Author: bdharrellauthor

A retired bellyacher, sometimes writer and guardian of the dog Filbrix.

Death And Llewellyn

January 12, 2023 marks 100 years since the birth of my father, Rochelle Harrell Jr. – known to his family and friends as Shelley. Unfortunately, he is not around to mark this landmark, having died at the age of 71 back in May 1994.

            Several years ago, my cousin forwarded some of my father’s writings to me, including this charming short story – Death and llewellyn. The origin of the sub-title is a riddle to me. There is no ham involved.

            The story is intact – as my father wrote it well before I was born. I made several small corrections to better the flow of the story and to correct a spelling mistake or two (he was a terrible speller). One mistake I left in was the spelling of the character at the center of this story. There is an explanation of the reasoning behind the spelling which appears early in the story.

I’m thinking that this story was some sort of a class assignment. For what class, I am not certain, as I am not certain what school he might have been attending at the time. After graduating from high school in 1941, he was a student at Virginia Military Institute until the war sent him to San Antonio to be part of the Army Air Corps. After the war, he studied at the University of Richmond. His mother wanted him (and his sister) to be a doctor – something he never did as I believe he had more the soul of an artist, as did his father.

Dad’s legacy was his six children and a certain amount of eccentricity shared and appreciated by each of us. He was quite a bit like lloyd llewellyn – which is one of the reasons I enjoy sharing this story on the occasion of his birthday.

Be Seeing You!

Death and llewellyn

Or

The President’s Virginia Ham

(Being a short story written by Shelley Harrell)

            There is no man whom I shall dislike as much as I disliked llewellyn at the end of less than three weeks.  To begin with, there was his name.  A normal man would have started his name with a capital; but no, he insisted that it was not proper to use a capital in his name.  The double letters served the same purpose.  His name should then be lloyd llewellyn – with no capitals.

            llewellyn was the last of the party we had to gather before heading into Indian Territory.  Picture our surprise when we found that he had three pack animals fully loaded with his personal effects.  He had been told that we had to travel as light as we could; there was to be taken nothing but what we needed most.  What is more, he was dressed as if he were going for a few hours ride near the town.  Red jacket, grey trousers, and jack-boots have no place in the back-woods.  This I told him.

            “Sir,” he answered, “I was told to make ready for a journey into the back-woods, and I consider myself properly attired and my equipment scarcely adequate.  If you would think that there is so much as one item that you would have me leave, the item remains here, and so do I.”  His statement rang with finality.

            At any other time, had I been spoken to so, the man should have been left standing where he was.  But here before us was the only surveyor to be found, and we were in dire need of a surveyor.  llewellyn was unaware that the best way to get into Indian Territory unmolested was with such a party as this, and the longer that he did not know the true nature of our trip, the safer we should all be.  I controlled my temper and told him to follow us.  After all, there might be some chance of some of his equipment being ‘lost’.

            I let the guide take the lead when I dropped back to talk with this strange person in the red coat.  “llewellyn, in a day or so the roads become so narrow that one can scarcely lead a pack animal, much less ride a horse.”

            “That, sir, is a misconception.  A man can ride a horse anywhere he can walk.  Your horsemanship must be poor.”  He filled his pipe and began to smoke.  “How long have you been riding?”

            “All my life,” I answered in sharp protest.

            “Your pardon, sir.  As you are the only one of the group using an Army saddle, I thought that you might have only learned to ride while you were in the service.”

            If the general had only sent me a surveyor along with my orders, all would have been much better.  But no.  This tall man who called himself llewellyn was the only surveyor to be found.  A man from West Point, or even an enlisted man, would know how to respond to discipline and how to show proper respect.  But at the end of this brief encounter, I could tell that llewellyn was the type that would do as he wished no matter what happened.  It was up to me as the leader of the party to see that his behavior did not endanger the lives of the rest of us or the purpose of the journey.  The Point should include a course in how to deal with civilians.

            That afternoon while I was pondering the best way to handle the situation, llewellyn rode to the head of the column and halted it.  Giving no explanation for his actions, he began a fire.

            “One must keep one’s strength with a cup of tea and a bit to eat, you know,” he said in answer to my questions.  I assured him that I was in command and that we could not spend our time thus.  He informed me that the better we felt the more distance we should be able to travel; and that if I had a mind to venture on, I was at liberty to do so.  He would overtake me before long.  Nothing that I could say would change his mind.  “Your orders go well with these other lads, but please.”  He offered me a place by the fire.

            “llewellyn, if we were just on a surveying party, I should be the last to make objections to resting like this.  In another day or so, we will be in dangerous territory.  Being lax for even a moment might cost us our lives.  It is for your safety and for the safety of the group that I tell you that when we stop it must be only at my order.”  He agreed to that, and then he promptly argued me into stopping for tea at the proper time each day.  His line of reasoning was most simple:  I had made the trip before and knew the average distance that could be covered.  If at the end of two days of stopping for tea we had not covered more than the average distance, tea would no longer be the order of the day.  The best way to win an argument is to let the other fellow prove to himself that he is wrong.

            The next afternoon at tea, I observed llewellyn scrutinizing the homemade boots of one of the men.  “Ever see boots like these before?” I asked.

            “No.”

            “What do you think of them?”

            “The tanning is poor and the workmanship could be called good only by a savage.  My leather goods?  From H. Sleep of London, of course.”

            “But these men could not afford such prices,” I mused.

            “Then they are not very thrifty.  I have had this pair of boots for ten years and they are still in good condition.”

            “These are military boots, are they not?” I asked.

            “Yes, I got them when I went to serve in India.”

            I hate to say this, but he turned out to be right about having tea.  When we would stop, he would take from one of the small packs a small tin which had the words ‘Twining, South Strand, London’ on its side.  Then, as he waited for the water to boil, he would start to fill his pipe (the pipe was a Barling and the tobacco Four Square, you may be sure) to tell of the wonders of India.  All remarks were made to no person in general, and he never looked to see whether or not any of us listened to what he said.  It was as if he were talking to himself; most likely he was.  Soon, after the first of such soliloquies to be exact, there was only Joe, the Indian guide, to listen to his stories.  Joe would listen with undivided attention to stories of strange forests in which a man would not dare to dismount for fear of being attacked by wild boar; of odd little men who inflicted punishment on themselves with the hope of some sort of spiritual reward; of great cities with spacious temples and grand palaces.  But the other six of us concluded that llewellyn read more than was good for him.

            In another day or so, we were forced to walk our horses as I had told llewellyn that we should; however, llewellyn never dismounted.  As an act of friendship, Joe started to demonstrate the fine art of marksmanship with his bow.  llewellyn watched cooly before remarking that the man’s aim was poor and the weapon that he used was even more primitive than the homemade boots the others wore.  No Welshman had used such a weapon since before history began.  These remarks left the man with none friendly to him.

            I deemed it my duty to tell the men the truth as to why we had gone so far into the wilderness, so the next morning I told the men that we had been sent there by the Government to make maps of the country.  More important than that, we had to make some sort of peace with a certain tribe of Indians which threatened our outposts.  Indians held mad persons as being harmless and they considered surveyors as being mad.  That was the reason for our passing as a surveying party.  Now that we were in the heart of the Indian country we should have to be more than careful in all that we did.  The watch at night would have to be changed twice as often so that the person up would be absolutely alert.  What cooking there was would have to be done in the day so there would be no light from the fire.  Only Joe would build the fires, for he knew best how to build one that would not smoke.  We should have to change camp often.  It would be best if we were to contact the Indians in day-light away from their camp and ours.  This way it would not look as if we came looking for them.

            Under my directions llewellyn set up his instruments and began to take measurements along the bank of a river.  Even as I could not but marvel at the way each piece of equipment was packed firmly in its own box.  I had seen nothing like this before.  On each box and on each instrument was the mark of C. Baker of London.  The results that llewellyn got with his equipment were excellent; they were far too good, indeed.  He charted each tree, each little bend in the river and every rise and fall in the land.  Whatever else I might think of him, I had to admire his care and exactness.  But at the rate at which he worked, it would take years to chart the land.  For three days I let him work much as he pleased.

            Other than our party, there was no sign of life.  Joe told me that only the presence of men other than ourselves would cause the wildlife to be so sparse.  I again alerted the men; at all times they were to be ready to repel an attack.  At no time were they to fire first at any Indians they saw, for we had the sanction of being surveyors.

            That very night we were captured by Indians.  When they found that we were on their land the Indians sent several parties out to keep an eye on us.  While he was on watch, llewellyn filled his pipe and lit it with a tinder box.  The light was enough to cause us to be spotted by several of our Indian ‘friends’; and before the pipe was half smoked we found ourselves surrounded and all but smothered by our foe.  In a short time their Chief came and looked at his captives.  A large council fire was built on the spot.  We were brought to the edge of the fire.

            Joe translated the angry Chief’s words for us:  “The White-men come playing to draw pictures of the ground.  That is not true; there are too many of them.”  The Chief pointed at me.  “Captain Green is sent to our land only when we displease White-men.  I shall send him back with the message that the White-men must move their cities back or we shall kill them and burn all their goods.  The rest of Captain Green’s men will be kept as slaves.”  He lifted his bronze chest with a breath of air and walked along looking at each captive in turn.  The muscles of his arms quivered with excitement as he observed us; it was obvious that he was looking for an excuse, even a slight one, to make him able to torture us to death.  He could not do this purely on the grounds that we were hunting on the land that was joint property with another tribe.  That would require calling the other tribe into the matter.

            I tried to reason with him.  My government would not violate the lands this tribe now held if the tribe would not make war on the outposts.  He required more than that; the White-men must not only ‘move their cities back’ but also must pay the tribe for keeping peace.  There was an afterthought:  the land could be bought… for a price more dear than gold.  This is what I wanted.  Now that he had shown a slight desire for bargaining, there could be hope of agreement.  Both sides would have to give in to some degree; and that, as they had taught us at the Point, is as it should be.

            “Could not trading posts be of an advantage to us both?”

            “No dealings with a cowardly people can be of an advantage to my people.”  He walked over to llewellyn.  “See how your men cower before me!”  He struck llewellyn in the face with his fist.  Being unprepared for the blow, llewellyn took it off balance and fell to the ground spitting blood.  This was great sport for the Indians; nevertheless, llewellyn found it a sorry sort of a game.  Getting to his feet he walked to the Chief.

            “Sir, you are the worst kind of coward.  I challenge you to mortal combat!”  Joe translated.

            The Chief showed great pleasure in this remark.  He could not put us to death for hunting on this land without calling in the Chief of the other tribe for a conference, but he could have us killed for attempted murder.

            “We will fight in the morning,” the Chief said.  Then he turned to me.  “Captain, am I right in thinking that it is the challenged person who has the choice of weapons in a fight of honor such as this?”  I admitted that he was.  “In such a case, each of us will have three weapons at his disposal:  scalping-knife, tomahawk and bow.  The bonds on your arms will be cut; do not be so foolish as to try to escape.”

            It was not enough that I should have been plagued with llewellyn these past days; but now that I could see that his very being would result in the downfall of all that I wished to do, the low blow had been struck.  My men had always had the highest of respect for me in the past, but now it was clear that they placed full blame on me for llewellyn’s actions.  I even blamed myself.  There was no reason for letting him be less disciplined than the others, and yet I had.  The death of all my party would be my fault.

            The wrath that the men had was in no way held back.  As slaves there would be some hope of escape.   As soon as the Chief had dispatched llewellyn, he would see to it that the rest of us would die by slow torture.  The dislike all of us held for the man in the red coat blossomed into full hate.

            llewellyn took all our abuses without a word.  As was his habit, he swung a hammock between two trees and promptly went to sleep.

            Before the first light of dawn could be seen, we were awakened from our feigned sleep and told that it was time for us to be taken to watch the duel.  llewellyn turned in his hammock and announced that he should be left one man to act as his second.  His request for Joe was granted.  Once more our hands were tied and we were led to the spot where the fight was to take place.

            By the edge of the river there was a long, flat piece of ground some sixty-five yards wide and over two-hundred yards long.  A post that was no taller than the knee-deep grass marked the center of the field.  The end of which the Chief now sat awaiting the arrival of his adversary was marked by a brightly painted skin stretched between two poles.  Along the edge of the field away from the river were the warriors of the tribe.  The area was now light enough to see that some were only in loin cloths, despite the coolness of the fall morning, and others were in blankets.  All wore war paint.  Our party was brought to a place behind the drummers who stood opposite the pole which marked the center of the field.  A yell from an unseen brave announced llewellyn’s approach.

            llewellyn was flanked by six of the tallest braves I have ever seen.  Their figure was so striking that it was some time before I took notice of the Welshman and his second.  The former was clad in blue tunic, white trousers and black boots.  His head was bound in a fantastic way with what must have been yards of blue and white cloth, and his hands were wrapped in white gauntlets that came half way to his elbows.  Joe walked behind him and carried a bow longer by a foot and a half than those I had seen before.

            llewellyn adjusted the quiver to the proper position on his back; Joe handed him his bow.  Removing the left gauntlet llewellyn slid his hand briskly along the bow for a while.  The signal for the contest to begin was given.  He returned the gauntlet to his left hand and walked with a rapid stride some twenty yards toward the Indian.  Holding up his right hand he yelled to the Chief and told him that we would not hold it against him if he were to back out of the fight at this point.  Joe translated.  The Chief boasted that he would but wound his opponent so as to be able to torture him to death.

            From the cuff of his right gauntlet, llewellyn took his pipe; he lit it and observed the way the wind blew the smoke.  He placed the pipe with care at his feet; and, after stroking the bow with his left hand he strung the weapon.  Once again he called for the Chief to surrender; once again he was told that he would be tortured.  With pleading finality in his voice llewellyn made a third try – to get the same answer.

            Swiftly the gauntlets came from his hands and an arrow was fitted across the bow-string.  The Indian was at least a hundred forty yards away when llewellyn released an arrow.  Before it had landed there were two more in the air and the fourth was half out of the quiver.  Even the Indians lost sight of the missiles as they cut their path through the sky.  One arrow fell a foot short of the Chief and a little to the right, but the next two tore through his body as if it had been made of paper.  The spectators went wild with excitement, but llewellyn retrieved his pipe and calmly walked over to cut the leather thongs that bound our hands.

            We were saved.

            An old Indian whose face was like a piece of dry leather came over and examined the Welshman’s longbow.  He was unable to pull the bow to full draw.  He handed the bow to a young brave who had the same trouble.  The old Indian made a long talk and the other Indians cheered madly.

            Some time later, I presented the President with the following letter:

            My Dear Mr. President,

                 Since the War of 1812 our countries have been at peace with each other.

                 It is my hope that they will remain so.  Recently I became elected Chief of

                 a tribe of Indians which, to that time, was hostile to the United States.

                 I have advised the tribe that war at this time is not desirable.  These men

                 Now owe their allegiance to me and I owe mine to the Crown.  Please

                 Inform the British Ambassador of this situation, which I find most awkward,

                 and have him advise me as to the policy to be followed with and by Her

                 Majesty’s latest subjects.

                                                                        Faithfully yours,

                                                                        Big Chief lloyd llewellyn, G.C.G.M.

                                                                        (Captain, Hodson’s Horse – Retired)

New Year – New… Something

New Year – New… Something

Well, the old year is in the books (yep, yep, yep!) and here we are, right on the edge of the new year, waiting to see what’s coming on the other side. Here it is, January second; already I’ve heard from a friend of mine that he has lost a long-time mentor and friend. A shame. We seem to be losing friends faster these days – friends our age and younger. How much time we have left, well, I’m in the process of seeing how much more time I can gain by exercise and listening to the right doctors.

So far this month, my scorecard is filled. At least on Wednesdays.

Coming up the day after tomorrow, I see my Primary Care Physician. Next week, I get a CAT scan and blood work in anticipation of more blood work and a visit with the cancer specialist the following week. My final Wednesday appointment will be with my Optometrist. She’ll likely send me next door with a prescription for new glasses. If I want to see what’s going on, I sure would like to be able to see what’s going on. Come October, I will see the Ophthalmologist to see how soon I need to have my cataracts looked after.

Hopefully, I will be able to die at a ripe old age by gunshot from a jealous lover. Dad wanted to go that way. As it is, he will miss his 100th birthday by 29 years. He thought that he might be able to copy the wish of his Uncle Johnny, who promised to “Kill an ox and invite everyone I know to the party.” Uncle Johnny missed his 100th by only a year and a half.

Dad was looking forward to his Uncle Johnny’s party. Dad’s 100th will be January 12th. Looks like I will celebrate the occasion by going to EfM (Education for Ministry) and maybe calling one of my siblings.

With the new year, I’m taking my time to be thankful for some of what went on in the past year. I’m thankful that my visits to the cancer specialist are largely an opportunity for her to tell me (again) that there’s nothing to worry about – that the bump in the road I had in 2021 was nothing more than a bump in the road. I’m being thankful in lieu of feeling guilty that my cancer was easily taken care of while a friend of mine had been undergoing intensive treatment for most of the past year. Thankfully, her doctor told her that her cancer appeared to have disappeared, just in time for Christmas.

I’m thankful that I was able to travel to Ohio for my 50th high school reunion. I was able to connect with quite a few friends I had lost touch with while finding new friends I didn’t realize I had.

There are many other thanksgivings I could cite, as well as many others I may not realize I had.

As far as 2023 goes, I have a lot to look forward to. There are adventures afoot and people with whom I can share those adventures.

Here’s to all the adventures you, the reader, will have in the coming year.

Be Seeing You!

The Town that can’t seem to shoot straight

The Town that can’t seem to shoot straight

Welcome to Princeton Texas, population north of 18,000 and rapidly climbing. To the east, Farmersville – one of the many locations here in this little corner of the DFW Metromess claiming to be the hometown of WWII hero Audie Murphy (while downplaying the fact that Charles “Tex” Watson of the Manson “family” was born there). To the west, McKinney – a place with lots of historic charm and a jail which briefly hosted Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow. Princeton is a nice place. My neighbors (at least) are friendly enough, taxes are not too overbearing, and there are more than enough places to purchase a decent taco.

With at least 23 places to purchase a taco within city limits, I have quipped that the mini tacos the better half and I purchase from Costco are technically illegal.

We do have a problem, here, with the city. For some reason, there seem to be threads of dysfunctionality running through city hall. For instance, yesterday (December 13th), a bit of rough weather came close to us. A tornado warning was issued at 9:15am, lasting until 9:45am. The storm passed to the north of us. We got bunches of rain and wind, and by the time the warning expired, we were seeing hints of blue sky.

At 9:53am, the tornado warning siren went off.

An image of Wile E. Coyote using an umbrella to fend off a falling boulder (or stray anvil) came to mind.

The city told us later that morning that the power went out at city hall (the brand-new city hall) just as they were about to sound the sirens when the warning was first issued. They decided to test the siren after they got power back. Cue the umbrellas.

The power didn’t even flicker here at the homestead.

One would think that city hall would have some sort of battery backup, especially since city hall doubles as the police station. It’s a small deal when you think about it, but at the same time, it’s an important deal. I mean, pre-planning prevents poor performance. Right?

That lesson should have been learned in February 2021 during the big freeze… when the city’s water system failed for lack of a power source.

Speaking of water systems, the bill for city utilities has a notice on the water bills they send out that the consumer is responsible for paying their water bill even if they don’t receive a bill. At the same time, they don’t make allowances for the fact that sometimes there’s a glitch in the system which prevents a water bill from coming to the consumer. I missed getting a bill from the city earlier this year. I went to city hall and was told that my payment was late, and I had to pay a penalty. I pointed out that I never got the bill. The penalty was waived. As a result, I went to electronic billing. Except for the fact that the bill is followed by a reminder the next day that a bill has been sent and I need to bring my money to city hall RIGHT NOW!

Please. Give it a rest!

Now, I have my suspicions as to why the city is dysfunctional – suspicions having to do with party affiliation and/or church affiliation. But we don’t want to know, now, do we? There could be just a bit of conflict of interest (the mayor is also a Realtor), but again, we have to be careful about where we go, right?

I mean, overall, my experience here in the past six years has been pretty good overall. Sure, there are glitches which pop up here and there, but the same glitches can happen anywhere.

Be Seeing You!

Old Age

Old Age

“Don’t be afraid of old age – it’s a privelege denied to many” – Paraphrasing something I keep reading. I’m old and can’t rightly remember who came up with the quote or where I found it.

While organizing my thoughts this afternoon, I ran across a post on Facebook from an old colleague telling of the death of another colleague and friend from back in the day. And I really mean back in the day.

The recently departed was, in many ways, one of the smartest people I have ever worked with. He had a way with electronics (got him a scholarship to become and electrical engineer), and he had his own little way of making observations no one else could possibly make. For instance, the chief engineer at the radio station where my friend and I worked back in 1974, would purchase a bottle of Pepsi from the station’s vending machine when he began to work on something. My friend noted that the engineer would purchase more Pepsis from the vending machine as the job progressed. Within a month or so of watching that engineer, my friend would estimate how complicated a job would be by the number of bottles of Pepsi the engineer would consume. I can still hear him say that thus and such a job looks like it would be a “Three Bottle Job.”

Anyhoo, my friend is no longer among the living – no longer able to judge how many bottles of Pepsi would be needed to finish a particular job.

Interestingly enough, that friend’s name came up in conversation with a mutual friend less than two weeks ago. The mutual (and still living friend) wondered about the man and what he was up to these days. I told the mutual friend that our friend had “left the building.”

I am to the age when losing old friends is becoming more frequent. I was reminded of the death of one of my best friends to early-onset Alzheimer’s when his widow reminded me of his birthday – and that had he lived, he would be somewhere in his seventies. He barely missed being in his mid-sixties.

The girl living up the street from us when we were in high school was another Alzheimer’s victim. She was a doctor. What a waste.

There was Tim, with whom I shared an enthusiasm for all things automotive. Cancer. Early sixties.

We have all lost someone, a friend, an acquaintance, a family member – and we all mourn those passings to one degree or another. Some we will mourn for years. Others, a month or two tops. Depends a lot on the burden someone’s death places on us. I have friends who have lost children who likely will never recover. Other deaths create barely a ripple in some of our lives.

My friend who passed with Alzheimer’s will be with me for quite some time, I suppose. We were somewhat close. Interestingly enough, it was the man who “left the building” earlier this week who introduced me to the Alzheimer’s victim. I have survived them both and will continue to celebrate being an old fart.

Not many of us have that privelege, you know!

Be Seeing You!

By Air

By Air

McKinney – the city next door to us – is putting proposal in front of voters next spring to put a commercial air terminal at what is known as McKinney National Airport. It’s an interesting proposal with definite benefits, but for my little corner of the DFW Metromess, it may be problematic.

Don’t get me wrong. I love aviation. I even went so far as to purchase a study guide so I could perhaps pursue becoming a pilot. I’ve even had the opportunity to take the controls of a small airplane owned by a friend of mine in an incident I call “Thirty Seconds Over Beaver Ohio.” I’ve hung out at small airports – can tell you where to find several landing fields you never thought were there and can probably tell anyone who would care to listen more about aviation in general much more than they would like to know.

But proposing an addition to the local airport to support commercial traffic? Well, I would like to think that calmer heads will prevail when it’s time to vote on the proposal… a vote which I will not participate in because I don’t live in McKinney Texas. No vote on a proposal which may affect me if the proposal is accepted. The skies are already a bit crowded around here.

To begin with, the Federal Aviation Administration issues maps showing airports, air lanes, and traffic control zones (that’s how I know where the airports are). There are three air lanes coming almost directly over my corner of the Metromess from airports to the northeast. I’ve flown from Columbus to both Dallas area commercial airports (DFW and Love Field) and know that when I spot McKinney National I’m almost home. Almost all day, I can spot airplanes coming into the local commercial airports. Nights, and early mornings, I can see the landing lights of approaching inbound airliners. The airport in McKinney is a touchstone of a sort. It’s fun, really, to see those planes headed to the major airports – and to a certain degree, it’s fun to see some of the smaller aircraft in the pattern to take off and land at McKinney National.

For the most part it’s fun watching aircraft headed to or from McKinney National. There are days, however, when a pilot or two forgets that they need to be at least 500 feet above the ground while zooming over a residential area. The smaller prop jobs can be forgiven – the occasional business jet flying low to the ground is cause for concern. A 737 flying as low as some of the business jets fly would be super scary.

Still, it’s fun to watch the variety of aircraft plying the general neighborhood. South of town there’s a patch used by people with motorized parachutes. There are the occasional hot-air balloons, like the one which followed the dog Filbrix and me on Sunday – landing in a field next to the Tractor Supply store just around the corner. And there are the occasional sightings of older aircraft. A regular visitor is a DC-3/C-47 which is a frequent visitor to McKinney National. Monday, there was an overflight by a B-29! I was seriously surprised.

The prospect of having regular passenger service so close to the homestead is just a wee little bit frightening – however, as has been pointed out time and again, one is more likely to be involved in an accident on the way to the airport than when flying a plane.

I’ll take that into consideration when it comes time for the proposal is put to a vote next spring. As if the people here in my little corner of the DFW Metromess would be allowed to vote on a proposal which could have a major impact on us.

Be Seeing You!

Routines

Routines

Last Saturday I confirmed something I thought I saw coming – the breakup of my Saturday morning routine. For the past several years, my Saturday morning revolved around several radio presentations. I structured my morning routine so that I could do the laundry, letting the washer and dryer do their thing while I listened to a couple of segments of “Wheels-With Ed Wallace” and the NPR show “Wait Wait, Don’t Tell Me.” Ed announced that last Saturday morning would be his last day doing Wheels.

There goes an hour of my Saturday morning routine.

Wheels is an advertising vehicle for select automobile dealerships here in the Metromess. The show could be one long, boring program length commercial run by a former car salesman; instead it’s a bit of a variety show run by a former car salesman. Calling out Mr. Wallace as a former car salesman (which he was) is doing the man a disservice. Yes, there’s car talk out there, but what I listened for were a couple of features which he ran as part of the show.

At about 8:30, Ed ran a relatively short feature about the history of Rock and Roll. Stories about groups, individual performers, and stories about radio itself were featured. I cannot say that I was ever bored with Ed Wallace’s Saturday morning college of rock and roll knowledge. Many times he would tell of the background of a performer who had recently died. This past Saturday he presented a vignette of the man who came up with the term “Oldies but Goodies,” a radio veteran who passed earlier in October.

Around 9:10 or so, Ed ran a segment he called “The Backside of American History.” As with the rock and roll segment, he featured well-researched stories not usually found in history books. My favorite story was one he told just before Christmas each year about the Santa Claus Bank Robbery… a shoot-em-up story about a pre-Christmas bank robbery pulled off by a burglar in a Santa Claus suit in Cisco Texas.

It was at the end of this week’s final part of a three-part story about legendary CBS journalist Edward R. Murrow that Ed confirmed that he was doing his last show.

Frankly, I don’t blame the man for stepping away from the microphone. He’s either just turned or is pushing seventy awfully hard and he deserves a break from a job well done.

Still, I am almost at a loss as to what to do in that hour or so on a Saturday morning. Maybe I can find another something to latch onto for my appointment radio fix.

Yes, I said appointment.

Many of us have certain media appointments through the week. I knew a family back in the day who gathered faithfully on Saturday nights to watch “Mission: Impossible.” One of my good friends would drop everything he was doing to watch what he called, “Book ’em,” better known as “Hawaii Five-O.” I’ve had similar appointments with several other shows – and have current appointments with “Ghosts,” “Svengoolie,” and several re-runs of older shows, like “Batman” with Adam West (is there any other?).

I’ve had Saturday morning radio appointments with “What Do You Know,” “Car Talk (with Tom and Ray),” and almost had an appointment with Tom Bodett’s “End of the Road” radio series. I caught the last episode of “End of the Road,” ended up finding and reading the book he wrote incorporating the stories he told on the radio. Bodett occasionally shows up on “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” as a panelist, and still can be heard from time to time advertising Motel 6 (We’ll leave the light on for you).

I will most likely find something else worth listening to while doing laundry and other household chores on Saturday morning. Still, there will be a hole left with Ed Wallace parting company with Wheels. Good job, Ed. Never met you, but I sure will miss you!

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Elections and Politics in General

Elections and Politics in General

“Trump Declares Himself King of England! (Claims Charles rigged the succession.)” – Seen on the internet September 8, 2022

It has been an interesting couple of months, leading up to an interesting week and a couple of days. What with Queen Elizabeth II crossing the rainbow bridge (so to speak), leading to the ascent of her son, Charles to the throne – with England and English Parlaiment in economic disarray to the point that the Prime Minister quits after 44 days, it can be confusing to an amateur Anglophile like me to make sense of it all. Add the confusion, much of it deliberate, of the election season ramping up here, and it has become enough for me to stop and wonder if keeping away from television news has been the best thing I could have done for my sanity.

Here in my little corner of the DFW Metromess, we are electing School Board members (2), a County Judge (AKA a County Commissioner in some places), the “Big Three” State officials (Governor, Lietennant Governor, Attorney General), and a Congressman. Since “All politics are local,” I will stick with the local politicians before heading out of state.

I’ve actually had the opportunity to meet some of the local candidates. One of the hopefuls for the School Board is a nice young woman (in relation to me) I met at a community event last week. She was focused, sharp, and her name alliterated. That’s important to me, to have an alliterative name. One of the other hopefuls has an alliterative name, so, I’ll vote for him, too!

The fellow challenging the incumbent for County Judge was at another gathering held a few weeks ago. He appeared to have a good grasp of what the county needed to facilitate growth, something which has eluded the current Judge. This corner of the Metromess appears to be growing much faster than the amenities (things like water and electricity) can handle. Forward thinking and hang the politics if something needs to be done.

One other consideration not mentioned before is a Yes/No vote on a new city charter – a “Home Rule” charter. The city sent a packet explaining the Charter and what would be involved. My first reading of the document was favorable, in that it allowed for the city to be divided into Wards, with representation being a little more accessible. As it stands, Council people are considered to be “At Large,” meaning that there is the possibility of all council members being from the same neighborhood, or all belonging to the same social group (something I suspect is the case now). While it seems like a good idea to go to a “Ward” system, the catch is that the lines won’t be drawn for another 8 years after the approval of the new Charter. The other catch is that the proposed Charter was not properly developed – that members of the Charter Commission were hand-picked instead of being elected. It will be interesting to see how the question will wash out.

Running for Member of Congress are a former Judge and a newbie. I’ve met the newbie. He has the right attitude as far as I am concerned – keeping in mind my experiences with members of congress when I was living in Ohio. The former Judge lucked into his candidacy due to the philandering of the current lame duck revealed the day before the primary election. What really irks me about the guy is that he is running ads on the internet claiming that “Biden’s 10,000 new IRS agents are poised to go after the little guy.” What he neglected to say was that the 10,000 agents would be phased in over a ten year period, with most of them replacing agents who would quit or retire over that time period. A disingenuous tactic to say the least. My vote goes to the newbie.

And then there are the incumbents at the top of the state ticket.

Several hundred people “Crossed the Rainbow Bridge” due to an inadequate power grid a year ago this past February. Mass shootings due to lax gun laws have also caused people to “Cross the Rainbow Bridge.”

The top of the state ticket has had more than enough time and enough resources to take care of a number of problems facing the state – instead, they are spending an inordinate amount of time and resources suing the federal government while ignoring the needs of the people – women in particular. I am irked at the finger-pointing. As I have said on other occasions, I would rather fix a problem instead of fixing the blame.

New blood in the statehouse may not fix everything, but at least it will go a long way to at least getting a running start on fixing what ails us.

Again, I am happier than the proverbial pig in mud that I have fallen out of the habit of watching television news.

On to the bigger picture.

It’s much the same as the local picture. Politicians saying anything to get a leg up on their opponents. Truth gets squashed; lies get spun. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, the other side is evil.

Period.

No wonder many of us have become jaded in the past, say, twenty years. Maybe forty.

In the bigger view, as in the smaller view, there’s a lot which needs to be fixed – something which ain’t gonna happen until politics becomes more about helping and less about power.

Maybe voters will express their disgust this time around.

But I ain’t holding my breath.

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Stories

Stories

Since returning from my class reunion nearly three weeks ago, I’ve had a copy of the Mound Builder – Chillicothe High School’s student newspaper sitting on my desk, staring at me. The lead story, Prophecy of the ’72 Class, was something I wrote.

I never thought of myself as a writer, even though I had been writing since, well, since at least the fourth grade. The class prophecy was the longest something I recall writing until I took an “enrichment” class at Collin College. My output was in dibs and dabs. Song parodies like the ones I saw in MAD magazine, skits with a willing accomplice or two as part of the morning announcements in high school, radio commercials, an attempt at writing a situation comedy for a television writing class, letters to a girl I knew in junior high, the list goes on.

Here it was, a piece I wrote fifty years ago as a celebration of people I knew (and didn’t know) in my high school class. My recollection was that I was given a list of names and was tasked with coming up with a situation where most of the people on that list were mentioned. What amazed me when I re-read this lost [Ahem!] masterpiece was that I got four “predictions” correct, and another two close enough to count as “hits.” A few people were left out – two made it a point to tell me. I apologized and life goes on.

So, I got four (or six, depending on how you score things) predictions correct. What’s more amazing, though, were the real stories of the people in attendance at the reunion. Not all of them had the experience, say of Jack – a former city mayor and aspiring county commissioner. There was David, who went to medical school and went on to become a leader in cancer research. Liz was there – lived in different parts of the country, finally landing a few miles up the road living with another classmate. Phil and Joe were there, successful professional musicians, jamming for the assembled on Friday night. And there was our very own “Rocket Scientist,” Ed, who headed up the entertainment Saturday night.

Those were just a few of the more outstanding people in attendance. But that does not mean that the bulk of us didn’t have interesting stories as well.

I have come to realize over the years that we all have stories inside us; stories which may not seem to be outstanding to the casual observer, but are important to them, their families, and the people closest to them. They are stories worth giving a listen. Stories of heartache and redemption. Stories of places they’ve been, no matter how near or far away the places were. Stories of children, grandchildren, friends, acquaintances. Stories of discovery. Even stories with unhappy endings. As I grow older (was going to say “As I mature,” but everyone knows, men don’t mature…) I appreciate listening to the stories – no matter how mundane. The time I spent in Chillicothe a few weeks back was a time of pure joy… not only listening to stories of my classmates, but listening to a former workmate – to people at the AAUW book sale who know me and my mother – to the Amish woman selling the most excellent cinnamon roll I’d ever had – to an author of two of my favorite books – and to my sisters and their husbands while we were on the way out of town.

As a side benefit, my wife got to know more about me and the stories I’ve told her over the years as I explained where in the “Canon” each of the people I’ve met fit into the stories I’ve told.

I believe that my wife took to heart some of what I was telling her about listening to people’s stories. On the way back, we stopped for an evening to visit with the grandchildren in Fayetteville Arkansas. While we were there, she got the phone numbers of the grandchildren and promised to call them on a regular basis once we got back to our little corner of the DFW Metromess.

As I sat down to write this, she was on the phone with the middle grandchild, a middle schooler, talking about how the week went and actually listening to what the child had to say. I consider that to be a great acheivement.

Happy to have had a hand in that.

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Things Politicians Say

Things Politicians Say

A few years back, I worked at the circulation department of a small daily newspaper, The Chillicothe Gazette. Part of my job was to help carriers within my “Zone” collect money from subscribers. In the system we used, subscribers would pay up-front – usually for a month’s worth of papers. No problem for most of our customers, but there were the occasional sticks in the mud who argued that they had a problem with the system. “After all,” they reasoned, “I don’t pay ahead when I go eat at a restaurant.”

Obviously, they either hadn’t been to one of a number of fast food emporiums, or decided to conveniently forget about paying for one’s meal and then waiting for it.

Those folks should be livid about a stated Republican plan to eliminate Social Security and Medicare – programs most of us have been paying into for most of our lives, waiting to collect on what we paid into the plans when we become eligible. In other words, I paid for my newspaper, now someone wants to steal my paper from my porch!

What’s worse is that there are solid Republicans of my acquaintance who are quite happy with taking advantage of both Social Security and Medicare while using whatever tricks they can think of to maximize those benefits. “We paid into the system, we should get a payout from the system,” they’ll tell us. And that’s fine. What irks me is that at the same time, they are supporting politicians who would bring the government to a halt in order to get their way and eliminate the very programs from which they benefit.

And if you don’t believe me about bringing the government to a halt, watch what happens in the next couple of months if Republicans gain back their majority in the House and Senate in November.

That’s why Republicans are stopping at nothing to get voters voting for them. At least, so it seems.

In the past two years, we’ve seen Republican-majority state governments come up with all sorts of new rules and regulations intended to stifle the vote, or, “prevent voter fraud.” Interesting that of the very few voter fraud cases found and prosecuted from the 2020 election, most of the incidents (if not all of the incidents) were caused by Republicans.

Then there’s the misinformation. The local fellow running for Congress in our area has been running ads on the internet to the effect that the current administration’s hiring of tens of thousands of new IRS agents will be used to wring more taxes out of the middle class. It has been publicly stated that most of the agents in question would be hired to replace” overworked agents who would be retiring over the next ten years. Less than 10% would be “new adds,” allowing the IRS to go after higher-income taxpayers who find ways to game the system to their advantage. There are billions of dollars which can be collected from taxpayers in the upper brackets without touching the middle class.

Other misinformation seen here in Texas centers on “hot button” issues known to trigger ultra conservatives; claiming that Democrats are for things like “On Demand Abortions,” “Open borders,” and against preachers saying what they want when they are in the pulpit.

Putting the hot button issues aside, Republicans don’t have many talking points about what they hope to accomplish if elected other than to decimate social programs or put the kibosh on the economy if they don’t get their way. Given what they’ve already said about what they plan to do, they’re better off attacking the other side to hide their true intent.

Three weeks. Let’s hope that we elect politicians willing to allow us to keep what we’ve already paid for.

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