I found this old newspaper. It was being used to fill the space between an antique beveled mirror and its wooden backing. You can imagine my surprise at not only its discovery, but the realization it was dated Tuesday, March 22, 1927. While only the Sports and Ad sections remained, the partial three cent publication offered a wonderful look back to an earlier time.
In historical context, 1927 was a prosperous year for most Americans. The U.S. population was just over 119 million, and the unemployment rate was 3.3%. The average household income was $2,400.00, of which a family got to keep around ninety-two cents of each dollar. There was no FICA, city or state income tax, as well as no sales tax. The Feds took 1%, but only after you hit $10,000.00 of income.
Only about 60% of American homes had electricity, and coal was still the primary fuel for heating and cooking. A new car cost $495.00, and a gallon of gas twelve cents. A loaf of bread was nine cents, a gallon of milk fifty-six cents, and a postage stamp two cents. Generally, it was an upbeat time in America that lasted until the stock market crash only two years later.
As I perused the brittle pages, I found some interesting ads in what remained of the old newspaper. The biggest and boldest were those for cigars and cigarettes. Seems you could buy twenty Old Gold cigarettes for fifteen cents, with the assurance there was “not a cough in a carload.” And you could chose Lord Salisbury, instead, if you wanted “the finest Turkish tobacco” available. Of course, there was always the Chesterfield brand that boasted, “They satisfy… and yet they are MILD.”
If something larger was your smoking choice, for five to fifteen cents apiece you could buy Ricoro Cigars which were described as, “Fresh, mild, and fragrant.” I guess, unless you’re a cigar lover, that seems to be a contradiction in terms.
There were also a lot of “health remedy” ads scattered here and there. For example, there was the amazing Musterole, a non-blistering alternative to mustard plaster. According to the ad, it gave prompt relief for almost every ailment known to man, including sore throat, bronchitis, tonsillitis, croup, stiff neck, asthma, neuralgia, headache, congestion, pleurisy, rheumatism, lumbago, back or joint aches, sprains, sore muscles, bruises, chilblains, frosted feet, and chest colds. Wow, talk about a forty cent ointment being “all things to all people.”
Another ad promised you could “end foot torture forever” if you bought Tiz for tired feet. According to the text, you’d have “Happy Feet In 3 Minutes” because Tiz “draws out the poisons and acids that cause foot misery.” I wonder if it worked on snake bites?
You could use Calonite Powder for facial blemishes. All you had to do was put it on a cloth and rub it over unsightly blackheads. Then, as clearly stated, “In a few minutes every blackhead, big or little, will be dissolved away entirely.” Sounds like it may have been good for unblocking clogged drains, as well.
Then there was Tartaroff at twenty-five cents a bottle, that “makes your teeth so instantly white and glistening that it seems almost a miracle.” Or Fresca Bath Salts and Body Powder whose ‘After the Bath’ powder “imparts to the personality an atmosphere distingue and aristocratic.” And if all this primping gave you a stomach ache, Coco Cod was available. It was billed as “the cod liver oil that tastes like chocolate.” Sounds like taste bribery to me.
Of course, if you wanted a live person to improve your looks, Mrs. Duncan could make you “Look Ten Years Younger.” She offered a permanent $12.00, non surgical treatment which she touted as “the original and only system for lifting sagging faces and old necks immediately without injury.” This, of course, was by appointment only, at her hotel. Interesting place for an office, I must say.
And finally, once you got looking and feeling good enough by using all these remedies, an ad invited you and the kids to the Wieboldt Stores to enjoy the personal appearance of Buster Brown and his talented dog Tige. An advertising gimmick, the Brown Shoe Company hired “little people” and trained dogs to tour the country as the mischievous cartoon character and his Pit Bull Terrier sidekick. They put on a free show at department stores, while promoting the Buster Brown brand of shoes for kids. Looks like the Billy Mays pitch genre started long before modern television.
Everything considered, the ads I found seemed almost primitive and naïve by today‘s standards. And whether their claims were true or not, they capitalized on a basic human “want,” to improve the quality and enjoyment of one’s life. Eighty-three years later, that same desire persists. So, if anyone knows where I can get some of that Musterole stuff, please let me know!
For those of you who don’t live in a border state, the issue of “illegal immigration” is probably just something you see on the evening news every now and then. But for those of us whose lives it impacts on a daily basis, it’s a serious matter that needs a solution sooner rather than later.
In my experience, then, if you need a practical fix to almost any problem, the most efficient way to find one is to ask a kid. Youngsters, when presented with a dilemma in terms they can understand, will almost always do a better job of figuring it out than their adult counterparts. That’s because their minds are uncluttered with prejudice and political bias, and their primary motive is simply to seek the easiest, quickest, and most practical solution possible.
President Obama, then, could benefit by having a couple dozen youngsters in his cadre of advisors. And one of the first issues about which he should consult them, is Immigration Policy. I’m sure, presented in the following visual way, it would be a snap for them to figure out, because that’s how kids understand things best.
Here’s how I’d frame the question: “What would be the first thing you kids would do if you found your room full of mosquitoes that had gotten in and were buzzing around because you left your doors and windows open?” I’d ask. “Would you chase them around and try to swat them? Would you search in every nook and cranny to find them hiding? Or might you just ignore them and pretend they weren’t there?”
Of course, you know what their answer would be. With an impatient look on their faces, they’d say mockingly, “Duh, before we’d do anything, we’d close the door and windows so no more could get in. Then we’d figure out what we needed to do, and do it.” Perfect logic, as usual. A simple but effective way to keep the problem from getting worse, while making plans to fix it.
My next question to the kids would be this: “OK, you’ve stopped any more mosquitoes from getting in. What would you do now with the ones that are already in your room?” Again, kids would find that easy to answer. “First we’d get rid of all the bad ones that tried to bite us, and swat them down so we could sweep them out the door,” they’d say. “And, if the other ones were really nice, and wanted to live in our room peacefully and by the rules, we’d probably let them stay until they acted up.” Wow, interestingly simple, if I must say so myself.
So in adult terms, then, here’s what the kids are suggesting to help the President begin solving the immigration problem:
1. Enforce all existing laws to secure the borders so that the flow of illegal immigrants is slowed, and finally stopped. Once success in doing that can be verified without political spin or skewed statistics, a chance to succeed becomes possible.
2. “Castrosize” the illegal population still left within our borders. Just as Fidel Castro emptied his prisons and mental institutions of criminals and social defectives in 1980, (and put them on boats to Florida, I might add), we should undertake a similar housecleaning. All undocumented convicted felons, gang members, sex offenders, and other criminals, then, should be systematically deported from our prisons to the countries from which they came.
3. Finally, once the previous steps have been undertaken successfully, begin to craft creative and equitable legislation to deal with the undocumented who remain. With cooperation from both sides of the isle, the options seem endless. They span the political spectrum from left to right… from “blanket amnesty,” to “creating a pathway to citizenship,” to the outright “deportation of anyone who’s left.”
So, there you have it. The kids have spoken, and while their solutions seem to be on the simplistic side, they definitely cut through the political bologna and get to the point.
And if asked for final comments, I think they would tell the President something like this: “Quit trying to do everything at once. Forget that grownup concept called the comprehensive approach. It doesn’t work, especially on big stuff like this. It just becomes an excuse to put things off or do nothing, and always creates a complicated solution that’s unworkable when applied. So move ahead in smaller but serious steps that work. After all, this mosquito issue has been bugging you grownups for far too long.”
Yesterday I received an e-mail from my buddy in New York. It was about a teacher who creatively involved his students in a real world experiment to test the long-term effects of the extremely liberal social agenda being championed by the current administration.
While I have no way of determining whether it’s an accurate account of an actual classroom occurrence, I’m recounting it here for two reasons. First of all, there are many great teachers out there that every day approach their craft with all the effectiveness and creativity shown by this e-mail educator. They, however, are routinely obscured by the bad press generated by those for whom education is a political football, and not a child-centered mission. So, hats off to good teachers! We need you now more than ever!
I also thought this e-mail points out an issue that many individuals in this nation have either forgotten, or chosen to personally overlook. Contrary to John F. Kennedy’s famous line about “not asking what your country can do for you,” too many have turned to Washington D.C. as the guarantor of their basic needs and overall stability in life. As such, they openly exhibit an aggressive attitude of entitlement which they consider is synonymous with being an American.
So I pass this e-mail on for your consideration. Whether it’s an account of superior teaching strategy in a real setting, or simply a creative political tract written to make some writer’s point about the dangers inherent in trying to engineer social equality, you be the judge. Either way, it’s excellent food for thought.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
To: Paisano
Subject: An Effective Lesson From The Classroom
An economics professor at a local college made a statement that he had never failed a student before, but had recently failed an entire class.
That class had insisted that President Obama’s social/political agenda would work, and that as a result no one would end up being poor, and no one would become excessively rich… a great equalizer.
The professor then said, “OK, we’ll have an class experiment to test the Obama plan. All grades will be averaged, and everyone will receive the same grade so no one will fail, and no one will receive an “A.”
After the first test, the grades were averaged and everybody got a “B.” The students who had studied hard were upset, and the students who had studied little were happy.
As the second test rolled around, the students who had studied little, studied even less. And the ones who had studied hard decided they wanted a free ride, too, so they studied less. The second test average was a “D.” Of course, no one was happy.
When the third test rolled around, the class average was an “F.” And as the tests proceeded, the scores never increased as bickering, blame, and name-calling resulted in hard feelings. And nobody would study for the benefit of anyone else.
In the end, everyone failed!!! To their great surprise, the professor told them that like their testing, such social manipulation would also ultimately fail because when the reward is great, the effort to succeed is great. But when the government takes all the reward away, few will try or work hard to succeed.
Could any lesson be simpler than that?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
All week long the History Channel has been broadcasting programs dealing with the devastating airplane attacks on the United States nine years ago today. Viewing the tragedy from many perspectives, one show focused on the many Americans who still believe that the whole incident was a sinister conspiracy pulled off by George Bush and our own government, rather than by Al-Qaeda hijackers under the leadership of Osama bin Laden.
The program, “9/11 Conspiracies: Fact/Fiction,” approached the subject by presenting specific allegations by groups such as the “9/11 Truth Movement,” and putting them to the test using research done my Popular Mechanics Magazine with over seventy consulting experts in every field of disaster forensics. In the course of an hour, then, each main conspiratorial charge was explored and answered using real world scientific and engineering measurements. And on each point, the allegations of the conspiracy theorists were disproved, that is, when rigorous academic scrutiny replaced suspicion and raw emotion.
Conspiracy theory is nothing new in America. I know that first hand having spent many hours of my young adulthood reading books like Mark Lane’s, “Rush To Judgment,” that denounced the Warren Commission’s Report on President Kennedy’s assassination as a blatant cover-up. And while I agreed with that conclusion at the time, I took it even one step farther by leaning towards the “Mafia hit” theory of the tragedy. That I based on my personal knowledge of their documented reliability in such matters.
Suspicion about historical events, then, seems to be in our blood. Whether it’s Roosevelt knowing about the pending attack on Pearl Harbor but letting it happen anyway, or the Apollo Moon Landing being faked and filmed on a Hollywood sound stage, nothing seems to go unquestioned. Even during Katrina, there were allegations that the government blew up the levies to direct flood waters toward poor black neighborhoods in order to save the homes of affluent whites in others.
Did I learn anything new from this 9/11 documentary, then? Other than regenerating the horrors of that day in my mind, not too much. But it did make me realize that I might have more in common with conspiracy theorists than I thought. Like them, I have a deep distrust of the degree to which our government really cares about its citizens. And like them, I’m convinced our ruling class would lie to us in a second if it felt an untruth would benefit its position on any given issue.
Similarly, I believe that those in power will always favor secrecy over transparency if it means unfettered expansion of their power over the people. And I‘m convinced they employ a cadre of underlings who are paid handsomely to come up with self-serving schemes of all types. Unlike the "truthers," however, I just don’t believe these government stooges are smart enough to pull off anything beyond the rudimentary, or to keep their mouths shut about it if they do.
So everything said, do I believe the World Trade Towers were brought down by a controlled demolition carried out by secret government agents? Absolutely not. Do I believe an uncontrolled government is demolishing our democratic traditions and quality of life? Absolutely YES. Considering that, other than our disagreement about what actually happened on 9/11, I guess the conspiracy crowd and myself aren’t really so different after all.
If you're a regular reader, you probably realize by now that I try to live the motto, “Just keep things simple, stable, sensible but satisfying.” So were there such a thing as a “Life EKG,” my sinus rhythms might well resemble a leisurely drive in the slower lanes of a flat, straight freeway… with a few rolling hills here and there, and great rest stops at every few exits.
That considered, I’ve always been convinced that the things I do during the course of an average day, seldom rise to the level of importance, uniqueness, or edification of the species to merit unsolicited blabbery. Red phone events they’re not, and thinking it’s necessary to drop everything the minute they happen just to share the details with others (who may not even be interested), seems more than a little narcissistic.
Of course, this attitude seems archaic to those who socially network. That includes some of my family and friends, who have lovingly urged me to get off my knuckles and begin walking upright. It's been tough, but with the exception of this Blog, I have resisted putting myself out there either socially or anti-socially. Perhaps it’s because I secretly fear criminal prosecution for boring someone to death with a minute-by-minute account of my life.
To me, it seems rather perverse that a human being so able to verbally articulate his thoughts and actions, would descend to the level of a feathered creature and begin “tweeting” to those around him about what‘s happening in his particular treetop. And even if such news chirps weren't annoying to most, who really gives a damn that the smell of pine is especially pungent in the treetops today, or that some pesky squirrel is shooting me dirty looks from behind a clump of leaves?
My point is simple. It would be an absolute waste of everyone’s time if I decided to regularly share the details of my daily existence. And to prove just that, here is what my “tweet log” might have resembled for a small portion of today, that is, if I had opened my electronic beak and twittered: - Just got another irritating solicitation phone call. Made me lose count while I was rolling pennies.- The clicker of my pen fell off when I was writing down the phone number to lodge a complaint.- Can’t find the clicker. Think it fell under the refrigerator.- Man, there’s a lot of crap under this refrig. Who would have thought?- Found the clicker, but spent forty-five minutes cleaning under there. Hate these unscheduled jobs.- Trying to figure out why the clicker fell off. Probably a cheap Chinese import!- Gluing the clicker back on. Had to borrow glue from the neighbor because mine was dried up in the bottle.- Think it’s going to work fine. A few more minutes and I can try it out.- Crap! I guess some glue got in the hole. Now the clicker won’t click.- Pried the clicker back off. The ink cartridge spring popped out when I did.- Think the spring went under the refrigerator. At least this time I won’t have to clean under there.- Found the spring. Think it stretched because now it’s too long for the pen.- Bent the spring back to it’s original size. Put it in and replaced the top.- Must have weakened the spring. The pen point won’t stay exposed.- Filled the entire pen tube with glue. Waiting for it to dry.- Glue is dry and I’m going to test the pen. Doesn’t click anymore, but the point sticks out fine.- Damn thing won’t write. Been trying to scribble circles on this pad for about ten minutes. Guess the ink cartridge dried up like my glue.- Just got another unsolicited phone call. Told him off, but found out I was talking to a recording.- Going to call and complain, anyway. Don’t like being interrupted when I’m fixing stuff.- Looking for a pencil to write down the phone number. Think I’ll check underneath the refrigerator.
I remember a time in my life when it was not only therapeutic to have a political discussion with someone who had a conflicting point of view on an issue, but intellectually stimulating, as well. And when the verbal exchange was over, no matter how heated the discourse had become, we always seemed to depart as friends, simply agreeing to disagree.
I think today, it would be rare to witness such a scenario being duplicated. For it seems that people are so polarized on issues, especially political, that their ability to discuss them objectively is no longer possible. And almost immediately, rather that “making a point, then listening to a counterpoint,” the whole thing degenerates into unproductive name calling and finger pointing.
This new type of “non discussion,” then, is very sad. And even sadder, is the fact that its net result is to separate people’s positions even farther, and generate bad feelings and an unwillingness to mutually solve existing problems. What’s more, the strategy has become a convenient tool to simply silence the opposition, that is, when one side runs out of strong points to offer on behalf of their particular views.
Examples of this are rampant on a daily basis. For example, if you criticize President Obama, you’re a racist. If you want a closed border policy, it’s because you hate Mexicans. If you think there should be cuts in government programs in a bad economy, you actually despise teachers and kids, want the handicapped to die, and are determined to let criminals take over the streets.
If you want to use incandescent light bulbs or drive a SUV, you’re a murderer of the planet. If you think the water shortage could be solved by legislating for humans instead of Delta Smelt, you’re an anti-Green, anti-environmentalist monster who wants a whole race of sardine-sized fish to become extinct.
If you shop at WalMart, you want to destroy Mom and Pop businesses in your own neighborhood. If you question the “man-made” part of Global Warming, you’re a dumb anti-intellectual with no respect for Science. And if you think the Pledge of Allegiance should still be said in our schools, you have to be a nutty, ultra right wing, reactionary Conservative Christian.
If you think taxes are way too high, you’re an unappreciative citizen who doesn’t want to pay his fair share. If you think people should work for and earn what they get, instead of sponging off those of us who do, you loathe the poor and want to rob them of their basic human rights. And finally, if you criticize your government for just about anything, you’re a downright reactionary who should move to another country where they won’t let you say anything at all.
So this is the sad state of discourse in America, today. And the once revered tool of discussion and compromise used by the Founding Fathers to hammer out our Declaration of Independence and United States Constitution, has all but died. And the ominous sound you hear these days isn’t just personal discord. It’s the beginning death rattles of a country that has somehow seemed to lose its way.
This is a picture of the new Robert F. Kennedy Community Schools complex that will open in Los Angeles next month. Built on the site of the former Ambassador Hotel where Senator Kennedy was assassinated in 1968, it is a 578 million dollar K-12 project which when done, will drip with opulence on a scale rarely seen in an educational setting.
The school will feature things like fine arts murals, talking benches, and a massive, ornate Cocoanut Grove auditorium. It will have underground parking, a state-of-the-art swimming pool, and a faculty lounge superior to many fine restaurants. It will also include portions of the original Ambassador Hotel for historic purposes, and a marble mural to commemorate the late Senator Kennedy.
At the price tag mentioned, this school is now the most expensive ever built in the United States. And when you divide that into a per student average, it may turn out to cost a cool quarter million dollars for each child who will attend. Now, we’re talking about the building, here. The cost beyond that to staff and maintain the school, has not yet been publicly announced.
Obviously, in this terrible economy many people are justifiably upset at such an astounding expenditure of taxpayer money. Compounding that, this school is being built in a district that presently suffers a 640 million dollar operating deficit. Not only has it laid off over 3,000 classroom teachers in the last two years, it has had to cut many of its educational programs, and reduced the total number of days that kids are in school, as well.
Not coincidentally, LAUSD also stands out as one of the lowest performing school districts in the United States. With a student dropout rate of thirty-five percent or better, how less impressive could its credentials be?
The furor over this educational “Taj Mahal,” however, has lost much of its steam because of how the school district got the money to build it in the first place. Not part of its regular budget, the funding came from voter-approved bonds passed to the tune of twenty billion dollars. Yes indeed! Gullible Los Angeles voters once again came to the rescue of a failing school system when it begged for funds to build new schools. And once again, they got some bureaucrat’s vision of reality.
Here’s the point. The more money you vote the government or any of it’s agencies, the more outlandish they will be in spending it. Bureaucrats are not in the business of building strong public entities that benefit people and strengthen society. They’re in the business of building monuments to themselves. To them, it’s never about efficacy, it’s all about legacy.
In the past, then, I have not been a friend of bond issues. So the chance I will ever vote to pass one in the future, (whether it’s for mothers, American flags, or apple pie), seems remote. Of course, that might change if a bond comes along that solves peoples’ issues with ingenuity, fearlessness, and permanence . When James Bond runs for something, then, he gets my vote!
In just a few days, a new school year will begin. For parents of young children, it’s often the moment of “emancipation” for which they’ve been waiting for a number of months. For kids, it’s always a time of new beginnings that makes their stomachs tingle with excitement one moment, and ache with uncertainty the next.
Most parents want their child’s learning experience to be a positive one. But because the school day happens outside their immediate sphere of influence, it’s not always easy to insure this will happen. So as new school year begins, it is important to quickly establish a working relationship with your child’s teacher. Doing so from day one, will greatly improve the chances of educational success during the rest of the year.
Here, then, are some simple suggestions that can help make the first week of school, a smooth but effective transition for both you and your child:
- Take your child to the school campus as soon as class lists are posted. Act excited about who his or her new teacher will be, even if they’re not your first choice.
- If the campus is open, walk to the classroom that day so its location will be familiar to your child on the first day of school.
- Attend any initial school meetings that are offered. Some campuses hold a “Meet Your Teacher Day,” for orientation purposes, and almost all conduct a “Back-to-School Night" the week school begins.
- If it’s an adult meeting, leave your child at home. That helps eliminate distractions, and makes the information seeking process easier.
- Read and save all handouts given you at those first meetings. Ask GENERAL questions if your unsure about policy or procedure. Save questions based on your child‘s specific needs, for either after the meeting, or at a conference scheduled for another day.
- Introduce yourself to the teacher, being sure to tell him your child’s complete name, especially if last names are different. Be pleasant and positive. Convey that you’re looking forward to a great school year.
- Be sure the teacher has received an Emergency Card which includes your contact information. Also find out the best times to call him should the need arise.
- If your schedule allows, sign up to volunteer in your child‘s classroom. There is nothing more interesting (and often instructional) than seeing your child interact with his teacher and classmates in a live setting.
- After returning from any meeting, reiterate to your child that what you saw and heard there convinces you this is going to be one of the best school years ever.
THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
- When you take young children to school on the first day, there may be “separation anxiety” after a long summer at home with you. So, assure them you’ll be back to pick them up when school is over, give them a hug or kiss good-bye, then TURN AROUND AND LEAVE WITHOUT HESITATION. If a few tears occur, they’ll be nothing like those generated if you hang around and try to talk your way out gracefully. Please know this… children almost always settle down once they’re in the classroom with their peers, and their parent “crutches” are gone.
- Be aware that brand new clothes, (especially shoes that have never been worn), are often quite uncomfortable. Try to dress kids in something weather appropriate, that they’ve “broken in” prior to the first day of school.
- Do NOT send young kids to school with fancy school supplies on the first day. Things like pencils with bobble-head erasers, and binders with secret pockets full of stuff they’ll rarely use, almost always become a problem rather than an asset. Your child does not need any such distraction the first week or so of school, so keep the supplies simple, if you buy any at all.
That’s it for now. Here’s wishing you and your youngster, a WONDERFUL AND SUCCESSFUL SCHOOL YEAR!
This past Monday marked the thirty-third anniversary of the death of rock-and-roll legend, Elvis Aaron Presley. Thousands of hardcore fans paid tribute to the singer at not only his home in Graceland, but around the world, as well.
A variety of emotions were evident in the huge crowds that stood in the hot sun to show their respects. And it was clear by the fact they were there, that for a vast number of people, Elvis is still an important and enduring part of their lives.
Many of those present seemed too young to have even seen Elvis when he was alive. Why, then, did they feel such a strong kinship with the deceased rock-and-roll legend? After all, I had personally watched him from the start of his career, and considered him one of my teenage idols. Yet, for whatever reason, I felt none of the emotion being displayed by his current fans, either young or old.
Elvis began his public career when I was in Junior High School. And like most young boys at the time, I thought he was just about the coolest dude on the planet. There was something downright seductive about his slicked back hair, long sideburns, with a forehead curl in the front, and a rebellious ducktail (D.A.) in the back. I mean, he made a statement to guys my age either coming or going.
And what he wore compounded our loyalty. He always looked so non-conformist dressed in that black leather jacket, tight blue jeans, and engineer boots. And when adults said he looked like a street hoodlum, we simply loved it. And their comment propelled him to instant sainthood in our minds.
Then, in 1956, when columnist and T.V. host Ed Sullivan had his cameramen shoot Elvis from the waist up while he was dancing during, “Hound Dog,” whatever was going on “out of frame” fanned the fires of our fertile imaginations. We could only mourn being visually cheated of those “wicked movements” the camera angle had censored.
Even the titles of his songs had a ring of juvenile disdain about them, and they never failed to energize us. “Heartbreak Hotel,” “Don’t Be Cruel,” and “Hound Dog,” all resonated in our heads with lyrics that seemed so counter culture at the time. And though we didn’t quite understand they were mostly descriptions of love and romance gone bad, they almost seemed an anthem to the systematic persecution of youth… at least in our minds.
When Elvis was drafted into the Army in 1958, I was a High School Junior. It was at that point his brightness as an icon began to fade for me. I still listened to his music, of course, but his new soldier image no longer meshed with that of the exciting rock-and-roll idol who made adults angry. Now he was an adult, himself, and serving his country as grownup males did when the draft was still in force.
And by the time Elvis was discharged, I had graduated and enlisted in the Army myself. From that point on, he became just a familiar voice on the radio as his songs were played overseas where I was stationed. Our connection across the miles, then, was simply musical. No more caring about how he dressed or styled his hair, or how the girls screamed as he thrust his pelvis during a rock-and-roll performance. No more caring that he was in now in movies, and that Hollywood had dyed his hair black and shortened his sideburns. In the bigger scheme of my life, it no longer seemed to matter.
As always seems to happen, then, the process of living tends to sort things out for a person. And in the end, I guess that when Elvis grew up, so did I. While I did come to respect him as a musician and performer many years later, I no longer thought of him unless I happened to hear his music being played. And then, for the briefest of moments, it brought me back to that special time when being a teenager was an exciting adventure on an alien planet. And Elvis Presley made me feel I belonged.
.JPG)
Young children are probably the most underrated group of humans on the planet. And most adults are famous for thinking we’re “higher functioning” than them, just because we’re older, more experienced, and of course, taller (at least in most cases). We also get that impression because kids usually do what we tell them to, and someone who defers to grownups seems basically, a lesser being.
During my years of teaching, the one thing I learned is that children should not be underestimated regarding what they can accomplish, what they can intellectually handle, and especially how creatively they can think. And it’s when adults get smug and start thinking we’re superior in those categories, that’s when kids jolt us back into reality by showing us how wrong we are.
A great example of this comes from back-in-the-day when I taught Kindergarten for the first time. There they were, thirty little people sitting on the rug in front of me, listening with eager intensity as I taught a simple lesson from the Science curriculum. Of course, looking back now, that rapt focus should have been a tip-off that something was about to go wrong.
The lesson’s simple “objective” was to teach this concept: “Every species of animal has babies of like kind.” So for fifteen minutes I taught my novice heart out, showing them pictures and giving numerous examples to prove the validity of the concept I was sharing. And they seemed to be “buying” my pitch! For a young teacher… that was good.
Towards the end of the lesson, I started asking evaluation questions like, “Now, what would a mommy and daddy squirrel have?” And predictably the sweet little scholars would answer, in unison, “Baby squirrels.” And then I’d inquire, “What kind of babies would a hippopotamus family have?” Of course they chimed, “A baby hippopotamus.” I was relieved… my lesson was a success!
Of course, at this point, I was fully ready to enshrine myself in the “New Teacher’s Hall of Fame” for doing such a fantastic job. But, for ego purposes, I just had to have one more shred of evidence that my superior performance was absolutely airtight.
So I smugly asked this last, completely unnecessary and gratuitous question: “Before we‘re done, can anyone think of an animal that doesn’t have a baby that’s just like itself?” Of course, there were a lot of shrugs accompanied by almost uniform responses of “No,” and “Uh Uh.” I smiled, and nodded my head in silent agreement at the consensus being displayed. It had been the perfect lesson, and now it was over.
But before I could pat myself on the back, a small hand slowly rose to signal there was yet another response. It was attached to the arm of a little girl I knew to be very bright, and unique for her divergent style of thinking. I acknowledged her hand signal and waited for a response, never thinking I was about to be bushwhacked.
“Teacher,” she said, “I know an animal that can have a baby that’s not the same as it is,” she said with confidence. Thinking I was going to have to let her down lightly, I said politely, “Really? Well tell us, then, what kind of animal could do such a thing?” The tiny scholar looked me straight in the eye, and without hesitation announced for everyone to hear, “A mommy dog can have a worm.”
I was doomed. Immediately the room was filled with nodding heads and hushed affirmations such as, “Yeah, it can,” and, “She’s right, my doggy had worms once.” At that point, the only other thing I could hear was the gurgling of my “perfect lesson” as it dribbled down the drain.
Alas, my hopes of making it into the “New Teacher’s Hall of Fame” before lunchtime, were dashed. But, though disappointed, I slowly came to realize that actual learning had taken place that morning, at least for me. For never again did I underestimate the power of a child to think something through, and give an answer that not only makes perfect sense to them, but makes an adult feel childish at the same time.
I have a teacher friend who writes the most beautiful religious music for the church in which she worships. She also has a beautiful singing voice, so she performs and records many of her own compositions for the congregation, as well.
At school, one day, we got talking about the creative process involved in composing music. She happened to ask if I had ever written any, so I told her I had, but that most of it was simple stuff for my students to sing at school. Besides that, my notation skills were pretty weak, so very few of my compositions had ever been permanently committed to staff paper.
Anyway, as would happen, my impulsive nature (especially creatively), prompted me to go home and begin the difficult task of writing a song. I decided it should be one that I could not only play for her, but one that she could sing if she liked. And it needed to have not only a pleasant melody, but words which reflected things I knew were important to her. One, of course, was her strong religious faith, and the other was her love of teaching children.
So I began my work. But as time went by, a strange thing began to happen. With each new day, I found myself writing lyrics which seemed less and less meant for someone else, and more and more meant for me. And ultimately, those words became a silent prayer which not only reflected how I viewed my role as a teacher of children, but clearly defined my daily responsibilities to each young person I served.
Below are the lyrics of that song. While a personal expression of the daily help I sought in the classroom, the words may have relevance for anyone who works with youngsters. Beyond that, they might hold special meaning for those of you who are loving parents, especially of young children.
A Teacher’s Prayer
Oh Lord, these words I pray,
Help me touch one child’s heart today,
May I reach out with love, Your gift from above,
As a potter with precious clay.
May I nurture each child I teach,
Using words that encourage, not preach,
And when patience runs thin, may I call from within,
Your peace, the most restless can reach.
Let me know when to listen, not talk,
Through example to lead, walk the walk,
Serve each day ‘til its end, as a mentor and friend,
With my heart sensitized, to see You in kids’ eyes,
This I ask, I pray.
Dear Lord, I thank You for this trust,
May I joyfully do Thy work.
© 9-20-05
I didn’t want to write about politics in this post, because besides eating tainted oysters, it’s the only other subject that makes me sick to my stomach on a regular basis. But with the quick passage of HR 1586, I simply had no choice. I’m so mad right now that I’m fogging up a twenty-two inch computer monitor from two feet away.
This bill is informally being called, “The Education Jobs and Medicaid Assistance Act. I say “informally,” because they rushed it through so quickly that they actually didn’t give the bill a title. Costing a total of 26.1 billion dollars, 10 billion of that is earmarked for grants to school districts to save what is purported to be over 300,000 teacher jobs.
“What a righteous cause,” you might say. “As a former teacher, you must be thrilled that the government has finally done something right.” Well, forgive me fellow teachers, and all you pro-education zealots out there. I’m not the least bit thrilled, and our demented politicians have gotten it wrong yet again!
In short, this government is out of control when it comes to spending. And that refers to spending on “good” things, as well as “bad.” We are at a point in our history that each new dollar expended will have to be accounted for and paid back by the very children who were gratuitously posed around Speaker Pelosi in her photo op signing ceremony. How sad is that for them?
Of course, the majority party would argue that the money is coming not from us, but from new taxes on those “greedy” corporations who earn overseas income. Pelosi’s even gone so far as to say this bill “reduces the national deficit by 1.4 billion dollars.” Right, and I’ll be playing center for the L.A. Lakers next season.
Face it, Folks, Washington doesn’t gave a hoot about your kids and their education. It’s reality is that teachers are one of the largest and most reliable voting blocks the majority party has in its ranks. I should know, because I’m still a registered Democrat. And the other constituents who will benefit from the remaining 16 billion dollars of the bill, are poor Americans who mostly vote like teachers, that is, if they vote at all.
So why select teachers as the “cause celebre” for saving jobs in this disastrous economy? Are they “better” than clerks, office and factory workers, or people in the service industries? Is it because they’re better educated and more important to the health of our society? I don’t think so. And when you consider the implications of tenure, they actually begin with better job security than most.
No matter how you slice it, then, the political motivation for HR 1586 is clear. If you take care of teachers, they’ll take care of you at election time. And all the while, you can save face as you slip them the bribe, because, of course, it’s really “for the children.”
With November soon upon us, this week’s legislation is a partisan wolf masquerading as an honorable philanthropic gift to lambs. But anyone with basic common sense and the willingness to look forward honestly, certainly realizes one immutable point. Once they’re fattened up by the farmer, sweet little lambs become lamb chops!
The other day I ran across this interesting picture while surfing the net for visual content. While its creator was using it to make a humorous statement about the crap that comes out of Government Agencies and major Media Networks, I thought it might serve a more practical purpose here. So, for the next few hundred words, I’m going to consider it a symbolic way to dispose of some of the most irritating, nonpolitical subjects that have been bugging me lately.
Of course, if I listed everything that chafes my derriere on a daily basis, I’d need to definitely replace the symbolic bag, with a symbolic dumpster. But for now, I’ve randomly picked only three of the smaller irritants I'd like to see go. The rest can wait for another time.
First to be tossed, is the fact I have to pay the same price for a pair of pants as a guy who shops for clothes in the “Big and Tall Man‘s” section. I mean, give me a break. You could make two pair of my sized pants, out of the cloth it takes to make just one of his. Why, then, am I paying 100% more? Because I can’t afford to get arrested walking around naked from the waist down, that’s why.
And another thing. I can’t even buy pants “off the rack” like he can, that fit me without a need for additional shortening. So there goes another few inches of cloth into the trash, which adds gross insult to financial injury. You know? I think there might be a successful A.C.L.U. discrimination lawsuit here.
The second thing into the BS bag, are those paper-thin plastic bottles that drinking water comes in these days. Some environmentally conscious bureaucrat decided it would be more “green” to make them as thin as humanly possible. After all, it takes a plastic bottle one hundred years to biodegrade, so a thinner version may reduce that time to who knows … maybe ninety years?
But a thinner bottle means that when you open one, too much hand pressure makes the water shoot up your nose like a geyser. I mean, it’s like a bidet for your face. So, if time in the landfill is what prompted thinning the latest version of our plastic bottles, I’d suggest they start selling drinking water in tin cans. At least they don’t crush under hand pressure, and take only fifty years to biodegrade.
Third, and last for today, is the high tech, high altitude spying that’s going on in the skies over my neighborhood. I mean, is there no such thing as privacy anymore? Isn’t it unAmerican for a person not to be able to garden in the nude within the walled confines of his own yard, that is, without someone spying on him from a couple thousand feet?
I know why my city subscribes to satellite surveillance services. They want to stay on top of things like whether I’m raising mosquitoes in my swimming pool, or adding structures to my property without taking out a city permit. Besides that, they also want visual reassurance that those tomato bushes I've planted along the backyard wall, are not really marijuana plants in drag. I mean, the next thing they’ll want to know is if I’m smoking my oregano plants.
In the end, then, I think surveillance from the air must, in some way, tromp on the “search” provisions of the Fourth Amendment. I mean, if a two thousand foot tall officer can’t search you home without probable cause, why should a two thousand foot high satellite get away with it?
This picture is one of the dirtiest, most pornographic images I’ve ever seen. And it couldn’t be worse, were all three people in the photo standing there completely nude, while clapping and writhing to the passionate beat of Ravel’s, “Bolero.”
The man at the podium is foreign President, Felipe Calderone. He runs the Federal Republic of Mexico just south of our border. As a world leader, his resume is lackluster, at best. During his tenure, he’s accomplished almost nothing to significantly improve the lives of millions of impoverished Mexican citizens who, on his watch, continue to languish in quiet desperation.
His leadership is questionable as he presides over a regime that wreaks with fraud and abuse, and suffers from rampant corruption throughout its ranks. Besides that, his government lacks a social conscience about the plight of its poor, and is more willing to let them flee north to seek a better life, than to apply strong domestic leadership to keep them safe and satisfied in Mexico.
The record also shows that his nation is awash in violence that has overwhelmed not only his law enforcement community, but spilled over into this country, as well. And the sad statistics show there were almost 23,000 deaths in that country during the last three years, most the result of open warfare on Mexican streets by dangerous drug thugs.
So you see, Calderone “runs” lots of things, but none of them well. And, when he needs a break from all that hard “work,” he has the nerve to come to this country to lobby and blatantly run something else… his self-serving mouth. And the issue he’s blabbing about, mainly American immigration policy, is frankly none of his business.
To me, the most grotesque part of this whole charade, is not that he has the “cojones” to come here in the first place. After all, as Forrest Gump said, “Stupid is as stupid does.” My gripe is that American politicians invited him to address the U. S. Congress, then gave him many standing ovations as he did. They also allowed him to publicly bash not only our sovereign immigration laws, but kindred states like Arizona who are trying to enforce them because the Feds won‘t.
So how does a two-bit, foreign politician who has done nothing of substance to improve his country, get to stand behind the most prestigious podium in the world and preach to Americans about how to improve theirs? Simply put, through the direct efforts of the Washington pornographers in charge at the moment.
And what results when this happens, is not only what I call “political smut.” It becomes downright unadulterated horse manure, especially to those of us who don’t like being force fed non-solutions, by the very foreigners most responsible for the problem in the first place.
I mean, look at the photo. Nancy Pelosi is having an orgasm as she basks in the presence of someone she considers so “bright, famous, and politically macho.” And Vice President Biden’s expression tacitly endorses the whole spectacle, with a silent, “Right on, Brother Calderone! Tell it like it is, Hombre! Americans need to hear the truth from someone else besides our administration.”
And Calderone, with hand over heart… is of course saying, “Thank you, Dear Colleagues… I’m so honored to be invited here to offer advice on how to fix your country … and to be able to talk down to you and the American people as I would a child.”
As pornography goes, then, this travesty in the Congress ranks right up there with the worst anyone could find on the internet. And, when a country’s collective blood pressure hardly rises as its political leaders “rent” a foreign fox to lobby for plans to leave the hen house doors open, it’s a sign of the times.
Yes, the picture is not only perverted, but disgraceful. So, shame on you, Washington, D.C. Bringing in a Third World mercenary to share policy blueprints to make this country more like his, is a new low even for you. And I think it demands nothing less than an official apology… that is, to every honest, hard working American pornographer whose reputation your actions have sullied.
Every once and awhile I get e-mails from unknown “friends” whose English spelling suggests their IP address might be an undisclosed bunker somewhere in Osama bin Ladin’s part of the world. I’m not sure how anyone from there might actually get my contact information in the first place, but chalk it up to either the wonders of modern technology, or al-Qaeda’s uncanny ability to steal absolutely useless information here in the U.S.
The author always greets me so cheerfully, just like we’d shared a cup of coffee the night before in a mutual cave. And the message, though often grammatically incorrect, strives mainly to convince me that his only purpose for writing is to help me improve various aspects of my life that are lacking, especially two areas.
The first of these is education. This e-mail always seems to begin the following way: “In today’s world, sad to say, it’s simply no longer good enough to just excel at what you do.” Of course, this always starts me thinking. You mean my outstanding ability to putter around the house, water my strawberries, chat with the guy across the street, and write occasional Blog posts are no longer good enough? Yikes! How depressing!!
The e-mail goes on to suggest that getting a university diploma will absolutely change my life, and open new doors for exciting personal advancement, no matter what knob I choose to turn. And, of course, my far-off “friend” is more than willing to supply me with such a customized diploma from the “university of my choice,” and for a very reasonable fee.
What’s best, he unequivocally claims I can qualify without actually taking coursework. It seems, these days, colleges are more than glad to give what’s called, “Recognition of Prior Learning” credits to someone like me who possesses such profound life knowledge and experience. Of course, there is a process to assess all this, but I’d have to dial the listed phone numbers to find out what.
Now, this education offer always brings two questions to mind. First, how much more wonderful could my life be if I added one of their diplomas, to the half dozen I already have lying around the house? And secondly, why the heck didn’t they make me this offer before I spent eighteen tough years in school, slaving to earn the ones I already have?
Honestly, I have considered taking advantage of this intriguing offer, at least someday. My other degrees aside, I think I’d like to add the degree, “Doctorate of Retiremental Pursuits,” to my resume. And just maybe…… after being authorized to use the title “Doctor” in front of my name, I can put on a white smock and catch the eye of a few “younger’ women at the local Convalescent Home.
Finally, the other area of my life that seems to generate e-mail offers of help, is my lackluster gardening ability…… or at least I think that‘s it. I guess with rampant world hunger, there’s a real concern about being able to sustain oneself by growing things.
Anyway, every so often a nice Dr. Maxman offers me special “additives” he claims will result in “fast and effective growth and enlargement.” He goes even further by guaranteeing that, “My little sprout will grow.” Sounds intriguing, I must admit, but for now I think I’ll pass. After all, it’s really too late in my planting season for his special fertilizer to do much good.
I have a strong distaste for shopping. So if my list is long, my style is to show up at the store with only enough time left to get what I need before it closes. That way I’m in and out of the automatic doors with a minimum of hassle and competition from fellow shoppers.
If I have to shop during peak hours, it’s usually to grab the few necessities my senior memory overlooked on previous late night forays, or to satisfy a sudden craving for something definitely unnecessary, and almost always bad for my health.
Anyway, last week I twice went to the store for such odds and ends. Both times there were long lines at the registers, so I headed for the Express Checkout Line. As in all stores, it was clearly designated by a large, clearly printed sign in English. This one stated: “Express Checkout. 12 Items Or Less. Cash Only. No Checks or Coupons.”
After double checking to make sure my cart met all requirements, I took my place in line. Glancing ahead, I noticed the cashier was scrambling to ring up a lady whose number of items far exceeded the total supposedly allowed. And, as her cart was being filled with bags, she fumbled through her purse to find a clutch of coupons she was determined to use to not only lower her tab, but to raise the furor of those around her.
Now, understand our angst. To this point she had purchased a minimum of two dozen items, at least double or triple the posted maximum. And now she was fumbling through this stack of stamp-sized coupons, asking the cashier dumb questions like, “Did I buy one of these,“ or, “Is this one OK?” She also seemed to have forgotten her glasses because, with sloth-like speed she closely squinted at each one trying to determine whether the expiration date was current or not.
In seconds, the indignation of everyone behind her became overwhelming. The next girl in line, seemingly fatigued from having tapped her fingers on two packs of gum and box of cinnamon Tic Tacs for fifteen minutes, finally called it quits. With a dirty look, she turned and threw the items back on the candy rack, then almost ran out the door like she was late for a date.
The guy behind me, who had a large bottle of Vodka in each hand, seemed ready jump over me to either smack “Madame Roadblock” in the head with them, or just begin chugging there in line while pretending he was on a date.
A last frustrated shopper who could bear it no longer, almost ran over and flattened two other customers as she angrily backed her cart out, and with considerable disgust and profanity propelled it erratically to another checkout register.
Me? Well, I just stood there trying to be “cool,” you know, civilized… displaying an uncharacteristic brand of senior patience. The whole time, however, I secretly worried that such an unjustified delay might cause the freshness date on my Whole Wheat Pita Pockets to expire before I reached the cashier.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A day later, thinking my travail for the week was over, I again ventured out to the store. This time it was for something to put in those Whole Wheat Pita Pockets I had previously bought. (Obviously, another memory lapse.) Once again, the Express Checkout Lane was embroiled in controversy when I arrived. This time, however, the Line Lummox was a man.
There he stood, not the least bit embarrassed. In front of him were enough items to feed, clean, and wipe the rear ends of an entire village. And to compound his effrontery to those he was making wait, he sheepishly said he had to write a check because, DUH… he had “left all his cash in his other pants,” (along with his brain). Again, those languishing in line came close to rioting before the ink on his check was dry. I really couldn’t believe it. How could this have happened to me twice in one week?
I guess there could be many reasons. Perhaps the American Educational System really is so inept, that it can’t produce quality citizens that function at a minimum level of math and reading proficiency. Or maybe that’s patently unfair, and the few they couldn’t educate just happened to migrate, in mass, to my particular neighborhood to violate Express Lanes in stores where I shop.
More likely, it’s that too many people these days just don’t give a rat’s ass about manners, or how they treat others with whom they share the planet. In short, it’s all about them. They show it daily by not only ignoring posted limits in stores, but by living lives unfortunately guided by situational ethics. In this case, “Laws are made to be followed and enforced …… but just not for me!”
And maybe it’s because political correctness dictates that checkout clerks not hurt the feelings of those taking advantage of the system. Were they to look a transgressor in the eye, then using the microphone loudly announce, “Dumb Ass in the Express Lane… blue tank top and ratty flip flops. Assistance needed to read him the sign, and move his crap to another line,” how many times do you think it would happen again? Probably very few.
Anyway, since these checkout nightmares occurred, I haven’t had the courage to even leave the house. Frankly, I might just give up shopping in person, altogether. As we speak, I’m trying to find an on-line source (even on another continent, if necessary), that can sell and deliver Whole Wheat Pita Pockets fresher and faster than I can get them through the local Express Lane.
Furthermore, it would probably be a lot safer in the end. Shopping by computer all but rules out the possibility of me sustaining bodily injury in a spontaneous eruption of civilian violence. After all, that’s way too steep a price to pay… just to make a sandwich.
A few weeks ago, my wonderful, oldest daughter made me a "special" birthday cake that I didn’t need to wash down with a glass of insulin after eating. While not completely sugar or calorie-free, it was a delightful compromise for someone like myself who must be mindful of what I ingest on a daily basis.
Not to invoke sympathy, but those of you not suffering from the insidious disease called “diabetes,” don’t fully understand how tough it is to enjoy traditional eating habits, (especially if you’re Italian), with such a health “monkey” hanging on your back. I mean, who in his right mind would substitute a slab of tofu-heavy vegetable quiche, for even the smallest sliver of French apple, chocolate cream, or lemon meringue pie? Or which of you “healthy” types would rather chomp on a celery stalk than nibble on a chilled Snickers Bar, (or one of its close cousins)? Right…… you get what I mean!
Anyway, though you’ll probably not find many recipes on this Blog as a matter of course, I thought it a civilized gesture to share my daughter’s friend’s simple recipe, of a refreshing, more healthy alternative to the traditional birthday cake. Here are the ingredients and assembly instructions:
What you'll need...
- A box (or more if you want a larger cake) of “No Sugar Added" ice cream sandwiches.
- A container of “Sugar Free,” Cool Whip topping.
- A bag of “Sugar Free” mints
What to do with them...
1. Place a first layer of ice cream sandwiches on a tray or plate covered with waxed paper.
(Be sure to unwrap them first! :) Use as many as needed to meet the size requirements of your cake.
2. Frost the top of those sandwiches with a layer of Cool Whip.
3. Place a second layer of ice cream sandwiches on the first layer.
4. Frost the entire cake with Cool Whip, including the sides.
5. Add enough mints (or other sugar-free soft candy) so that there will be at least one on each
serving when the cake is cut.
6. Put the cake into the freezer until you‘re ready to serve it.
Pretty simple, eh? And you don’t have to be Chef Bo Friberg to pull it off. So, “bon appetit,” my diabetic friends. Keep fighting the good fight, no matter how hard it gets! And consider this recipe my present to you, whether it's your birthday or not!
I found this old newspaper. It was being used to fill the space between an antique beveled mirror and its wooden backing. You can imagine my surprise at not only its discovery, but the realization it was dated Tuesday, March 22, 1927. While only the Sports and Ad sections remained, the partial three cent publication offered a wonderful look back to an earlier time. 
.JPG)
