Rambling thoughts as 2006 comes to an end

It’s raining. This is Michigan and January is six hours away and it is in the low 40s and raining. I have to crack windows in order to enjoy a fire in the hearth. The ten day outlook has us only dropping below freezing four nights out of ten, and only once into the 20s. The average weather this time of the year has lows in the teens and a high around freezing. I haven’t bothered to dig out my skis and haven’t put the heavy winter tires on my truck. If it doesn’t start changing soon, I’ll start spring cleaning next week. I know some of you may think I’m crazy, but watching the pictures of Denver dig out of another storm makes me a bit envious.

It used to take me a good month to get use to writing the new (and correct) year on checks. As now almost everything is done electronically, I wonder how long it will take. I might stay in a 2006 time warp for years.

I’m not much of one for making resolutions. I suppose you can make the case that if I don’t make any, I’ll live up to my expectation! But I do set goals, just not resolutions. I’m not sure what kind of resolution I’d make. People resolve to exercise more, I’d have to quit my job or abandon my family to do that. The next six weeks or so will be trying at the gym as it’ll be filled with “New Year Resolutioners.” By mid-February, it’ll be back to normal. I’ll like to resolve to spend more time on skis, but nature ain’t cooperating. Maybe the best thing I could resolve to do is to recall the motto from my Boy Scouts day and do a good turn daily.

Poor old Saddam Hussein. He may have gotten what was coming, but do we really need to see videos of his hanging? The videos seem to be ubiquitous; everywhere you go somebody has a link to it or a “You-tube” type box with a start button. I would have thought security would have been tighter to keep cameras out. It is my belief that the untimely death of anyone, even a tyrant, is no reason to celebrate. And anybody who thinks that Hussein’s execution is a warning to tyrants needs to seriously reconsider. After all, Pol Pot and Idi Amin escaped the gallows and the nature of their regimes makes Hussein look like a kindergarten teacher. I’m afraid the real warning from Hussein’s death to the tyrants of the world is: “If you want to brutalize your own people, you better remain friends with the US or at least not be in our perceived national interest.” As for the videos, they’re just a form of pornography that cheapens life.


Okay, it’s time for me to update my profile picture. Since it should be too cold to wear sleeveless tee-shirts this time of the year, I’m going to remove the picture of me taken during a Utah canyon backpacking trip and replace it with a recent photo taken in my office. Out with the old, in with the new! Now, I don’t normally wear a Stetson while in my office, but I put it on for this occasion! I’m standing in front of one of my bookcases.


Just in case you're interested, which you're probably not, I'm still hanging in there with the old blogger!

Happy New Year! Thanks for reading all the stuff I write. I value your opinions and comments and look forward to reading your thoughts as we move into 2007.

Christmas Presents (or what kind of post can I put up in order not to look at Ford as soon as I open up my blog...)

Okay, about that last post… Every time I opened my page it, it was a blast out of the past. Looking at Ford behind in his desk made me feel like I was in a time warp, back in the mid-70s. So I thought I’d post a picture I recently took of the local courthouse decked out for the holidays. It would even prettier if we had a blanket of snow on the ground! But we’re in this weird heat wave; it’s barely getting below freezing at night.





Bone, down in Alabama, who really likes to receive cash for Christmas, has a neat post where you can complain about cheap or wacky Christmas presents you've received. I really don’t have any complaints this year. I got the following books for gifts (guess which one wasn’t on my list, even though it has been recommended to me?). I also got two gift cards for book stores. And, oh yeah, something else, that allows me to snap these pictures. What did Santa leave you?


Speaking of Ford, I’m not sure what to make over Woodward's revelation about the former President thinking Iraq was wrong, but not wanting to say anything until he was dead (I suppose it was to avoid speaking ill about a fellow Republican). On the one hand, this is upsetting for it seems that Ford was putting his political party of national interest. On the other hand, he was willing to let Woodward reveal this after his death, not after Bush's term is over, so they may be something good to come out of this if it encourages others to speak out.

The Deaths of Presidents, Friends and Musicians

Photo from the Huffington Post, blog by Richard Valeriani on Chevy Chase's role in Ford's 1986 defeat.

I was nineteenth years old in 1976, our nation’s bi-centennial, completing my first year of college. Gerald Ford was in the White House, trying hard to clean up the mess he’d inherited from Nixon. The nation was still smarting from Vietnam, the economy was in shambles, interest rates were going through the roof and there was a presidential election. Saturday Night Live, with Chevy Chase playing the part of Ford, was the one bright spot. I laughed as Chevy, impersonating the president, continually hit his head on airplane doors and terrorized golf-links.

Despite Chevy’s attempts to make Ford, probably our most athletic president, to look like a klutz, I liked Ford. When he came to speak to the North Carolina State Fair, I made sure I was there to see him. It wasn’t that I had anything against Carter (I heard him speak too, and was impressed). But for some reason I can’t understand completely, unless it was a weird attempt at youth revolt, I was a registered Republican. Along with Tom, a friend of mine, we volunteered to help his campaign. We spent afternoons manning phone banks. We sat in on strategy meetings, lead by some big-wig doctor in town, who kept thinking Tom, who was seated on the floor, had a question. Tom had a nervous system problem and would often twitch his neck. I wondered what kind of doctor he was not to pick up on this.

I meet Tom in the Student Union for lunch on Election Day. We talked about the campaign. We talked our first experience at voting, we’d both headed to the polls early in the morning, as if we might miss the opportunity. And we both talked about our feelings that our man was going to lose. Tom then complained about headaches and told me about going to the eye doc and they’d recommended him to see another doctor. I didn’t pay much attention to it. Then we parted for afternoon classes. That night, with interest, I watched the election results. I can’t say I was devastated when Ford lost. There was something nice about having a Southerner in the White House.

I never saw Tom again. I got a call a few days later. Tom was in the hospital. I called a few of our friends and we went up. They wouldn’t let us in. He had a tumor and they’d operated. He never regained conscience. We’d been friends for over three years, ever since we’d started working together at Wilson’s Supermarket. Although I no longer worked there, having moved over to the bakery that summer, Tom and I stayed in touch.

I also stayed interested in politics and as the 1980 election rolled around joined the John Anderson campaign. When Anderson switched from a Republican to an independent, I followed, switching my registration so that I could be his “elector” from the 7th Congressional District (if he’d won North Carolina, which was a real long shot, I’d gotten to go to the Electoral College). Of course, as a third party candidate, he didn’t stand a chance. After the ’80 election, having realized that the Republican Party wasn’t where I belonged, I registered as a Democrat. I’m not sure that’s where I belong either, but I’ve mostly voted Democratic, except for when I can’t stand either choice. Then I vote for some off the wall third party candidate with the hope that my protest vote will make both traditional candidates sleep a little uneasy at night.

Looking back on it all, I have to credit Ford encouraging my interest in politics. I still like the man. I admire his pardons (both Nixon and the Vietnam Draft Dodgers) which helped heal a hurting nation. I have to think that both Ford and Carter brought dignity back to the White House. It’s a shame he can’t be resurrected or reincarnated, for after this president on the heels of the one before him, we could use someone like him. As for Tom, I'll have to recall our adventures at another time. He was a good kid, who never had an opportunity to grow up.


Speaking of death, it’s also time to say good-bye to James Brown. It’s probably politically correct to say that you’re not a big James Brown fan, but I named my first Teddy Bear after him. The bear was given to me by a girlfriend twenty-some years ago. “James Brown Bear” sounded like a good name back in ’85—a bad bear that felt good! That was before it become well known that James Brown like to beat up women. It may have even been before he had one of attempts of out running the police. As far as music goes, we’ve lost a great one. "I feel good," I'm telling myself as I head down to the gym...

Williston's first White Christmas, or how to extend one's Christmas break

Two weeks ago I wrote about falling for a girl in the ninth grade, only to discover that she was my new teacher. I promised more stories about her "baptism by fire." Here's another story of Ms. Gooden's class.

I always dreaded going back to school after a long break, but the morning of January 2, 1972 was the worst. I headed to the bus stop, shuffling my feet like a man going to the gallows. I even made sure to wear a new shirt, with no rings around the collar, just in case. A pall had hung over the entire break. I boarded bus #23 and sat silently in the back as we traveled up South College Road to Roland Grice. Everyone got off. The seventh and eighth graders headed out to play while those of us who were ninth graders got onto another bus for the shuttle downtown to Williston. This was the first year of cross-town (actually cross-county) busing, which for me meant that the first hour and a half of each school day was devoted to riding or waiting for buses. The same was true for the afternoon, another hour and a half of waiting and riding, the price I got to pay to be a part of a court-ordered social experience. On January 2nd, the ride took even longer.

I don’t remember who made the first dare. Right before the fourth period bell, standing in the back of Ms. Gooden’s room, Abraham, Mike and I dared and doubled-dared each other to toss out the window some of the old outdated books stored in the shelves along the back wall. As it was with the first bite into Eve’s apple, after the first book flew out the window, the rest became easier and we’d all tossed a couple out into the bushes below by the time the bell rang and Ms. Gooden came in from the hall and began to teach. It was the last day of school before the Christmas break.

Our indiscretions should have ended then. But it didn’t. As fate would have it, Ms. Gooden had to leave the room for a few minutes during the class and we came up with another dare. In the back of the room was a filing cabinet where the former teacher, now one of our assistant principals, had stored years of test papers. I don’t remember which one of us was the natural litterer, but soon a file folder of papers sailed across the front yard. Someone joked about snow and we all got into the act. Wilmington hadn’t had a white Christmas in a hundred years and we were out to change that. A brief snow flurry ensued, blanketing Williston’s front lawn. The flurries died down as soon as we heard Ms. Gooden’s high-heels clicking down the hall. We jumped in our seats, covered our smirks with our hands, and tried to act like nothing had happened. A few moments later, the principal, Mr. Howie, stormed into the room. He didn’t bother to knock or ask permission. I’d never seen a black man so red.

“Who threw those papers out the windows?” he shouted.

Our smirks retreated in the face of his anger. The three of us, an unholy trinity, sat there praying that no one would rat us out.

“You’d better have their names in my office by the end of the period,” he warned his young teacher before stomping out the door.

Ms. Gooden walked back to our corner, her heels clicking with each step. Then she just stood there. There’s nothing worst than having a gorgeous woman look at you with big, sad, disappointed eyes. We immediately forgot that she was on the other side, a teacher, and confessed to our misdemeanors. After class we headed to lunch while Ms. Gooden went down to the principal’s office.

Our final two classes of the day were dreadfully long. The three of us walked around, looking rejected, kind of like the Pakistani soldiers who’d just been defeated in by the Indians in what is now Bangladesh. We kept waiting for that dreaded speaker above the chalkboard to call out our names and tell usto report to the office. Our prayers must have been effective or, more likely, Mr. Howie and company were looking forward to their holiday every bit as much as us. The summons never came.

Having safely made it through the last day of school, we all assumed our actions would catch up with us the first day back in school. We headed back to school, fully expecting to be sent back home, suspended for at least a week. But to our surprise, nothing more was said about the strange snowfall that December day. I often wondered what kind of conversation had gone on between Ms. Gooden and Mr. Howie, but I never inquired. It was best to let that sleeping dog lie.

Rudolph reconsidered

The other evening I watched part of the movie, “Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer” with my daughter. It brought back memories. I saw it when it first came out, way back in 1964. It was an event back then, for it was in color. We didn’t have a color TV back then. Most of my friends didn’t have a color TV. But there was one family in the neighborhood that had a color TV and they invited the whole block over. A hoard of us kids crowed into their living room, sitting on the floor in front of the television, rooting for the misfit reindeer as he fought with rejection and battled the evil abominable snowman. To a kid, it was scary. I have to smile the other night as I watched the terrifying parts. It doesn’t seem nearly as scary or nearly as real it did back then.

I’ve been cynical when I’ve thought about this show. After all, Rudolph was created for a 1939 advertising campaign for Montgomery Wards. It looks like the character might stick around longer the institution that created it. I know there are some who think there’s a major onslaught against Christmas in our culture and in some ways, they should use the character of Rudolph and this movie in particular as an example. After all, there’s nothing in the movie about the birth of a Savior. But watching a part of the show again, as a middle-aged adult, I’ve reconsidered my position and realize that I may have been a bit harsh. Yes, it is true that the movie takes the focus off Christ and places it in the North Pole. But Christ-like values are seen throughout the film. The misfits find a place to fit in. You have an elf that wants to be a dentist, a reindeer with a bright red nose, toys that are exiled on an island as misfits. In the movie, they all find a place. The dentist elf pulls the teeth of the feared abominable snowman. Rudolph’s nose allows Santa to fly in inclement weather. The misfit toys find homes. And even the feared abominable snowman becomes tame and is able to help out, decorating Santa’s large tree without a ladder. There’s a place for everyone. Yeah,, it’s a kid’s movie, but it’s also a movie about redemption which is at the heart of the Christian message.