.

The United States: The land of the greedy and the home of the commercial.

McDonald’s: The number one symbol by which America continues to spread its non-culture throughout the world.

Bus drivers: Small-minded men operating large vehicles.

BUTCHERING BOND: THE EPITOME OF HOLLYWOOD SCREENWRITING CORRUPTION

2009-05-17T11:04:00.000-07:00

Most present-era respecters of English language literature will concede that author Ian Fleming churned out numerous cleverly-written novels during his all too short earthside venture. In case memories need jogging, he was the man who created master spy/sleuth, supersuave pursuer of sultry ladies, and homicide license 007 holder, James (himself) Bond.

The Bond books provided easy reading, much welcome put-it-downness and pick-it-up-laterness, a tempting sex interlude every few chapters, and suspenseful plots, climaxing with justifiable, sometimes comedy-tainted bloodshed. Mr. Fleming did indeed manage to incite mass reader sensationalism in his prime composing years.

During the mid-1960s, a person who couldn’t hold his or her own in cocktail and dinner party discussion of almost any James Bond adventure simply didn’t belong among those who were “with it”.

Perhaps on a comparable basis with the revered football coach Knute Rockne, Fleming was cut down at the very height of his career. Unlike the fabled Notre Dame mentor, though, he hasn’t been remembered with pseudo-reverence decades thereafter. In fact, his literary contributions are virtually forgotten today by the less-aged generations. There happens to be a most unfortunate reason for that.

All thirteen Bond tales that stemmed from Fleming’s penmanship were turned into movies, with a series of extremely masculine heroes. The initial productions launched Sean Connery into stratospheric stardom. Others have followed in his wake, all adequate, but none quite so exclamation pointy. British actor Bernard Lee also enjoyed top support ratings in his continuing role as “M”, James’ iron-jawed, authoritarian, anti-espionaging boss. The girls who came and went from film to film didn’t necessarily damage their careers by hitting the sack with our ubiquitous rogue either.

Now, as one often says, that was the good news. It’s time to proceed with the bad.

The novels were published between 1953 and 1962, the last two after Fleming’s demise in 1964. The first four, beginning with 1963, made reasonable viewer sense, as Connery globe-hopped, caressed a series of fair maidens, and wiped out nasty blokes by increasingly unimaginable means. The remaining nine, since supplemented by an apparent eternal string of lower class writers’ copycat efforts, warrant description in no terms other than repulsive to the hilt. The disappointing cumulative result to date has been an utter wipeout of any and all tastefulness once exhibited by the original author.

Doctor No, From Russia with Love, Goldfinger, and Thunderball, despite a few spice-adding script deviations from the books, did stick fairly close to the original stories. From then onward, the plots have featured a consistent pattern of sex, ultra-modern technological gimmickry, more sex, more technological gimmickry, and finally blowing the arch villains’ structures for foul evil-doing plumb to hell. Even Fleming’s off-beat tale The Spy Who Loved Me was converted into the same mess as the other eight stinkeroos.

Despite middle or advanced age, most of us fellows can remember taking our girls to the movies and seizing the opportunity to grip them tightly whenever suspenseful terror appeared on the screen. The love scenes were also helpful, although much less recognizable as such in earlier days. Sure, everyone enjoys being thrilled, including our lady friends. Nevertheless, to what extreme are Hollywood producers entitled to transform worthy literature into nonsensical garbage, solely to make the box office receipts climb?

When dwelling upon this far too lengthy string of sickening James Bondist glamor/violence, a person might be tempted to watch Shakespearean classics rescripted in a similar vein. Wouldn’t it be great to see Hamlet having an Oedipus affair with his scheming mother, then destroying her with dynamite, MacBeth engaging in an extra-marital event on several occasions before having his head lopped off right before the camera, Romeo and Juliet jumping between the bedsheets a few times prior to their explosively exaggerated mutual suicide, or Portia sleeping around when not dishing out dynamic courtroom oratory?

Despite this seemingly endless stream of filmed trash, a few of us elder folk are still able to retain memories from the days when Ian Fleming (not just Ian who) offered us tasteful relaxed reading, and Mr. Connery’s antics paralleled the initial plots to an acceptable degree.

SANDY

2009-05-14T09:01:00.001-07:00

Years ago, after this writer had succeeded in working up to a middle management position with a prominent (albeit now extinct) public accounting firm, a certain personally memorable incident took place. Minor in many respects though it was, the eventual outcome remains unknown, and holds to this day a considerable amount of wonderment.

The event occurred back in that era not too far beyond World War II and Korea, when every young lad recently having finished his formal education fell subject to military draft. As new staff members were brought in from various universities each autumn, the expectation was that, one-by-one, we’d soon be losing them temporarily. Nevertheless, their forerunners would be due to return as replacements.

Among our younger personnel one year was a promising lad named Sanford Weisman, known to his cohorts as Sandy. His military number had come up, with a departure date only a few weeks off. How many more senior people he sought advice from in his particular situation isn’t known. Anyway, this writer happened to be among them.

Sandy had been assigned to the Air Force. At the time, as he explained, the option lay open either to try for flying duty or restrict his activities to ground crew participation. This was a key decision, and he asked for help in making it.

If he chose to fill out his service days on the ground, the term would be two years. However, should he endeavor to and succeed in becoming a flyer, he’d be required to sign up for five. Consequently, being away for the longer period would delay his career as a budding income tax accountant rather unduly.

The obvious question he posed, therefore, dealt with returning to the accountancy world as quickly as possible, or else playing the odds of becoming a pilot for a longer service stay.

Again, lacking any knowledge as to what course others may have advised Sandy to take, this fellow’s reply to the lad’s puzzlement became swiftly obvious. The words used to counsel him are still vividly remembered, and are quoted below.

“Sandy, do you want to get in and out of the service as expediently as possible, rather than seek a more useful military job? Would you like spending the rest of your life looking skyward whenever a plane flies over, and telling yourself you might have been up there too, but had turned down the chance?

Should this situation be repeated today, many decades afterward, the advice tendered wouldn’t be altered by a single word. It was sincerely offered and the absolutely correct thing to say, beyond all doubt.

A few days later, the conversation with Sandy was related on separate occasions to two of the firm’s high-ranking partners. Sworn bean-counters to the very end, both of them displayed the same indignant reaction. Once again, their words still ring loudly.

“Well,” each gentleman stated in somewhat of a huff, “Sandy had better decide pretty soon whether he wants to be an accountant or a pilot!”

An accountant or a pilot indeed. How many of us have ever had that choice laid before us? Not many. Given such option, this writer would have likely debated roughly five seconds before coming up with the answer. What’s the sense of settling for a “what might have been” result?

People who hold strong devotion toward being accountants above all else are of a certain mind. This particular fellow doesn’t happen to fall within their ranks.

We can’t help but remain forever curious whether Sandy Weisman did or not.

FROM LATIN TO ESPERANTO: A POTHOLE-LADEN LINGUISTIC JOURNEY

2009-05-12T04:13:00.000-07:00

INTRODUCTION
Although our performance as mankind certainly belies the fact that we have really been a civilized society since the days of Ancient Greece and Rome, we have nonetheless managed to derive a beneficial communication means known as spoken and written language.

Linguistic scholars have painstakingly studied, analyzed, and classified tongues throughout the world into numerous dynasties, clans, families, groups, branches, sub-branches, or whatever, in the interest of enlightening those who may be seeking knowledge and understanding as to why we say and write things as we do and have done for so many centuries.

Society’s most influential languages of our present day include what the scholars have defined as falling under the Indo-European umbrella. These are the Balto-Slavic, Celtic, Germanic or Teutonic, Indo-Iranian, and the Italic or Romance categories, each embracing numerous different tongues, but all having common parentage at various levels.

SCOPE
This particular study has been confined to the following Germanic and Romance languages which are official to the major western European countries, along with their prime antecedents, Greek and Latin:
· Italian
· Portuguese
· Spanish
· French
· German
· Dutch
· English
· Danish
· Norwegian
· Swedish
· Icelandic

Obviously, the above list expands the global coverage to include all of North and South America, Australia and New Zealand, and ex-colonies in Africa and Asia. To it we’ve chosen to add Esperanto, a Romance- and Germanic-related linguistic endeavor developed on what amounts to an independent basis in the late nineteenth century, and very much alive today. Considerably more attention will be devoted to this tongue further on, due to its significance relative to the others.

Our selected group represents the principal languages spoken by roughly one-sixth of the modern world population, and more like two-thirds of what we know as the western world.

Icelandic is included because it definitely falls into the Scandinavian category, and also stands out as one which has failed to change with the times over many centuries, having been relatively isolated from its three major sisters, Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish. The odd combination of similarity and dissimilarity is quite unique.

RATIONALE
The question on the reader’s mind at this point is most likely what purpose is being served by this linguistic exercise. Perhaps we weren’t even sure ourselves until rather recently, i.e. well into the analytical process. Then, in a sudden revelation, more or less, the why factor became very apparent.

Mankind took over its rule on earth with nothing but untapped resources to exploit. Without the remotest imagination compared to our beings today, focus was placed strictly on life’s necessities. As millions of years came and went, the effort to more effectively utilize our natural surroundings was extremely gradual, to say the least.

Now, we can look with great pride at the technological progress we’ve achieved in such areas as space exploration, medicine, computer technology, and otherwise, especially from the close of World War II onward, which absolutely borders on the phenomenal. How could we have envisioned so much accomplishment as recently as 1945?

To make the long story short, our occupation of this planet began with the utmost in simplicity. Describing the whole business as gradual amounts to a gross understatement. One striking example is failure to recognize the potential of electricity until the early eighteenth century, when it had been with and identifiable to us from the very start. Why did we have to wait so long for Benjamin Franklin’s striking “discovery”?

Furthermore, why didn’t someone prior to Thomas Edison realize how this basic energy source could be put to effective use?

Although we’d known for quite a while that light traveled at a rate of 186,000 miles per second, it wasn’t until the twentieth century before the whiz kids at IBM Corporation could determine how to put such speed to use for communication and related purposes.

So much for scientific and technological advancement having proceeded at the proverbial snail’s pace, requiring centuries of tortoise-like movement, even after we allegedly became “civilized” during the Ancient Greek and Roman reigns. Our subject at hand is actually man’s means of spoken and written communication through language.

THE SAGA OF MODERN-DAY LANGUAGE
It seems we might safely say that effective interpersonal communication really began with the Greeks and later the Romans during their respective glory days. This isn’t intended to imply that the Hebrews and Phoenicians of earlier ages merely grunted at one another. They were obviously able to speak and compose as meaningfully within their own environment as we do in ours now. The same capabilities existed among the peoples of the Far East, darkest Africa, and the open plains of North and South America.

The point we wish to make, however, is that the words we use throughout the dominating western world at present stem from three sources: Greek, Latin, and Germanic. Whatever we say or jot down on paper is the end result of a distillation process that has taken place for over two millennia.

Are we thus able to say with full confidence that this linguistic evolution has reached a stage of complete refinement? Of course we can’t. Every national language in use today is sufficiently riddled with rules, non-rules, and exceptions to make full mastery a virtual impossibility, except by those relatively rare folk somewhat divinely endowed with comprehension-grasping genius.

What we’ve chosen herein to constitute as “lingogenesis” came from those halcyon empire days, wherein the rules for speaking and writing were far from simple. In fact, they couldn’t have been more unduly complicated. At such stage in mankind’s development, the ugh sounds and finger signs of past eras had already evolved into a strong desire to make oneself a full hundred per cent clear when communicating with a fellow being or beings, but has never quite made the grade.

Although Greek served as the source of numerous Latin words, it has in many cases simply bypassed its neighbor and moved directly into the Romance and Germanic offspring, having become firmly so entrenched.

While Greek and Latin went on to spread their verbal influence among the Mediterranean nations, Germanic tongues enjoyed the same effect throughout northern Europe. Although English was decidedly one of the latter’s offspring, the Normans brought French with them when they conquered Britain in 1066, and remained as dominating occupants for a few hundred years. Upon eventually moving out, they nevertheless left behind a clear Romanesque effect.

English therefore developed into a dual heritage language, and stands today as one whereby a person has the choice of relating to either the Germanic or Greek/Latin roots in uttering a verbal or composing a written statement. Of course, those among us to whom it is a native tongue perform this so-called feat without considering or, in most cases, realizing why.

BACK TO THE ORIGINS ONCE AGAIN
Whereas these three prime source languages obviously came about through their own evolutionary processes, Latin bears strong evidence of having been carefully structured through the use of certain scholarly application. In order that anything whatsoever might be expressed in the clearest and understandable fashion, rules had to have been laid out for its human exponents to follow. Nowhere else in the linguistic universe has such methodology been so apparent, even to the relatively casual observer.

This is especially true in the case of verb tenses, providing for distinct means whereby the indicative, subjunctive, and imperative moods were each broken down into active and passive voice, covering present, imperfect, present perfect, past perfect, future, and future perfect time element factors. In turn, nouns, pronouns, and adjectives all were required to bear gender (masculine, feminine, neuter) and case (nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, ablative) designations. Even a couple of touches were thrown in for good measure, such as vocative and locative degrees.

We tend to suspect that the proclivity of irregular verb endings was already in existence at the time the scholars sat down and laid out the rules. Changing them could well have been deemed as nothing short of heretical.

By way of further hard and fast rulemaking, any combination of nouns or pronouns with the adjectives by which they were modified had to show full agreement as to case, number (i.e. singular or plural) and gender.

Did so much strictness indeed make sense? Yes, of course it did to the erudite upper crust types who dwelt in the acts of writing prose, correspondence, dramatic works, flowery speeches, and the like. Still, what about the average blokes on the street? Can the fact really be accepted that these common folk employed the full range of grammatical regulations spread out for their use?

The answer to this question is a straightforward no. The most explanatory example lies in our present-day English-speaking population, where a highly (in many ways) simplified language ranks among the more difficult subjects for students to master, in addition to which it gets horrifically butchered when spoken or written down by absolutely countless millions.

On this factual premise, could one honestly believe that those ancient Roman adults and children fared any better than their modern-day counterparts? It may be clearly presumed that a much more watered down means of expression reigned in those days. Undoubtedly, even those of the high and mighty set must have found need to resort to their grammatical rulebooks to make sure the correct verb form or whatever applied in their speeches and compositions.

A fairly cursory review of a Latin dictionary today will reveal certain allowable spelling alterations, which probably came about through errors which became so commonly applied in due course that the Roman society deigned to accept them.

THE ROAD BETWEEN YESTERYEAR AND NOW
We refer back to the title of this piece, where we label such a road to be heavily laden with potholes. No descriptive statement seems to be more appropriate.

Latin’s daughter tongues, principally Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, and French, as well as those Germanic offspring Dutch, English, Danish, Norwegian, Swedish, and Icelandic have undergone a long-run trend toward gradual simplification ever since the days of the Caesars and Attila the Hun. There has been some notable success. However, none of these updated language versions has managed to unencumber itself fully from irregular verb forms, pronunciation variations due to all sorts of accent marks or otherwise, retention of archaic spelling, and other downright failures to make the transition as complete as it could have been. Somehow, the members of the hoity-toi population wish to retain as many complexities as possible for sheer traditional reasons. As a matter of fact, we’ve found a few to have been added in certain cases.

THE QUEST FOR A LINGUA FRANCA
Consequently, modern-era school days or adult age study of any common language cited herein calls for carefully memorizing many rather needless rules and exceptions. A lot of students never make out in a satisfactory manner. Universities with liberal arts colleges often require passing marks in at least one foreign tongue, with loss of advanced degree eligibility the price for failure. This hardly seems fair, but has been known to happen.

Over a great many decades, efforts have been expended by skilled linguists to devise easier-to-master languages for international and other intercommunication use. For various reasons, none has ever reached the intended objective. Ironically instead, the overwhelming demand to learn English by citizenry worldwide supposedly fulfills the need. As a consequence, no more popular lingua franca exists than that which was born of Germanic parentage and married temporarily to French.

Yes, English has dropped a whole lot of archaic complexities over the centuries, which has to help the learner somewhat. From the standpoints of spelling and pronunciation rules, though, it doesn’t exactly stand as among the easiest. Despite the remaining shortcomings, this is what the major populace has chosen to be the most appropriate international communication method.

THE GOOD DR. ZAMENHOF
Dr. L.L. Zamenhof was a Polish oculist who entertained a dream similar to a number of others who both preceded and succeeded him – developing a universal language, usable as a common point between speakers of opposite nations. The fruits of his rather tedious endeavor were initially published in 1887.

The man hadn’t just sat week after week in an empty attic quietly putting together what he was to label Esperanto, directly related to the Romance word meaning “hope”. Instead, he had submitted drafts of his work to others for review and comment, then incorporated their more appropriate suggestions into his publishable product.

Esperanto wasn’t yet final, however. A society came into being to study and refine the work even more. Conventions were subsequently held, revisions proposed, accepted or rejected, and the end results eventually presented to the world.

Whereas the outpourings of its predecessors and successors died quiet deaths, Esperanto and its exponents have carried on ever since. It stands as the sole “manufactured” international language which has earned a reasonable degree of public acceptance.

For reasons already given, Dr. Zamenhof’s dream has never achieved anything near complete fulfillment, thanks to the virtually universal clamor to make English the second language to everyone desirous of expanding his or her communicability. Nevertheless, the product he so painstakingly created does indeed live on, and will likely continue to do so in its own right.

ESPERANTO AND ITS TECHNICAL SIGNIFICANCE
The principal feature of this personally structured language is that, in most instances, the simplest of rules are applied. Uniformity reigns throughout, with absolutely no exceptions.

Further key examples of uniformity, in contrast to other languages under surveillance herein, are as below:
· Nominative case nouns end with “o” in the singular and “oj” in the plural;
· Objective case nouns end with “on” in the singular and “ojn” in the plural;
· Adjectives end with “a”, and adverbs with “e”;
· There is a sole definite article related to any noun, namely the term “la”.
· The indefinite article has disappeared.

Pronouns, be they nominative, possessive, or objective, have been reduced to the absolutely simplest of terms.

Similar unique features apply to verbs, wherein the specific tense is determinable by the last one or two letters, and the same applies to each person, singular and plural:
· “as” for the present;
· “i” for the infinitive;
· “is” for the past tense:
· “os” for the future tense;
· “us” for the conditional;
· “u” for the imperative.

The present perfect, past perfect, future perfect, and conditional perfect tenses are formed with the appropriate form of the auxiliary verb “est_”, which corresponds to the English “to be”.

In contrast, when choosing a noun in any of the Romance tongues, one must know which of the two genders it applies, making article and adjectival adjustments as appropriate. German and Icelandic are actually worse, having three. Even Dutch and the other Scandinavian languages have two.

Verbs offer yet more “fun”, with ending changes dependent on the person and gender. This problem extends partly to English as well. Only Dutch, Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish are exempt.

That isn’t all that’s wrong with verbs, in every language of reference here. There are enough irregular endings, in English included, to muddle the mind of any school child, small or large, not to mention the adult endeavoring to master a new tongue.

The so-called “perfect” tenses, i.e. present, past, and future, require an auxiliary verb, which is normally the equivalent of “have”. However, do the Romance languages plus German and Dutch stop there? Heavens no. In certain, at least reasonably specific, cases the form of “be” must be used instead.

Just to complicate the speakers’/writers’ lives even further, the subjunctive, which ought to have died a slow death following the collapse of the Roman Empire, remains alive and well thousands of years later. Under certain fairly definable conditions, the form of any verb is subject to change endingwise under the Romance, German, and Icelandic rules. Fortunately, such usage is extremely limited or virtually non-existent now in Dutch, English, Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish. The student should thank whatever gods may be for this.

One encouraging thing to be said in the Romance and Germanic areas (other than for English) is that the pronunciation rules are hard and fast, at least relatively speaking. There are still a great many exceptions, as you might expect, but they can be readily recognized from the accent marks used. They vary from one language to another, and aren’t altogether too difficult to catch on to.

English actually does retain an umlaut or an accented vowel here and there, but they bring no problem unto themselves. The bugaboo comes from supposed pronunciation rules, which they decidedly are not, but rather colloquial practices. The whole matter can best be described as dialectical, where how you say countless words depends upon where you originated. From the Scottish to the Irish to the Yorkshiremen to the Londonians to the Bostonians to the Deep Southerners to the Texans to the Australians, and still onward to the less developed country peoples who converse in any number of differing Pidgin ways, comprehension isn’t always easy or even possible between two spokesmen who grew up varying distances apart.

Now is a most fitting point to focus once again on Esperanto, language’s masterpiece of carefully structured simplicity. Although adjectives must still agree with the words they modify as to case and number, this should be only a minor inconvenience to the learner, in contrast to any other known language on the face of the earth.

A particular feature to which the Esperanto learner must adapt his or her thinking to, albeit with little difficulty and appreciative understanding, is the very common use of prefixes, infixes, and suffixes. Although they also proliferate in other languages, especially German, Dutch, and English, Dr. Zamenhof’s purpose was to make them fully useful for word conversion, i.e. forming virtually any part of speech from a simple root. The effect is that no other language, English included, offers more flexibility, without the necessity of an “obese” dictionary. The student doesn’t have to remember two entirely different words to denote male and female noun gender, whereas the conversion comes from an easy-to-follow suffix. This is but one example among many.

The most suitable punch line to this exercise is the ability to state that anything a person would wish to say or write in the Latin of yesteryear may also be expressed through modern Esperanto, at least insofar as common, day-to-day terms are concerned. Therefore, by the same token wherein we consider our most ancient ancestors as having been capable of “discovering” and even exploiting electrical energy, à la Ben Franklin and Tom Edison, we’re fully convinced that those Roman scholarly types might well have resorted to the same utmost simplicity as did Dr. Zamenhof.

We’d have little difficulty proving our point by showing a list of a thousand or so common Latin words with the Esperanto terms right alongside. True, German is sometimes the source instead, and we could add numerous examples thereof for good measure.

Nevertheless, such a statement as that above does indeed give rise to a speculative question. Why didn’t those scholars seek pure simplicity in the first place, instead of endeavoring to plow so many complexities into the grammatical rulebook? By way of an equally speculative answer, we suspect that the boys were actually catering to the big-wigs, with an intent to produce a communication means utilizable by those who deemed themselves infinitely superior to the ordinary Joes walking the Roman streets.

Carrying our thesis just a step further, look how many of today’s more erudite citizens, who always know which case, number, and gender to use, or what tense to apply, tend to look down upon the less formally trained in speech and composition. Anyway, it’s a thought.

To add one additional theoretical query to our analysis, let us suppose that the boys with their quill pens or whatever they chose to write with had really devoted their mental prowess to designing a language virtually every citizen could employ with relative ease, and “gone to press” on such basis. What would the likely result be today, after a millennium or two of transitional amendment, so-called refinement, or otherwise? Perhaps the Esperanto-like foundation might have become only semi-recognizable by now, having been riddled over long centuries with exceptions and locally-chosen deviations. Who will ever know?

Still, any such reservations as that shouldn’t wash away our strong belief that we would all be better communicators at this stage, had things begun with the goal of maximum interpersonal understanding, as opposed to fostering presumed snobbishness.

THE DAY THE GOOD GUYS WON

2009-05-10T14:13:00.000-07:00

One particularly unforgettable Saturday afternoon in this writer’s memory took place almost countless years ago while attending a movie theater matinee. Since the custom in those times was to devote that part of any given week catering to the very young generation by featuring thrill-laden action films, the bill-of-fare offered Tonka, a Walt Disney Studios production.

Tonka was the name of an undoubtedly fictitious horse which happened to serve as a mount for General George Armstrong Custer’s ill-fated Seventh Cavalry at Little Big Horn. Although this wouldn’t be the writer’s normal plans for Saturday PM entertainment, the occasion was rather special, in accompanying a young son and a battery of his cronies immediately following a home-based birthday party.

What remains especially memorable about said film is how the Disney folk had created the buildup for and the carrying out of that famous battle. In case any readers may be short on their U.S. history recollections, this was one day when the Indians emerged victorious, leaving absolutely no Seventh Cavalry survivors to regale their grandchildren decades later with exaggerated tales about the skirmish at Little Big Horn.

The decided villains in this movie were Custer and his merry men, and we must accord the studio due credit for painting him as the real (as they say in Yiddish) schmuck he truly happened to be. In turn, his fellow horsemen didn’t exactly come across as nice home-loving chaps.

Obviously, therefore, by simple process of elimination, the Sioux warriors filled the good guys role, kind to their mothers and all that. Consequently, as the bitter battle roared across the screen, every time a Redskin bit the dust, the entire audience on hand (some 95% kids as we’ve already explained) would groan in exasperation. However, each cavalryman falling from his horse brought on a rousing cheer. Finally, when General Custer stopped a bullet (or maybe an arrow, because memory fails) and hit the dirt mortally wounded, the young audience yelled with fervor equal to that attached to watching a favorite ballcarrier execute a lengthy touchdown run. The boys were exalted.

As for our kindly horse Tonka, whether he survived the onslaught or not has been forgotten. The key point to stress is that on said day in American western history the Indians – the good guys – took the marbles.

We must confess to having been frightfully long-winded in the opening to this piece. Nevertheless, that single movie (well, there have been others of better quality reaching toward the same goal) represented the antithesis to how those we now patronizingly refer to as Native Americans were consistently referred to on the silver or multi-colored screens as “savages” or by other appropriate slurs – even “prairie niggers” on one fortunately isolated occasion.

The sad part is that such oftentimes negative opinions expressed on theater and old film TV reruns reflect a common feeling among much of the majority group populace in this so-called equal rights and privileges country. Must this be? Why, this writer often feels compelled to ask, do the American Indians of recent centuries past deserve such down-our-noses disrespect? Were they really wrong in wanting to protect their hunting grounds and their ability to roam freely within their established territories? Had they no right to resist Whitey’s ever-increasing westward movement, to take over the North American universe to his supposedly progressive liking?

Just consider again the afore-mentioned term Native American. Shouldn’t that amount to more than an allegedly polite title? So far as we can determine, they were here first. They owned the joint. The migrants from across the Atlantic were invaders. Friendly, well-meaning ones, though? Like hell they were. In more than one recorded incident, they proved to be as arbitrarily brutal at conducting bloody massacres of Indians as any attributed to the frowned-upon Redskins. Rather shamefully, the history books make little or no mention of the atrocities committed by the paleface on a people trying to defend their homeland.

Eventually and inevitably, the invasion force prevailed, due to its “superior” education and “advanced” technology for the time. One by one, previously hostile Indian tribes agreed to cease their opposition due to de facto defeat, in return for fair settlement treatment. Wow! The promises for comfortable reservation-area living dished out by the conquering masters rate among U.S. or any other nation’s history as the mightiest of whoppers. The oft-quoted expression “White man speak with forked tongue” couldn’t have been more accurate. A reasonable amount of library or internet research will spell this situation out pretty clearly, from broken oath to broken oath and sub-human act to sub-human act.

As opposed to their black counterparts, the Indians weren’t hauled across the ocean waves in the cargo holds of cattle boats. They were here at the outset, when Jamestown, Virginia became settled and the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. Some proved to be friendly hosts, but others didn’t, for readily plausible reasons. In the long run, they were rendered a much dirtier deal than the enslaved captives from African shores – who have since succeeded in emerging phoenix-like from the ashes, after a once seemingly interminable struggle.

However, the expression “Lo, the poor Indian” continues to apply. No need ever existed for an act equivalent to the Emancipation Proclamation, since they theoretically had their freedom already. Unfortunately, their race has never produced a Jackie Robinson, a Martin Luther King, or a Barack Obama. Their small relative U.S. population (1.5%), has likely helped prevent such from happening. Concerted efforts on their behalf by Marlon Brando et al have proven relatively fruitless. In any event, it appears much too late.

In our customary humble opinion, though, they do deserve recognition as the “good guys” from certain standpoints, or at least the “valiant land defenders”, if nothing more. What a shame they didn’t fare better. The cards were simply stacked against them.

Still, does Whitey actually earn everlasting blame for horning into hitherto “private” property, and deciding that he had the sacred right to take over? Looking back over our collective shoulders, we must grudgingly admit the effort has been worth it, despite the fact that such actions virtually destroyed a once happier race.

THE LONG LONG ROAD

2009-05-08T12:59:00.000-07:00

It stands to reason that optimum racial equality in America has finally arrived and is decidedly here to stay. Those of us old enough to look back over our shoulders may do so with a sense of long-awaited deep satisfaction that justice and fairness seems to have at last been achieved.

The men and women we now call African Americans with duly earned respect have finally managed to grow devoid of the manifold standard slurs, except perhaps in hushed private conversations between diehard white supremacists. The insulting terms haven’t disappeared completely, and the likelihood is they won’t for maybe another half-century or so, but they no longer dominate many personal vocabularies, even when telling racial jokes.

This much overdue condition can only be described as most welcome to many of us. The question at hand, however, must be “Why on earth has it taken so all-fired long to become a life style norm among the U.S. population?” Why weren’t the terms of Abraham Lincoln’s 1863 Emancipation Proclamation put into real effect within a reasonably limited time period thereafter? Why did our fundamental thinking require nearly a century and a half to kick in?

A lengthy list can be drawn up of prominent persons from both races who contributed to the painfully gradual evolution which has culminated in the virtually 100% black and white social equality we know at present, and our grandchildren one day will believe was never otherwise.

We’ll begin with Thomas Jefferson, who at least devoted “lip-service” composition when writing the Declaration of Independence in 1776, while slaves toiled on his Monticello, Virginia plantation right outside his drawing room. It strikes us as somewhat inconsistent to read his words “We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal” under such conditions.

Jefferson is said to have been upset and disturbed over the fact that slavery continued to remain in force. History tells us how this icon of democracy did undertake efforts for reform and abolition to some degree, but subject to constant blocking by traditionalists, even while he eventually occupied the White House for two terms. As a consequence, this situation carried on for another “four score and seven years” before anything concrete was done about it.

Lincoln, of course, comes next in the sequence, when his executive decree freed every American man, woman, and child from involuntary bondage, albeit while a civil war raged over that very issue. Still, what had now become the law of the land was considered repugnant to a great many prosperous landowners, among others.

Despite the newfound freedom, members of the black race weren’t permitted to vote until 1870, thanks to the 15th Constitutional Amendment – men only, though, since ladies from all races were forced to wait another fifty years before being allowed ballot box access.

Who, then, really made us change ever-so-gradually from a pure white supremacy outlook to an absolutely equal status in our present 21st century? The fact is, no single individual performed the transformation alone. The process was simply a little bit at a time, thanks to a further list of outright fairness exponents, as well as prominent heroes in their chosen fields.

Jesse Owens’ unprecedented track and field feats at the 1936 Berlin Olympics brought on many accolades for his performance, but all too often supplemented by such remarks as “Too bad he’s a nigger” (a direct quote made in this writer’s presence).

Joe Louis, a gentleman credited with doing much for the advancement of his race, made a name for himself during the mid-1930s by knocking out one boxing ring opponent after another within the opening round. It took him little time to become the leading heavyweight championship contender. Another remembered quote on this prospect was “We don’t want a nigger at the top”. This writer’s responsive “Why not?” produced no answer other than the implausible “Just because”.

Jackie Robinson’s signing to play for the Brooklyn Dodgers’ baseball club starting with the 1947 season became subject to the utmost ridicule. “No nigger can stand the pace” was an opinion commonly rendered. There’s no question, however, that owner Branch Rickey’s action in this respect caused as major a breakthrough of the racial barrier as the sports world or any other has ever felt.

Furthermore, no one can help but appreciate the efforts and accomplishments of the martyred Martin Luther King, plus Jesse Jackson, Sidney Poitier, Bill Cosby, Tiger Woods, and perhaps the man now standing head and shoulders above the entire pack, President Barack Obama, along with others far too numerous to mention, in their respective fields. Their outstanding spirit and deeds are bound to last as long as our modern-day civilization manages to survive.

To a boy from a northern state visiting the U.S. south countless years ago, observing the four-restrooms, the separate drinking fountains, the “whites only” door signs on stores and restaurants, the stage we’ve reached today appeared extremely remote at any future date.

Even with the changes which began to be wrought just following World War II, When “coloreds” were gradually occupying houses in hitherto lily-white neighborhoods, lynchings, other racially-motivated murders, and unwarranted beatings continued throughout the deep south. Nevertheless, the eventual 180-degree movement proved itself irreversible.

Hopefully by now, the scorn has been reduced down to isolated hanging noose incidents or to simple hate mail, as sent to the likes of Hank Aaron and Tiger Woods, declaring them respectively unfit, due solely to their color, to break Babe Ruth’s career home run record or participate in the professional golfing realm.

This writer can’t avoid a sense of true gratification in noting how African Americans have become gridiron standouts throughout leading southern universities, whereas in the not too distant past, such fellows could be unwelcome campus visitors at best, and not even allowed to use the restrooms, let alone roam about outside unchallenged and possibly molested.

It remains true that the black race has produced a few so-called villains. Jack Johnson, heavyweight champion in the teen years of the 20th century, had white girl friends, a totally forbidden activity area. Singer Billie Holiday became an overly-publicized victim of drug addiction. O.J. Simpson was convicted of murdering his wife and her paramour, at least in the public eye, if not the courts. Home run record holder Barry Bonds perjured himself by denying the use of anabolic steroids.

Concert and movie singer Paul Robeson became ostracized principally due to his socialistic beliefs, but undoubtedly amplified by his color. However, the renowned Charlie Chaplin, as Caucasian as they come, was accorded the same public treatment.

So what? Every racial, religious, creed, and ethnic group has its produced its share of bad pennies. Nevertheless, our African American inhabitants can point with utmost pride to such persons as George Washington Carver, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Nat King Cole, Hattie McDaniel, Jim Brown, Muhammad (Cassius Clay) Ali, Leontyne Price, those we’ve previously cited herein, and many more for whom we’d never have the space to list completely. Almost countless blacks can now stand face-to-face and shoulder-to-shoulder with their once alleged “superiors”. In fact, it almost seems that the reasons for such unwarranted past prejudice never actually existed.

They did, however, but happily there will be no reversion to former times. We certainly hope not, anyway.

Again, though, why in blazes did all this take so long to happen?

WHY WERE WE BETRAYED?

2009-04-27T16:57:00.000-07:00

(This letter was sent to the Secretary of the Army on July 25, 2008. As expected, there has been no reply. Why should the U.S. military be the least bit concerned today with affairs that went on several wars ago? Nevertheless, we consider it worthy of republication here for reader review and comment.)

INTRODUCTION AND RATIONALE
Composing this piece gives the writer an impression similar to that of affixing the needle to the appropriate starting place on an obsolete 78 rpm phonograph record. The subject matter amounts to little more than nearly-forgotten World War II history of a relatively insignificant nature in the global scheme. Nevertheless, despite the late date, so to speak, a fundamentally serious question remains open, at least in this fellow’s mind.

What we’re harking back to is the German counteroffensive attack in the Ardennes Sector, which began on December 16, 1944, and briefly threatened to neutralize or even negate what had required considerable effort by Allied troops starting even with D-Day.

That didn’t happen, of course, thanks to the courageous stand taken by the 101st Airborne Division at Bastogne, along with other units in the general vicinity. The war’s final push by the German High Command eventually ground to a screeching halt, due to intense bravery on the U.S. defenders’ part, fortunately aided by severe equipment, vehicle fuel, and supplies shortages which hampered the desperation-ridden attackers.

The enemy’s master plan had envisioned an overwhelming breakthrough, leading its forces deeply into Belgium, from whence mastery of the situation could be regained. As a matter of fact, German rank-and-file troops had been thoroughly imbued with the idea that such counterattack would take them right on to New York.

This particular “Battle of the Bulge” has since been enshrined in U.S. military history as a monumental effort on behalf of the American GI. As Abraham Lincoln said following the action at Gettysburg, “It is altogether fitting and proper that we do this”. However, there is far more to the story.

A reasonable amount of credit was heaped upon the 106th Infantry Division for delaying the German offensive long enough to enable the 101st Airborne and other forces to regroup and finally stop the advance cold. Still, what has been completely overlooked is the buildup process that amounts to a highly significant betrayal to a microcosmic group of American youths in their earliest full manhood years. In this fellow’s humble opinion, the U.S. Army had given thousands of us an extremely dirty deal, with the result to be forever covered up by exaggerated glorification for supposed line-holding efforts.

As a lowly dogface non-com within the ill-fated 106th Division, this writer found himself trapped and surrounded in the center of the fracas which took place between December 16 and 19, while the German advance was beginning to appear unstoppable. His potentially useful service to the cause abruptly ended, through capture and prison encampment for nearly four months, along with an extremely huge host of comrades-in-arms.

BACKGROUND
It’s necessary at this point to backtrack to 1943.

With the possible exception of any lad unusually big for his age who may have accordingly lied and joined up no later than during the war’s closing month of August 1945, a fellow would presently have to be at least in his early eighties. By now, therefore, natural forces have relegated those of us to distinct minority status, losing more and more members each day. However, this certainly shouldn’t preclude the right to expound upon the basic theme of this work – how we were betrayed by a government we’d sworn to uphold, but under specifically established pre-conditions.

During the earlier war years, the U.S. Navy launched two ambitious programs available to students nearing high school graduation. One bore the label V-5 and related to the air sector of said branch. The other became known as V-12, pertaining only to high sea service. Those academically qualified would be eligible following enlistment and boot camp for advanced educational training at any number of contracted colleges or universities.

Not to be outdone by its service rival, the Army similarly adopted ASTP, standing for Army Specialized Training Program, whereby the same conditions would apply as to Navy V-5 and V-12 selectees. At some time not later than in 1943, the plan got underway, with qualified enlistees or draftees bundled off to various classrooms, once basic infantry school training had been completed.

The irony of the situation is that a high school senior interested in signing up for either program had a single-word decision to utter. He would be asked simply “Army or Navy?”. Any fellow opting in the first instance would eventually find himself completely betrayed. As for the smarter ones who chose the sea instead, they’d be allowed to spend some of their coming service years “hitting the books”, provided their grade levels remained satisfactory. Not a bad deal in the latter case, but a mighty bum one for the lads who preferred to join the ground forces.

VIEW FROM A PERSONAL STANDPOINT
From here onward, prime focus will be placed on the writer’s direct experiences, leading up to the major betrayal and its resultant effect on so many lives, both lost and somewhat damaged to varying degrees.

After naïvely signing up for such potential added schooling at government expense, but employing the fatefully selected word “army”, this eighteen-year old lad went through the enlistment routine and was inducted in early January 1944. He successfully passed the qualification tests administered by the Fort Thomas, Kentucky reception center, and February found him at Fort Benning, Georgia, renowned as the infantry school, to undergo the rigorous training carried out on behalf of said service.

The scheduled indoctrination period isn’t remembered, but probably would have run for several months, after which he could become Joe College, perhaps for the war’s full duration.

However, the fighting on all fronts had reached a pretty sad state by early 1944. Hitherto 4-Fs were being upgraded to 1-As in relatively wholesale lots, since battle casualties had taken a significant toll. In the plainest of terms, the U.S. Army found itself in severe need of “cannon fodder”, to fill altogether too many gaping front-line combat holes. Apparently then, the proverbial light bulb flashed above the heads of numerous high-ranking military individuals, as well as the civilians who direct their actions from Washington. Why not cancel those college classroom deals and shove all the kids into active duty?

What difference did it make that so many young lads held well-above-average academic qualifications? Heavens, wouldn’t they be more valuable to their country up there facing enemy artillery fire or bayonet charges? Virtually overnight, the entire attitude toward these student-soldiers became reversed.

And so it came to pass that all textbooks had to be turned in, to be replaced by rifles and hand grenades. Every single lad theretofore enjoying collegiate life was promptly shipped off to an infantry unit somewhere in the country. After all, that’s how they’d been trained, right?

Now, what about the others who hadn’t yet completed their basic training, of which there were many, including this writer? The answer was quite sample. Cut the program short and send them straight to camp too.

Consequently, this eighteen-year old’s training at Fort Benning promptly ceased after approximately two months, along with the same fate for everyone else there. The group, which numbered in the hundreds was dispatched to three locations. The small handful of black soldiers on the site were assigned to the 92nd Infantry Division, an all-negro unit (except for white officers) at Camp Polk, Louisana. The rest were sent either to Fort Bragg, North Carolina or Camp Atterbury, Indiana. The writer fell into this last-mentioned crew.

Our arrival at Camp Atterbury, a short bus ride from downtown Indianapolis, took place only a few days following the 106th Infantry Division’s having finished taking part in Tennessee Maneuvers. They formed a pretty bedraggled-appearing bunch as a result of the ordeal. Since this outfit had been formed only about a year before at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, it was already pretty green, to be supplemented by numerous 18-20 year-olds of a distinctly greener hue.

We thus formed what was certainly the Army’s newest division in point of historical service – at zero level, to be precise.

Over the months from March to October, our newly-blended unit underwent additional training, including a few maneuver-type exercises, but was certainly far from what could be called a crack outfit. Perhaps battle experience would eventually harden us.

As it happened, such supposed proving ground didn’t lie far off. The generals overseas were yelling for warm bodies to fill the rapidly-depleting front ranks. So, on October 7, 1944, we marched off to trains headed for Camp Myles Standish, Massachusetts, our Port of Embarkation. Then came New York Harbor, HMS Queen Elizabeth “her very self”, and a five-day ocean jaunt to Clydebank, Scotland.

From there we entrained to Central England, where we were lodged in or near various small- or medium-sized towns. Our company found itself just outside of Cheltenham, on a leased civilian estate known as Sandywell Park. The officers were housed in the rather spacious residence, and temporary barracks had been built for us doggies.

Our stay at Sandywell Park included a few lengthy hikes and exercises, in an effort to toughen us up, and the result seemed fairly satisfactory. Many of us managed to develop endurance skills not apparent before. Still, it’s doubtful that we’d yet reached a stage of battle hardiness.

As mid-December approached, our next outward move led to Southampton and an LCT voyage across the English Channel. This proved to be a rather disastrous journey, however, due to such mishaps as losing an anchor and other difficulties. As a result, we were seriously delayed in arriving at Le Havre, France.

Since we were so late, orders from higher up had been given to get us across France and Belgium with all deliberate speed by motorized convoy. This fellow’s transport means was by jeep, being a radio squad driver.

PRELUDE TO COMBAT ACTION
After a single-night bivouac in snow-covered Belgian fields, we finally moved into the German Army’s Siegfried Line pillboxes on December 10, relieving the 2nd Infantry Division, the hitherto conquering occupants. We were just six days away from the fateful battle.

Enemy patrols were exploring our sector night after night, and no evening could be considered complete without a hefty German artillery barrage. We all grew very antsy, however.

Returning now to the larger picture, as already discussed, the German High Command had methodically laid out a monstrous frontal counteroffensive attack, intended to mow us down and allow them to proceed hastily onward to Antwerp, Brussels, and other Belgium areas.

The facts of the case were these:
· The enemy knew we were a green outfit, and fully expected to run us into the ground –
which they readily managed to do;
· We were short of heavy weapons ammunition, medical supplies, combat rations, and
winter outerwear;
· Our sector spanned an approximate 21-mile hilly-terrain front, which was far greater than
standard operating procedure for the U.S. Army;
· The terrain was not conducive to needed tank support;
· The sky was heavily overcast, offering us no possibility of air support.

In summary, we were dead ducks and didn’t know it, except at the upper command levels. The more gruesome factor is that our unit’s average age was 22 years – consisting largely of kids who’d either been yanked out of college classrooms or had their essential training curtailed in order to load up the battlefront with whatever persons could be mustered.

No matter how you slice it, our division was offered up as a sacrifice. No counteroffensive of such magnitude ever goes unanticipated. You can read official reports from some quarters to the effect that the enemy “surprised” us. That is mere Army window-dressing bunk.

BATTLE RESULTS
We did our best, launching offensives of our own here and there, but with little effect. Our particular company quickly fell into isolated small units, each having their own skirmishing experiences, which would become interesting conversation topics during our prison camp days which lay just ahead.

As casualties go, the killed and wounded rates were relatively low. On the other hand, we were forced to surrender in droves. This writer’s capture took place as a member of a large group, including our regimental commander, in early evening on December 19, 1944. Thousands of us were force marched and/or entrained further into the German interior until finally arriving in prison camps.

PRISON CAMP LIFE AND AFTERMATH
There seems to be little need to dwell on our internment days. They were a challenge for survival in the face of hunger, illness, and exposure to the elements. Not everyone succeeded in staying alive throughout the ordeal, and that included numerous lads in their early twenties. It shouldn’t go without mention, however, that during the four-month internment period with severe food and supplies inadequacy, the main body of American POWs exhibited spoiled brat tendencies, inconsideration for their comrades in general, and outright food and other thievery within the ranks. The frightful behavior example they set proved incomprehensible even to our German captors. The British and other empire nation forces, with which we had become merged, earned far greater respect.

Our camp near Fallingbostel was liberated by the British 7th Armored Division on the morning of April 16, 1945.

Once back in allied hands, the U.S. Army couldn’t have been nicer while attending to our every medical, dietary, and other personal need, with haste being the order of the day for getting us safely home again. This, however, certainly falls short of compensating for the betrayal leveled on so many lads in their early youth – especially those either unable to make the return trip to U.S. shores, or else leaving a limb or two behind.

Perhaps a groundswell of resentment should have built up in the years immediately following war’s end. As we’re all fully aware, no such event took place. Just being able to return fully or partially intact and get on with one’s life seemed to offer adequate satisfaction, at least insofar as this writer’s memory best serves. Nevertheless, utter and wanton betrayal can be difficult to forget, albeit many decades later.

Still, what about the other side of the coin, namely the post-war benefits accorded to those who survived the ordeal unfairly foisted on us? It’s true, the government gave the writer four years of free advanced education at his own chosen institution and curriculum. Many other duly betrayed victims received the same. It would be illogical to completely ignore such compensatory treatment. However, did the dollars and cents expended on our educational behalf balance out the effect the combat and prison camp ordeal had had on our ensuing personal lives? I think not.

We were all psychologically damaged in some manner and to varying degrees. Many of us altered our approaches to life, careers, and otherwise, not necessarily for the better, which is at least partially attributable to the enormous betrayal we suffered from.

It’s true that we were engaged in a monstrous war, and everyone had to make sacrifices, but this doesn’t excuse the Army from having acted most irresponsibly when it closed down the AST Program. The heaviest burden, of course, was borne by those who didn’t return safely or in one piece.

DAVID KOUVEK'S SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD

2009-04-22T14:47:00.001-07:00

MAN-MADE
1. The Ceiling of the Sistine Chapel
2. The Taj Mahal
3. Madame Tussaud's
4. The Louvre
5. Stonehenge
6. The Leaning Tower of Pisa
7. Disneyland, California

GOD-MADE
1. Mt. Fujiyama
2. Mt. Kilimanjaro
3. Niagara Falls
4. The Midnight Sun
5. The Alps
6. The Canadian Rockies
7. The Scottish Highlands

BLUENOSINOUS -- A NEARLY OBSOLESCENT PUBLIC CAUSE

2009-04-22T12:49:00.000-07:00

A good many memorable events took place throughout the 1930s, undoubtedly the most prominent dealing with Hitler’s and Stalin’s rapid rise to power, all of which eventually kicked off the long-anticipated second world war. Devastating though they were, this writer’s recollections still focus on numerous matters of considerably lesser world-shaking effect, yet significant in certain respects. The actual theme of this piece is show business, mainly films, radio broadcasting, and popular music.

We probably wouldn’t be far wrong in labeling the 1930s as the Decade of Bluenose Reign. Perhaps the same breed of people who had previously equated National Prohibition with excellence ten years earlier were now carrying on to the fullest extent feasible by imposing severe censorship and other controls on the entertainment industry. Wherever legal restrictions couldn’t prevail, the capability remained of expressing widespread consternation over apparent flagrancy from the moral corruption standpoint. We can readily cite several outstanding examples.

On December 12, 1937, a regular Sunday afternoon radio show sponsored by Chase and Sanborn, one of the era’s leading coffee producers, featured a brief dramacomedy skit where Don Ameche and Mae West – the latter being the raciest double-entendre female exponent of her time – portrayed Adam and Eve’s legendary submission to the serpent’s proferred apple.

This writer, then but a towheaded youth, heard this particular broadcast, reflecting the famous Westian heavily exaggerated “come hither” delivery style, which came across as sheer harmless cornballia. However, no more than a day later a loudish coast-to-coast hue and cry arose over the excessive vulgarity, suggestiveness, blasphemy, and whatever else seemed fitting. The lady, if we may be so blatantly presumptuous in using such term for her, was accordingly banned from radio, not to return until twelve years later. We’ve been personally asking why ever since, more than seven decades afterward. There seemed to be so little to get excited about, other than a couple of her typical borderline remarks.

Those, however, were power-wielding days for the bluenosed gentry. The slightest word or deed coming remotely close to supposed immorality would be subject to virtually explosive reaction.

In that same year of 1937, a rising popular music world star named Maxine Sullivan turned out an immediate hit record, singing Loch Lomond to more than the customary semi-gloomy lugubrious beat. Wow! Did this ever give our bluenose friends an open opportunity to condemn the girl’s “swinging of an old favorite”! Having quite recently acquired a latter-day copy of that very number on CD, the writer finds it sounding absolutely normal, really more conservative in tempo than many lyrical outpourings we’re forced to endure today. Once again, though, the do-gooders had chosen to make a mountain out of a molehill for reasons of so-called sanctity.

Oddly enough, the pace of Miss Sullivan’s 1937 recording was identical to that churned out one year later by Martha Tilton, who sang the same tune at Benny Goodman’s fabled Carnegie Hall Concert. We recall no comparable shouts from the cheaper seats at that time. The bluenoses had evidently cooled down.

Not much, however. Among 1938’s “jazz band” output was Larry Clinton’s orchestral presentation, wherein romantic lyrics had been written and sung to Debussy’s Reverie. “Horrors!”, came the shouts. “Now they’re swinging the classics! How offensive can things become?”

Happily for Clinton, his vocalized My Reverie became a big hit, in spite of the snorts and yelps. Listening to the very original rendition today remains a pleasure.

Moreover, that number seems to have set the stage for a minor trend, as works initially composed by the “Old Masters” came to be either lyricized or played in a bouncy manner. This practice continued for many years, and the most fortunate related aspect is that we remember no outcry over Woody Herman’s Woodchoppers’ Ball (Quartet from Rigoletto), Les Brown’s Marche Slav (Tchaikovsky) or Bizet Has His Day (L’Arlesienne Suite) or Mozart Matriculates, plus various classical themes with complementary vocal wording.

Also in 1938, the Andrews Sisters added another big seller to their list, belting out idiotic lyrics to a forgettable tune called Hold Tight. No opposition arose to the song, inane as it happened to be, until the “beloved” Walter Winchell reported that the words “foo-ra-de-acka-saki” which it contained meant something vulgar in Swahili. So what was the result? The bluenoses succeeded in having the song taken off the air, unless the “dirty” stuff was substituted for. Good Lord!

Famed bandleader Jan Savitt recorded a song about that same time entitled WPA, whose lyrics were judged to be disparaging (as they truly were) to that governmental body created to help ease the severity of the Great Depression’s unemployment problem. For such stated reason and no other, the disc was completely suppressed from further production or radio playing, the U.S. Constitution notwithstanding.

Jumping now to the movie industry, people the world over can promptly identify with the heroic icon John Wayne. It happens that the film which catapulted him to fame and fortune was Stagecoach, released in 1939. The story depicted a trek by such a passenger vehicle through hostile country with, naturally, a redskin onslaught woven into the script to accompany the other usual western boiler plate.

What chiefly stands out in this at-the-moment young lad’s recollection was not the Duke’s spectacular hurling himself onto the fear-laden team of horses pulling the stagecoach, thus helping avoid a disastrous runaway amid the Comanche or whatever attack. Instead, it was having one of the female characters being roughly 8.99 months pregnant in the opening scenes, but with a stomach as flat as a pancake. That’s right, the bluenose rules of propriety permitted bulging bellies only for aging male actors overly indulgent as eaters or beer-consumers.

Another early scene in that same production showed Thomas Mitchell playing the town drunk role, whose impending permanent departure from the town stagecoachwise featured him about to raise both hands to thumb his nose farewell at the assembled do-gooder lady standers-by. Since this gesture is alleged to convey the message, as they say in Spanish, “Besa mi culo”, it could not be fully carried out on the silver screen, so the camera had to switch immediately to the shocked expressions on the offended women’s faces. To quote the classic little boy Charlie Brown on this score, we have to say “Good grief!”

Those were also moviedom days when couples playing husband and wife roles, a common scene back then, had to be filmed sleeping in twin beds, with full pajama sets on the male and floor length, high-cut nightgowns adorning the missus.

The earliest of the Weissmuller-Sullivan Tarzanesque flicks had both Johnny and Maureen sporting costumes so brief, especially for the feminine mate, that the viewer could see just about everything except Trafalgar Square. From there on, in that and any other King of the Jungle series’, the heroine’s garb was forced take on a relatively more Whistler’s Mother appearance.

Doesn’t this all amount to frightening hypocrisy, especially when MGM mogul Louis B. Mayer owned a Hollywood brothel, which his male stars were virtually commanded to frequent, purportedly to avoid forbidden interstellar “sackbound” affairs with the fairer sex – which it most certainly never did?

We’ll now cease our delving into the 1930s age mockery by jumping to the 1972 Italian-produced film with a middle-aged Brando’s Last Tango in Paris lead role, offering absolutely no plot other than one bordering on unadulterated pornography. Ironically, that was the same year when Marvelous Marlon mumbled his way into Oscar entitlement and tinseltown immortality as Vito Corleone in The Godfather.

The sole point we’re endeavoring to establish in the above paragraph is “Look how disastrously the bluenose doctrines collapsed between the 1930s and 1972!” By then, and even more so today, our vanquished friends must have slowly sunk into a state of chronic near-regurgitational trauma. God bless them, everyone.

Looking back upon earlier days once more, the skies did manage to continue their brightness a little over Bluenoseville for a short while. We remember how, during the late 1940s post-war years, the well-known group singalong number Beer Barrel Polka could only be played over the sacrosanct radio waves with the announced title restricted to its last two words. Specific reference to that terrible hops and barley beverage had become a no-no.

That was the same age during which film stars Rita Hayworth and Ingrid Bergman were branded with outright condemnation for having given birth to children without benefit of clergy, the bluenose euphemism for the dirty word illegitimacy. To say that overall public opinions have since changed can only be the grossest of understatements.

1948 as well saw Frank Sinatra having done something typically offensive to the prevailing false morality codes (we can’t remember exactly what any longer), and thus judged unfit to be cast as a priest in the movie Miracle of the Bells. However, he did play the role, and with reasonable adequacy.

Never allowing itself to die completely, the omnipresent Bluenose Brigade still had enough breath left to criticize Jimmy Stewart, Lee Remick, et al for appearing in the now classic 1959 Anatomy of a Murder, because the plot focused on such tsk tsk unmentionable matters as rape, sexual climax, and other non-niceties we’re supposed to omit from public conversation.

About all we can add in closing is the question as to how the bluenose folk might be faring today, at least in light of the film industry’s prevalent focusing on “between-the-sheets” scenes, supplemented by frequent once totally forbidden dialogue use. Have they resorted to donning blindfolds and earplugs, so as to hide in the sand, or simply limited their attendance to Disney productions? Perhaps they indeed deserve the heartfelt sympathy of us more liberal-minded types.

However, even though our social feeling has progressed in giant strides from 1930ish until now, have we perhaps advanced just a bit too far? To what extent should the rubber band be allowed to stretch? Maybe the never-ceasing-yet-drastically-decaying do-gooder crusade did and does possess some degree of merit.

THE LEFTIST KID

2009-04-22T03:53:00.001-07:00

Years ago, when the writer was a staff member for a well-known professional services firm, every autumn featured in influx of recruits from various universities within and beyond the immediate area. Consequently, a good deal of semi-idle office time would always be devoted to getting acquainted with new fellow workers.

One such recruit, who is still rather well remembered, quickly became labeled as a “veering-to-the-left” type, which happened to be a rare breed in that sort of business environment. We’ll call him Raymond Burke for purposes of this piece, although only the first initials actually match. To offer a very slight hint, his real name was identical to that of a Detroit Lions and LA Rams defensive tackle from years back.

Since most of Raymond’s staff associates tended to lean toward the right in their political thinking, the general attitude was to write him off as more or less a joke. Still, among his fairly frequent opinionated outpourings, one remains vividly in the writer’s mind to this very day.

On the subject of major industrial companies falling into the supergiant class, he once stated somewhat emphatically that “bigness unto itself is evil”. In other words, only small business deserved respect. Everyone smirked at this, with the customary headshake that deemed the kid to be a real kook.

However, many decades later, following a period during which the writer found himself growing gradually more mature on numerous matters, that outspoken comment by young Raymond has never been forgotten. Nowadays, particularly in light of such affairs as Enron, AIG, Citibank, General Motors, and so many others in the news, the feeling clearly lingers to the effect that the fellow was absolutely right in his well-remembered observation. Perhaps this amounts to an overblown generalization, but we find it to have plenty of truth in principle.

THE TEN NO-NOS

2009-04-16T07:13:00.000-07:00

One thing which has long seemed difficult to understand is why the "Official" Ten Commandments of the Christian faith are primarily stated in negative terms. From a mathematical standpoint, only 20% reflect a positive doctrine.

Is one therefore to presume that Christianity -- whose tentacles have spread from both the Old and the New Testaments -- is a negative religion? Certainly, the teachings of Jesus Christ don’t convey such impression. Quite the contrary, we'd have to say.

Nevertheless, the so-called hidebound fundamentals of the world's most dominant religious faith are still glibly quoted today, exhibiting the same negative tone in which they were originally handed to Moses.

Would it not be better to adopt a positive, not to mention sensible means for expressing such basic rules by which people are supposed to abide? In any event, a reasonable go at the effort is laid out below. You'll also find that the mere two that actually do accentuate the positive have been restated in a more practical way.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Thou shalt have no other Gods before me.
THE UPDATED VERSION
Accept God as the One Almighty Manifestion of yourself.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Thou shalt not make any graven image, or bow down yourself to them nor serve them.
THE UPDATED VERSION
Consider your God as absolute, Whose presence must not be substituted for by any artificial imagery.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.
THE UPDATED VERSION
The name of your God should always be spoken with due respect.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Remember the Sabbath Day, to keep it holy.
THE UPDATED VERSION
Although every day should be one where your faith in God is manifest, reserve at least the Sabbath to express this fact outwardly.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Honor thy father and thy mother.
THE UPDATED VERSION
Fathers and mothers should strive to earn the respect and admiration of their children.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Thou shalt not kill.
THE UPDATED VERSION
Do your utmost to preserve life as it exists on earth, in every aspect and species.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Thou shalt not commit adultery.
THE UPDATED VERSION
Maintain unbounded fidelity to your chosen mate.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Thou shalt not steal.
THE UPDATED VERSION
Accept the fact that the belongings of others are absolute, and therefore let them so remain.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.
THE UPDATED VERSION
Whatever statement you utter should be the absolute truth as you know it.

THE TRADITIONAL DIGESTED WORDING
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, wife, nor anything else that is his.
THE UPDATED VERSION
Be content with what you have and own, whether tangible or intangible, without regard to the related possessions of those around you.

BLONDIE

2009-04-15T04:58:00.000-07:00

A MUSICAL VERSION AS MIGHT HAVE BEEN PERFORMED CIRCA 1936
SCORE BY GEORGE GERSHWIN
BOOK AND LYRICS BY RORY BUNGLEHEIMER

THE CAST OF CHARACTERS
· Fred Astaire as Dagwood Bumstead
· Ginger Rogers as Blondie
· Nelson Eddy as J.C. Dithers
· Jeannette MacDonald as Mrs. Dithers
· Allan Jones as Herb Woodley
· Donald O’Connor as Alexander
· Judy Garland as Cookie
· Dick Powell as the Mailman

THE PLOT
Opening on a comic relief theme, the bedeviled Mailman stands before the Bumstead residence and sings his plaintive song.

(Tune: A Foggy Day)
I am a mailman ordinary.
I follow my normal daily route.
Nothing about me is contrary.
Oh, but zounds, what abounds on my rounds.

Bumstead’s forever late leaving home.
So then frenziedly he dons his coat and hat,
And comes bundling out like the proverbial bat.

A pleasant morn on Bumstead’s street;
Soft, cool breeze, not much heat.
I reach his front walk, letters in tow;
A few steps remaining, not far to go.

How soon, I wonder, will he roar out
And bowl me over with such a clout?
Then suddenly the door is aft,
And the flying, hurried man comes lunging forward and I’m zapped.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now moving on to serious matters, Dagwood appears on stage to make his confessional about having stolen money from his employer’s company.

(Tune: Summertime)
Blaw-on-dee,
Don’t you know how I need you?
I’m in trouble
And may end up in jail.
All I wanted was
To buy you a new mink coat,
But now I must tell you
My saddest of tales.

One of these days soon
Mr. Dithers will find out
That his funds are short
And I’m spending like mad.
He’ll know I’m guilty
And I will not deny that
I stole from the cash box
Each cent it had.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So as expected, Mr. and Mrs. Dithers arrive at the Bumstead house, and a full accusation is delivered by the boss man.

(Tune: I Got Plenty of Nothin’)
Bumstead, you are a bastard,
‘Cause you took money from me.
Oi, soch a schmuck,
What a louse,
A plague upon your house.
No use denyin’,
You’re a low, thieving mouse.

You think I’ve plenty of plenty?
Well, that’s a road full of ruts.
Our financial statement
For the last fiscal quarter
Shows a loss that drives me nuts.
You putz!

You’ve got no right to believe
I’m a wealthy bloke.
You may think that being a thief
Won’t make me flat broke.
Well, you’re wrong, that’s a fact.
Your embezzlement act
Was no joke!

Yes indeed, you’re a bastard,
A rotten one through and through.
You’ve robbed me blind,
Blown my mind,
Stabbed me from behind!
Unkind!

Someone who stoops to the level
Of takin’ what isn’t his’n
Faces a sentence
Of long years and years behind
The walls and bars of prison.
Listen!

The slammer’s where you’re off to.
That’s where you belong.
You’ll be eating dried beans and bread
Every day, every week, every year.
That’s how long!

Bumstead, you are a bastard,
Nobody can deny that.
So be prepared,
Take your lumps,
Rot in jail!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

However, Mrs. Dithers feels her husband’s attitude is extremely harsh, and sings her appeal on Dagwood’s behalf.

(Tune: Someone to Watch Over Me)
Julius, you are a cold-hearted brute,
Giving the boot
Like an old coot,
Simply by losing some loot.

Your behavior is a fright to behold.
You’re growing old,
Acting too bold
Against a lad from your fold.

Although his misdeed has been loathsome,
And damaging us both some,
In your heart should be sympathy.

It would seem you ought to alter your pace,
Display some grace,
Not be so base,
And show less hate in your face.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The two children, Alexander and Cookie, also register their appeal.

(Tune: It Ain’t Necessarily So)
ALEXANDER
Don’t make Daddy go to the jail.
His health will be certain to fail.
He’ll be so mistreated,
Dishonored and cheated,
He won’t come back hearty and hail.

COOKIE
Please give him a much-needed break.
Each person deserves a fair shake.
Don’t do us no favors,
We’re just little shavers,
But help him a bit for our sake.

ALEXANDER
He didn’t intend to harm you,
But needed to buy something new.
A mink coat for mummy,
Her old one was crummy,
So why are you in such a stew?

ALEXANDER
You paid him a trifling sum,
A salary fit for a bum.
You should feel quite shameful,
And thus somewhat blameful,
For being so senseless and dumb.

ALEXANDER AND COOKIE IN UNISON
We wish we could raise enough bail
To keep Daddy from, Daddy from, Daddy from, Daddy from, Daddy from going to jail!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After everyone else has left, Dagwood sits alone disconsolately with head in hands. Herb Woodley then drops in and sings his number.

(Tune: Bess, You Is My Woman Now)
I will come to visit you,
I will, I will,
And even learn to play the violin outside your cell.
You will thus be entertained,
Not pained.

Happy, pleasèd,
And feeling easèd.
Yes, I’ll help you pass the days
Unphased.

My first thoughts will be with you,
They will, they will.
And maybe after twenty years or so you’ll get parole.
Then we’ll be neighbors once more,
Next door.

Friendly, p’litely,
And very quietly,
If you behave properly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Woodley departs and the scene closes, only to reopen on the next, where we soon learn that Mr. Dithers has elected not to press charges, and Dagwood won’t have to go to prison.

Blondie now does her song.

(Tune: Embraceable You)
Oh Dagwood,
I’m greatly relieved for you.
Dear Dagwood,
I’ve always believed in you.
Just a day ago the charges on you were dropped.
Mr. Dithers changed his mind and everything stopped.

Now we’ll start
A brand new feeling again.
With full heart
You won’t be stealing again.
Don’t buy me no more fur coats,
Just a ratty, torn old rabbit skin.
We’ll go back to where we’ve been.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dagwood, Blondie, Alexander, and Cookie then perform the finale ballet to the music of Rhapsody in Blue.

(Curtain)

BOGEY AND THE SULTRY SEDUCTRESS

2009-04-13T13:41:00.000-07:00

No, Folks, this isn’t a piece dealing with a sex-intensified movie review. In actual fact, it could hardly be more remote, as we’ll now proceed to explain.

The title should really make direct reference to the evils of tobacco use, since that’s what we’re writing about. However, had we used words along those lines, you’d probably be looking elsewhere for something to read.

Consequently, provided we haven’t lost your attention, here comes yet another essay on an already overworked topic, but with what we consider a pretty strong punch-in-the-mouth approach.

If you happen to be a heavy smoker, principally of cigarettes, in our book you stack up as not only being stupid, but further possessing no will power whatsoever. As an ex-consumer many years back of 30 to 50 fatal disease-generating objects per day, you can’t say we don’t know the score. We’ve been there, as the saying goes, right up to the brink of imminent danger.

For openers, we’ll cite a few statistics, beginning with the basic presumption that your habit adds up to one pack a day – twenty cigarettes. Since no smoker takes Sundays and holidays off from said activity, this means 7300 per annum. Let’s also say you began at age 20 and have now reached 45. Multiplying 7300 by 25 gives us 182,500. Personally, this writer finds such figure rather frightening, and potentially even more so if you’ve been indulging longer than that and at a greater consumption rate. That’s an awful lot of drawing, inhaling, and blowing out, undoubtedly supplemented by frequent coughing, not to mention an occasional chest congestion feeling. Besides, the cost hasn’t been exactly minimal.

The next point we wish to drive home with no holds barred is that you heavy smokers are indeed a bonanza for the funeral directors’ trade. The sooner you can manage to inhale yourself to death, the quicker they’ll make their money, to an early disadvantage for your surviving relatives.

On that particular score, what are your wife and children supposed to do thereafter? Blame the tobacco companies for coercing you into an excessive and deadly habit? On what truly logical basis can you deem them responsible for your untimely demise?

Did Liggett & Myers or Benson & Hedges or Philip Morris send arms-bearing thugs into your bedroom every night to hold a machine gun to your head and warn that “Either you’ll smoke (your own personal quantity) a day or we’ll come back and blow you away!”?

Of course they didn’t. They had no need to. Tobacco consumption is strictly a do-it-yourself venture.

For how many years now have you been consoling yourself with words like “Just one more won’t hurt”, as you slip yet another into your mouth and reach for the matches? How long have you laughingly said to friends “Quitting smoking is an easy matter. I’ve done it lots of times.”?

Frankly speaking, we fail to see the humor in such a remark. Why not tell jokes about people dying of cancer instead?

These wily cigarette manufacturers have already spent decades denying that their products will cause such diseases as lung or pancreatic cancer, emphysema, heart ailments, and the like. They claim the evidence isn’t sufficiently conclusive. Even though we realize they’re all damn liars, too many of you don’t seem to care. Those ridiculous warnings which adorn every pack may sway one habitué in half a million or so, but little more.

If this writer had his druthers, universal law would require that every street corner post, mailbox, office building wall, elevator, and wherever else appropriate would bear a simple 8½ by 11 two-word sign reading CIGARETTES KILL. At least this would provide an unceasing reminder, which just might bring about a few more dedicated quitters.

We often find ourselves in the company of another person who will politely ask “Do you mind if I smoke?”, to which our standard response has long been “No. Go ahead and kill yourself.” Hopefully, such remark might have helped at least one unfortunate soul to shake off a disgusting and dangerous habit.

A pertinent question which might be put to an uncontrollable cigarette addict, perhaps like yourself, is “How did your start this messy business in the first place?” Obviously, everyone has a different story to tell, so we can only cite our own personal experience, for what it might be worth.

This writer’s fateful step came at around age 15, long long before any announcements were made linking cigarettes to dire lung, heart, or other organic disease. The reasoning was simple defiance to “orders” dished out by parents in between puffs, or school teachers who would sneak off to the boiler room or somewhere else several times a day between classroom assignments, telling us to cease and desist for better health purposes.

We teenage kids found such “Don’t do as I do, but as I say” doctrines to be rather hypocritical at the very least, thus holding mighty little water.

Not only were we registering defiance to authority whose sincerity appeared highly questionable, but – and at last we’ve come back to our opening title – in our eyes, a cigarette dangling out of our mouth supposedly created a rough-hewn Humphrey Bogart image. In turn, our fellow-smoking girls considered themselves to appear as sexy hot-to-trot lasses while they puffed away.

Unfortunately, by the time we’d grown to realize that we didn’t actually look Bogartish or streetwalkerish, we’d become hooked on the habit, in most cases for too many years to come.

In this fellow’s particular case, the day finally did arrive around two decades later, when permanent cessation took place. Should any reader by interested, we’ll now render a brief description of what transpired.

The means employed more or less paralleled that which a drug addict knows as cold turkey, or a fully abrupt stop. Personally, we visualize no other suitable way.

Success was quite readily achieved, partially due to a pair of so-called blessings. The first was having a non-smoking wife who might have otherwise driven me crazy having to watch her carry on before my eyes. In addition, a close working “across the desk” every day colleague had chosen to quit himself a couple days before, and had become worried to death about having to associate with me. This proved to be a marvelous coincidence for both of us, without which the entire effort might have failed.

Punctuating the cold turkey approach with a page from the recovering alcoholic’s textbook, where the instructions are to take one day at a time, I looked forward to each occasion when a falloff would be apt to occur, in order to face the problem head on – after each meal or coffee break session, or whenever just having picked up the telephone, or upon starting an office conversation with someone, or watching an actor smoke on the TV screen, and so forth.

It worked. After two weeks following Day One, the ordeal was over. The desire had left completely, at least from the conscious mind standpoint.

However, the subconscious was yet another matter. Believe it or not, that element has never given up fully. The urge for a smoke still remains to a minor extent, but with the bodily effect greatly diminished over the long years in between. At the present time, we can estimate the lingering urge to have been reduced by roughly 99%.

The specific effects imposed on the body by the subconscious were as follows:
1. Initially, a frequent sense of numbness in all ten fingertips.
2. Then a spreading of the numbness as far up as each wrist.
3. Gradual progression of such feeling up to each elbow.
4. Waking up at least once every night during the wee hours, to find both fists tightly clenched, with both lower arm muscles extremely tense.

Stated quite simply, certain nerves and muscles were reflecting the need for a cigarette, as promulgated by the mind. How long this condition persisted isn’t recalled, but probably lasted several weeks.

Countless years later, an occasional dream occurs wherein a Lucky Strike is being held and puffed on, while this writer calmly proceeds to tell himself “I don’t smoke anymore”.

We’ve apparently arrived at a conclusion that “once hooked on tobacco, you may never succeed in scoring a 100% victory over it”. Although iron will prevailed at quitting time, and promptly achieved success in warding off the enemy, some degree of caution must always be exercised thereafter, so as not to find oneself slipping back, no matter how long the time span in between.

A while ago we watched a fairly prominent film and television actor telling Larry King about having licked the alcohol habit. One point he made remains well remembered. In order to emphasize the need to never stop being on the alert, he said “I’m four years away from my last drink, but arms length away from the next one”.

We find his words to have sound meaning, and have translated them into relative smoking habit terms by stating “I’m ump-tee-ump hears away from my last cigarette, but a single match stroke away from my next one”. We consider the potential backsliding problem that serious. The need to remain braced against sudden unexpected failure, thus reverting to supposedly forgotten bad days, appears mandatory. The subconscious is apt to play some mighty dirty tricks.

WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

2009-04-13T13:33:00.001-07:00

Our English language holds undisputed distinction today as the most flexible, not to mention dominant, means of both spoken and written expression. However, at a time as far back as this fellow can remember, it included certain terms which the public’s powers that be had classified as unsayable no-nos, due strictly to their nature. Teachers, parents, movie censors, radio program producers, news reporters, and even novelists to some extent were absolutely forbidden to utter any noun, verb, or adjective form that described an item or act from the following selective list:
· Human or lower animal waste, either in its solid or liquid state;
· The result of causing an unpleasant fecal smell due to expelling anal wind;
· Mammary glands;
· The final point in the alimentary canal;
· Animal copulation, natural or unnatural, along with the anatomical facilities required to so perform, all offering a rather elaborate set of choices to draw upon;
· The offspring of a female dog;
· A person born out of wedlock;
· Any means by which the Lord’s name is taken supposedly in vain, per the Commandments;
· The four-letter word for condemn, or its equivalent six-letter adjective;
· The alleged extremely hot area to which evil souls are relegated after death.

As best this writer can determine, the unspeakable word group of above reference is complete.

Well, despite the morally or religiously inspired rules so established, this chap has heard virtually thousands upon thousands of related flagrant violations over the long years. Moreover, he feels obliged to admit his own guilt in such respect on many occasions.

Until fairly recently, though, these “vulgar” words had to be uttered in dulcet tones, so that the parental, professorial, or similar gentry wouldn’t overhear, under penalty of severe corporal punishment. These adult groups, in turn, were required to keep their own use a deep secret, in order not to corrupt the minds of the junior generation.

The obvious question that arises at this point is why. What dire damage has ever been caused by employment of terms which are so frequently spoken or written by the great majority, not only in English, but other languages on a comparable basis? Oh, perhaps a number of fisticuffs-promoting insults have been conveyed by their use, but otherwise, we’d just like to know how much actual harm has been caused by them.

For example, how can you expect to uncorrupt a growing child’s psyche by preventing him or her from such rhetoric, when they’ve both been employing such vocabularies with and among friends since possibly age six or seven at least? We have no direct knowledge of any younger generation member’s soul having been blown asunder due to quoting from the forbidden list.

We’d like to cite two specific anecdotes which clearly deplore the sheer idiocy of these imposed no-noisms.

The first occurred when the writer had to appear in court for having put excessive pressure on the accelerator while driving along one day. Unfortunately, the judicial session wasn’t limited to minor traffic violations, making it initially necessary to sit around and listen to the various misdemeanor charges filed within the civic area.

It happened that a particular young (probably twenties) chap had become publicly angered a few evenings before, causing him to shout out a lengthy string of obscene expressions, thus shocking a great many neighbors and other listeners, resulting in his arrest. For heaven’s sake, came the writer’s private thought, what’s the sense of taking up valuable court time just because a guy had cussed violently – as previously mentioned, using words well known to virtually all human beings from lifelong experience? Whom had he really hurt by voicing such expletives?

Our second personal anecdote occurred while working in Africa with a large crew of fellow Americans. On one of our frequent group social events, a colleague who had managed to fall under the influence became engaged in an argument with a somewhat opinionated lady. At a point when she referred to her absent husband’s alleged capabilities (but whom nobody there liked), her “in his cups” opponent stated loudly, accompanied by a resounding table pound, that her chosen mate was a dumb (word meaning feces).

So, what was the outcome regarding our inebriated gentleman? The overseas project heads sent him back to his native Texas post-haste. Despite his proven value to the cause, he had to be promptly despatched for having offended a semi-caustic opposite sex member.

Beyond question, we’re firmly convinced that had the man yelled instead “Your husband is a stupid jerk!”, he’d have survived to continue with his important role in the project undertaking.

On the more pleasant side, however, our society has succeeded in some verbal liberalization within the past few decades. Movie-makers are now allowed to employ “the sky’s the limit” dialogue tactics. For a short while, TV presentations of such films enjoyed the same latitude. However, the bluenoses soon prevailed, and the boob tube shows now suffer many restrictions. Nevertheless, we can sit and hear television performers utter such words as screw, frigging, stinking, and freaking as substitutes for the most common and popular copulation term, which remains unusable, except on shows presented between midnight and the waking hours. Being angry has also become more adequately described as (we’ll clean this up too, for the innocents’ so-called benefit) “urined” off.

Anyway, even though the television industry permits naked couples to wrestle around under the blankets, and gangsters to wipe out innocent people with violent building explosions, the verbal expletives remain under relatively imbecilic control.

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO PROFESSIONALISM?

2009-04-13T13:28:00.000-07:00

When one abruptly returns to the national environment in which he grew up and matured after more than three decades of continuous residence abroad, with resultant deep exposure to several considerably different customs and cultures, repatriation can turn out to be rather shocking. At least, such has been the experience of this writer.

Working in far off lands for such an extended period on three separate continents tends to instill a very detached personal viewpoint, by which both favorable and unfavorable comparison factors may become readily apparent between the homeland as remembered and the one to which he or she is currently subjected. The number and relative position of good and evil elements depends upon the specific foreign location, its politics, its laws, its living conditions, and otherwise.

In any event, though, coming back to the nation once known and certainly never forgotten from earlier days is apt to prove somewhat shocking and even disappointing, as has been the case with this fellow.

Obviously, no reasonably intelligent individual will expect to find his country to be exactly as he’d left it long ago. Virtually everything in this universe is bound to change over time. The disturbing aspect exists when severe ethical deterioration becomes so highly noticeable in the United States, and perhaps Canada as well today.

The contempt we wish to register herein isn’t with the current federal government administration and its related legislative bodies, inept as they’ve both become, nor are we here to condemn the sinking economy. These adverse conditions are only temporary, as they always have been. However, where the morality in certain quarters has fallen to what clearly appears to be an irreversibly low state, we cannot avoid being extremely upset. The subject at hand deals with three once honorable professions, along with a particular industry which has chosen to increase its profitability by trying to mislead a gullible public to a degree we feel justified in calling legalized fraud.

Here, therefore, are the areas which have most astonishingly sacrificed their once long-established ethical principles for reasons that smack of nothing other than profit motivation:
1. The medical profession, accompanied by its close relative the health insurance industry;
2. The legal profession;
3. The accounting profession, despite an acquired past reputation for sheer objective honesty; and finally
4. The advertising industry, as especially noticeable by its tie-in to Nos. 1 and 2 above.

These four fields of endeavor have reached a downright morally corrupt state, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone these days. The problem, however, seems to be that the decadence has develop without being duly noticed, except perhaps to this recently returning longtime expatriate. The reasons for our disappointment and disgust are outlined below.

THE MEDICAL PROFESSION AND THE HEALTH INSURANCE INDUSTRY
Quite evidently, the days of the family doctor, dealing mainly on his own with every pain, ailment, or injury up to a certain severity level have disappeared. We can see valid reasons for such evolutionary movement from a presumably omniscient one-man show to a loose confederation of specialists, within which referrals are constantly made in the patients’ interests, in order that they might benefit from being served by a broadened expertise cross-section. Today’s general practitioner new tends to fulfill more of a quarterback role. Such practice is obviously sound, and has undoubtedly improved health and living conditions overall.

Moreover, laboratory and other testing has reached a degree of sophistication never before known to man. The merits of such expanded activity cannot be questioned. Hospitals and clinics are equipped with the very latest gadgetry by which immediate patient check results become easily measurable. Unfortunately, however, that is where the favorable aspects pertaining to modern-day medical practice reach an abrupt end.

The unholy three participant groups in the medical field are the doctors/hospitals, the pharmaceutical companies, and the health insurance carriers. Together they form an unofficial conspiracy to maximize the revenue and profitability of each other. This all falls under the doctrine of free enterprise, which need not be questioned in principle. Still, it isn’t what these commercially-minded folk are doing, but how they go about the exercise.

A person who requires hospitalization will hopefully receive the utmost in professional care throughout his or her stay. This will come from doctor and nurse attention to the full extent called for, supplemented by the most appropriate prescribed medication. Surgery and other treatment as found necessary will be performed by the most skilled practitioners available.

Then, of course, the bills – not just one all-inclusive bill – will begin to arrive. The result adds up to something of a patient nightmare.

The U.S. government has allegedly provided its citizenry with across-the-board coverage through Medicare for those beyond retirement age, supplemented by private company policies within pre-established limits. In turn, the younger set may obtain health care insurance through their employers or else on their own as appropriate. There is no such thing as complete protection, in contrast to British, Canadian, and certain other national practices. Consequently, a patient bears an obligation to pay at least a supposedly fitting share of the cost.
Unfortunately, the effects of this somewhat hodge-podge scheme include doctor and hospital fees which are not only exorbitant but opportunistic. With insurance companies carrying the lion’s share of the medical cost, little option exists other than to accept the referred charges. What difference does this make, anyway? Whenever facing a sufficient profitability crisis, the carriers need only increase their patient premium rates.

The situation seems to have reached a stage of near-absurdity, to a point where doctors and clinics tend to seize upon any occasion whatsoever to render bills for services rendered, regardless as to how casual they might appear to be. Such contact as a brief drop-in hospital room visit amounting to little more than asking a few symptom prevalence questions may bring on an added charge. With most of it coverable through insurance, why not follow this practice? On the other hand, what consideration remains for the patient lacking such protection, of whom a great many exist today?

Medical service providers certainly aren’t the sole villains. We dare not overlook the pharmaceutical companies, who do their best to justify inflated product pricing by claiming that constant painstaking and costly research forms an integral part of their business operations. What they prefer not to discuss is the amounts they spend each year on advertising and publicity, so as to promote their wares to the fullest possible extent. Furthermore, they must provide for potential damage suits, recalls, and other risk factors related to marketing an inadequately-tested drug, which can be nobody’s fault but their own.

THE LEGAL PROFESSION
This once highly honored field has also sunk to a grossly substandard ethical level. Its degradation wreaks far less impact on society than the medical, health care, and pharmaceutical leeches, since a smaller population range is affected by their less-than-duly-scrupulous current methods. Nevertheless, the present-day lawyer deserves plenty of contempt – which again, the average fellow on the street hasn’t seemed to notice in particular. Otherwise, the hue and cry for their denouncement should be much louder, just as in the case of the doctors, the hospitals, the insurers, and the drug producers.

Whereas accepted legal practices once called for discreet action, whereby case work was never to be directly solicited, with those identifiable as sheer ambulance-chasers held in public contempt, the door today stands wide open. On virtually the same basis as the medical field, opportunism has seemingly become paramount. Any situation under the sun upon which attorneys may seize the chance to file suit on behalf of a potentially greedy, albeit gullible, client. It takes very little these days to drum up grounds for a damage suit, no matter how outlandish the situation may sound. No matter who wins out in the end – the plaintiff or the defendant – the lawyers on both sides are the ones who really stand to gain, being entitled to their heavily-padded fees.

A joke told more than once by Senator Bob Dole during his 1996 presidential candidacy tends to sum up this entire farcical legal situation in a nutshell. There was an occasion when he happened to stumble and fall while descending some stairs. He claimed that before hitting the floor he’d received a call from his lawyer on a cellular phone, telling him “I think you’ve got a case”. Although he really made up this story for humorous purposes, it clearly fits today’s pattern.

THE ACCOUNTING PROFESSION
Whereas our medical and legal service practitioners have proven themselves primarily guilty of opportunism, neither group has flagrantly violated its professional oath. Our once sacred accountants – both those engaged as employees of commercial or industrial organizations and those serving the public as allegedly independent auditors have chosen to outright dishonesty. In the case of Enron among several others, our supposedly conservative, sleeve-gartered and green eye-shaded gentry openly falsified financial reports with the sole intent to increase the companies’ share market value, violating certain longstanding practice. For this, such profession is entitled to far greater contempt than the others cited herein. A decided difference exists between the breaking of traditionally-established ethical rules and pure dishonesty with deception the sole motive.

As an embodied group, accountants have never attained any degree of popularity, due to their once extremely conservative outlook and methods. Now, however, they have laid themselves opend for deprivation of whatever respect they had previously attained.

THE ADVERTISING INDUSTRY
In comparison to prior days, the commercials shown on television today are absolutely appalling. However, the fault for this frightful condition lies not with the advertising gentry, since they’re simply pursuing their goal of profit-generation, albeit by trying to mislead the more naïve viewers almost to, but being careful never to cross the fraud borderline.

The real responsibility again rests with two other groups that we’ve already identified for their villainy, namely the pharmaceutical companies and their lawyers.

We can’t honestly say that today’s TV commercials are phony or even misleading. Instead, our focus must be placed on those which extol the values of using any given drug product as providing added physical benefit to the users, either by curbing their acquired maladies, rendering men more virile or otherwise sexually capable, shedding excess poundage with no eating curtailment whatsoever, or ceasing to be reliant on tobacco. Any such claims give rise to immediate obvious questions, which are subject to explanation after simply punching out an 800 number.

The inquisitive viewer, of course, will receive a very carefully-tailored spiel, either personal or automatic, addressed toward convincing the person that he or she ought to act without hesitation to capitalize on this marvelous health-enhancing product after promptly shelling out the stated charges. No matter how encouraging and satisfying the telephone sales pitch may sound, the proof must still lie in the pudding, as the saying goes. Even though disappointment may be the end result, the user has already been hooked.

Still, that’s not the main issue. The potential user at least has a chance to evaluate what he or she sees on the screen or hears over the phone. More upsetting, though, are the supposed disclaimer statements, either written, spoken, or both, including:
· The fact that individual results may vary;
· Situations in which you shouldn’t use this drug;
· Advising you to ask your doctor first.

Here is where our friends the lawyers come into play. They have been paid handsomely to make sure the spoken or written wording, as well as the telephone spiels, will protect the company from any subsequent damage suits, whether the gullible customer heeds the warnings or not.

We can’t help but register basic concern with the text of these commercial announcements we see almost every day and evening. If a person fails to be sufficiently inquisitive – as many are – there may be a tendency to jump at an advertised product’s supposed merits, while not fully understanding just what the disclaimer words mean, and not bothering to seek a doctor’s advice before taking the plunge. Dangerous, perhaps even fatal, situations might well be forthcoming, with the pharmaceutical outfit in the clear as regards recrimination claims, thanks to their alert, highly paid attorneys.

Finally, we come to those convincingly stated assurances that you can go on eating a proverbial horse every day and lose weight at the same time, or else easily knock off a 20-year or so smoking habit. Personally, we refuse to accept anything other than careful diet control to trim down the waistline, and sheer will power to shake off the influence wrought by Joe Camel and his friends. On the other hand, if we ever should meet a successful user in either case, we’ll be more than happy to accept the ad text as authentic and acceptable. Meanwhile, we choose to remain skeptical.