My Best Play in High School Baseball

This past week I’ve been enjoying a Christmas present from my sister, the history of Baseball, a set of DVDs put together by Ken Burns.  Having loved baseball, playing sandlot ball with my friends and practicing in a neighbor’s back yard until the sun went down and we could no longer see the worn-out baseball, a ball we’d salvaged with black cloth tape to hold it together; baseball has been an important part of my life.

Baseball was a means of getting through childhood, a chance to be the greatest ball player in history as long as imagination opened that door to the future. Mike Palermo and I tossed the ball to or at each other for hours on end.  We could hear the voice of Mel Allen, as if he were paying attention to our antics, announcing each dive at a sharp grounder, the pivot and transfer of the ball, each impossible toss over to first base.  Top Yankee scouts were on hand waiting for a chance to sign us, holding up our uniforms with pin-stripes; that’s how good we were in Mike’s back yard.

In Little League, I played for B and B Sunoco one year, then the next for Pittsburg Plate Glass before my family moved to Houston, Texas.  That was the same year the Mets and Colt 45s became expansion teams so it was easy to make Houston my replacement “favorite” team.  The Yankees would have to be number two from then on.

Next came high school baseball where I learned that some guys could play the game better and I had to accept that perhaps Cooperstown was only a pipe dream. 

I did actually get to be on the high school baseball team for Madison Senior High, their B team; but it was still a chance to play.  I’d watch the really good ball players and figured out fairly quickly that openings for the next level up were not in the cards.

I wasn’t a power hitter, not much of a threat unless you counted singles or an occasional double.  I threw sidearm to three-quarter overhand which drove coach Ashmore nuts.  It didn’t matter to him that my throws were accurate to first base; he said I was hiding the ball, making it more difficult for the first baseman to see.

I was playing Shortstop and threw a ball sidearm style over to first, again.  Coach Ashmore shook his head as he said something towards the dirt.  He then took the Fungo bat, tossed a ball into the air preparatory to hitting one over my head so that I’d have to go chase it down and made contact with the ball.

Normally such a swing would have launched the ball in a sweeping arc far into left field where I’d have to run to the fence and retrieve it, a reminder not to throw side-armed while playing infield.  Instead, the ball was hit on a line several feet above my position; but I timed its flight perfectly as I leaped, fully extended and snagged it, my body suspended momentarily high above the playing field.  I’d caught it cleanly, much to his surprise, and a huge smile graced my face as I landed, tossing the ball joyfully back to him.

Coach Ashmore wasn’t as pleased as I was.  He may have acknowledged my singular act of athleticism; but that didn’t keep him from attacking another ball with his Fungo bat, this time making sure the ball reached the fence. 

Here I am, in my seventieth year on this spinning planet and this one play came to me as the best play I’d ever made…and it made me smile for having done a great job.  I find that more than remarkable.

You may have guessed by now; I was never that good at playing the game of baseball.  That hasn’t deterred my love for the game; I still savor nearly every aspect of it.  What my experience as a mediocre ball player in high school did was point out the reality of life and how we should appreciate those moments when everything does go right.  For most of us, that doesn’t happen all that often.  

At the end of the year, I got a “Letter Sweater” since I was a member of the team and it’s still hanging in the closet next to the Dress Greens I wore as a member of the U.S. Army Reserves. For some reason I no longer fit into that uniform; it must have shrunk.

Do you want to hear about my best shot in the game of golf?  It involved hitting the hubcap of a passing car…Never mind…

Toenails and Super Glue

 

I don’t have sufficient funds to go and let professionals perform various services which means I’ve learned to become industrious and creative.   Take for example this morning when I jabbed my big toe into the base of a piece of furniture tearing up a portion of the toenail.  If I had plenty of money and the inclination to do so, I’d go see a podiatrist and let that individual remove or repair the damaged portion of toenail.

But there’s quite a bit of Scotch and German ancestry working against wasting hard earned money; I’ll fix it myself.  …And in the past, I’ve been successful repairing this kind of minor damage.  We keep a small sheet of clear flexible plastic, the kind that wrap small items onto a piece of cardboard when you purchase those items.  I’d cut a piece of plastic into the shape of a which ever nail had been damaged, sand the edges down and then place a few drops of Super Glue on the nail.  A few minutes of pressing and waiting; good as new and twice as strong.

A little more sanding around the edges and you can put a pair of socks on without snagging the torn-up nail.  That was the plan this morning…and it should have worked, having done it many times in the past. 

I opened a fresh tube of Super Glue, cut out a piece of plastic, shaped the plastic to contour with the nail and was satisfied that all was ready.  While sitting on the edge of the bed I made sure to have a couple of Kleenex tissues handy just in case along with a three by five index card to place the opened tube of Super Glue to prevent any from getting on the night-stand table.

The Super Glue covered the broken nail; but it also managed to spill over and coat the side of my big toe while I was applying the pre-cut plastic toenail covering.  That’s when I noticed the glue had also failed to unite with the top of the toenail or the plastic; however, it had come in contact with my fingertips.

While wiping away the glue that had managed to stick to the fingertips, the Kleenex stuck to my fingers and then, in turn, stuck to the fingers on my other hand.  (stop laughing, it’s not over yet)

The old solution for removing Super Glue was to apply Nail Polish Remover; but the new and improved Nail Polish Remover does absolutely nothing to Super Glue.  Apparently, they’ve changed the formula to get along with the Save the Earth crowd.  Fortunately, we do have some Goo Gone that comes in a can similar in appearance to the old Lighter Fluid products.

I was able to free the big toe from the one next to it, remove the particles of Kleenex from the top of my toenail and from my hand.  I then got some paper towels from the kitchen and squirted a healthy portion of Goo Gone onto the neatly folded paper towel.  That stuff has a powerful odor; but does a great job dissolving Super Glue from between stuck toes and fingers.  I also used it to remove the Super Glue from all the other locations.

The chunk of toe nail that got snagged had become welded back down so as to be reattached to the toe.  I then sanded the rough edges down and came to a realization, no plastic covering was needed this time.  I then sanded off Super Glue that had dried on the sides of my toes and fingers as was permitted without sanding down to blood vessels. 

Christmas Magic

 

There was a challenge handed out the other day, what did your family do at Christmas?  A handful of memories floating around so I’ll start with writing a wish list.  This was done either on Thanksgiving or very soon thereafter.

We’d jot down, in our very best handwriting, items we considered worthy of asking Santa for. It didn’t matter if the requests were based in reality; but as a rule, these items had been seen on television or in one of the many catalogs, catalogs which many folks referred to as Wish Books.

After completing the assignment we’d place our lists on a plate along with some cookies and a bottle of Coca-Cola.  The idea was to make sure the Big Guy was rewarded for having traveled over to our house and considered our requests.  We were told that Santa wore magic mittens and that while holding up our notes to be read, those mittens would catch the pieces of paper on fire; proof that he’d read them would be ashes left on the plate.

We didn’t need an alarm clock to get up the next morning as we all raced to the dining room table to witness the miracle which had occurred during the night.  There would be a scorch mark on the china and a small clump of burnt up ashes.  It was the beginning of the Christmas Season, official and verified.

My folks must have been gluttons for punishment as they’d also told us that Santa was the one who decorated our Christmas Tree, that all we had to do was pick out a good one, keep it watered out behind the garage until Christmas Eve and then haul it inside to the living room; Santa would do all the rest.  Once the tree was in the living room it was easy to convince us to get to bed.

I should mention that I learned some of my locksmith trade vocabulary from my father, who never was a locksmith, as he struggled to get the trunk of the tree to fit inside the classic tree stand.  Apparently, other trades, auto mechanics and carpenters come to mind, use similar vocabulary to express frustration.  I later found these magic words remarkably similar to terms used by police officers.

I can’t imagine how late my folks stayed up that night putting lights, ornaments and tinsel on the tree as they also put together bicycles, doll houses, wrapped and sorted gifts to be put under the tree and… I almost forgot, fill our stockings and hang them at the end of our beds.  It makes perfect sense, now that I’ve gotten older, that my folks would want to sleep a little later on Christmas morning as our excitement level climbed slightly higher than the Empire State Building.

We were to wait in their bedroom while my father made sure Santa had actually come.  That translated means he went to the living room and plugged the extension cord into the wall so the Christmas Tree lights would be on when we came in.  Remember, the night before when we’d gone to bed that very same tree was bare; but as we entered the room it was dazzling, pure magic.

In my teen years, having pretty much figured out the Christmas magic thing, I remember hearing my father carefully open the door to my room as he carried a stocking to place on the end of my bed.  As he did his best not to make a sound I smiled and respectfully called out to him as he exited, “Goodnight, Santa”.  He smiled back and accepted the fact that I was no longer a little boy, and, as I recall, he even winked back. 

Taking Care of Families in Need

 

Several years ago, there was a story printed, or perhaps I might have heard it from the pulpit; some of the details have left my memory so I’ve taken ‘creative license’ to replace that which I’ve forgotten.  Accept my apology for not remembering the original author.

A congregation was asked to donate an extra portion during the Christmas Season to help families that were struggling.  The challenge was given the week of Thanksgiving with the intent of having enough money collected before Christmas to offer relief for several families; a fine meal with all the trimmings, new clothing and shoes, some toys for the children and such depending on how much money could be collected.

One family had a meeting when they got home from church to consider various ways they could help with this wonderful project.  The father said that after getting home from work he’d collect fire wood and sell it.  The mother would take in laundry and use that income to add to their contribution.  Their son said he’d collect empty soda bottles and redeem them at the store while the daughter would baby sit. 

They did this for the entire month of December leading up to the final week and collected a little over fifty dollars which they proudly handed over to their minister.  The father knew their contribution was probably smaller than most since he wasn’t one of the more affluent members of their congregation; but he wanted to know how much had been collected, thinking perhaps he could figure out a way to make up the difference by cutting down on some of his regular expenditures.

The minister sat quietly considering the moment as he tried to explain the situation in a way which would make sense. “We’ve received just over forty dollars in contributions so far, you being the only ones to have taken up the challenge.”  The minister sat silent for a few more moments before continuing his thoughts.

“You see”, he looked heavenward for assistance as he struggled to further explain, “…your family was on my short list of those who could have used a little help during the Christmas Season”. 

I’m sure there are many among us who could use the message contained in this story as we approach the day we celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Five Frank Twenty Six Nights

 

A friend sent me a video link that explained how the television show, 1Adam 12, was made; details about the characters, use of actual police incidents and tidbits that might have been missed otherwise. It set my mind off on a trip into the past; having served and retired as a patrol officer for the Houston Police Department.

The last eight or nine years of service was on night shift patrol out of the Northwest Sub-Station. There were two separate shifts included with the designation, Nights; Early and Late.  Early was from 10pm through 6am while Late was from 11pm through 7am.  This would accommodate folks getting off on Evening Shift or folks coming on Day shift the following day. 

When I first transferred to Nights I was assigned Lates and it took a few months to move to Earlies.  Getting off at 6am meant a world of difference since I also was a full-time locksmith during the day.  I would joke that I got my four hours of sleep every day whether I needed it or not.  I was burning the candle at both ends and got away with it, the light at the end of my retirement schedule being already on the calendar.

I’d have to admit my mind and body were unaccustomed to working all night.  Those last couple of hours were torture as I strained to stay alert to the end of shift.  I remember the first week riding by myself and pulling off to the side of Antione, pretending to set up on an intersection to catch red light violations.  Actually, I was so tired I was fighting just to stay awake as the pre-dawn hours clicked away.

You can imagine my panic when I was awakened by a beam of light coming through the front window of my patrol car, the sun had been up; but for how long?  Shaking the cobwebs from my head I realized I’d fallen asleep and should have already gone home.  I drove to the station, filled up the patrol car with gas and walked in the back door. 

The Station Sergeant greeted me, half laughing since he knew I was new to night shift work.  “You can’t fill out an overtime request for… over sleeping’, pausing as he finished those last two words.

He had me and all I could do was blush for proving I was human.  If you’ve never worked night shift then hold your judgement; it takes considerable time and effort to get your body accustomed to it.  I don’t think I ever mastered that part of life.

Each night when most officers would look for a place to have a meal; instead, I’d go find a quite secluded spot to park my patrol car.  I’d call out as if at a place to eat to make it official and then take a thirty-minute nap. 

I did this for several years until my supervisors got on a war path looking for a way to make things difficult.

I should backup and explain that we’d gotten a new Captain, the same guy who’d tried to get me fired for insubordination several years earlier when I was working downtown; but that’s a whole other story…

I was comfortably setup, protecting a warehouse loading dock from potential burglars, when the Sergeant tapped on my window with his flashlight.  He accused me of calling out at a fictitious location; but in actuality I’d simply used the hundred block address from the Stop and Go store on the other side of the intersection. 

In either case, it really didn’t matter since sleeping on duty was a violation, minor as it might be; but a violation of the regulations.  I suspect, and this is only speculation, that he wanted me to become insubordinate, raise my voice or some such behavior that would seal my fate.  That didn’t happen.

While at the station in the Captain’s office…doesn’t that seem strange, that the Captain would be in his office at 3am?  Where was I…while at the Captain’s office I thanked the Sergeant for being concerned for my well-being, enough that he would go searching for me when I’d already given my location to the dispatcher.

We also had a new Lieutenant who may not have had a clue as to my history with this particular Captain.  He sat listening with a puzzled look on his face, wondering why anyone would be upset with a night shift officer taking a nap while called out to eat.  I think he actually laughed when I mentioned how it touched my heart that the Sergeant was concerned for my well-being.  He could see what was going on and was impressed with my response.

Instead of getting me riled up and in deep trouble, something that in all likelihood would have gotten me fired, they placed an official letter of reprimand in my already monstrously large personnel folder.  From that night on during my last year before retiring I had to be especially careful about taking naps on duty. 

Before moving on…the Sergeant who went out of his way looking to catch me sleeping on duty; that fellow should have remembered how he’d fallen asleep in his patrol car one night in the middle of an intersection, that several police units were dispatched to an “Officer down” and that everyone laughed it off as just one of those things, that we’re there to take care of each other.  Yeah, that guy…

Moving right along…my call sign for many years on night shift was 5 F 26, pronounced Five Frank Twenty-Six as the title indicates.  Every rare now and then, when we were short-handed, I’d be assigned as 5 F 10; but with the understanding that I’d really be in the same basic area, just that I would also be covering the adjoining beat.

An hour or so into the shift the dispatcher called out, Five Frank Ten, waiting for me to respond, Five Frank Ten…still waiting and then calling out, Five Frank Twenty-Six?  It dawned on me, she was calling for me to respond as a rash of mike clicking filled the air, my fellow officers getting a chuckle.  Having a great dispatcher was one of the benefits on our shift.  She knew each officer and did her best to stay on top of her job without being bossy.

I’ve ramble on a bit; but having watched the video on 1 Adam 12 brought back so many memories.

Gratitude Expressed for an Empty Peanut Butter Jar

 

In keeping with the Prophet’s challenge to express our gratitude each day some folks have been sharing their Testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ or their thankfulness for really important aspects of life such as a loving husband, children and extended family to be around or simply the ability to call them on the phone.  I too am grateful for the more important things in life.

That said, this morning I’m most grateful for an Empty Peanut Butter Jar.  Okay, stop laughing and I’ll explain why.

We’re Puppy Sitting for my son while he and his family are out of town on vacation.  Luna is a about four months old, just a guess from how sharp her teeth are, that along with a never-ending supply of energy that is driving the other beasties nuts. 

Yesterday we let the two Senior Puppies take charge of showing Luna the property.  That translates into giving two old fogies a chance to sit back and catch our breath.  After giving her the quick tour of where to go to the bathroom, outside, since this concept apparently was new to Luna; where was I…they took Luna to our next-door neighbor’s hayfield to hunt gophers.

Our Ellie puppy is quite good at figuring out where a gopher is hiding; maintaining attention either to the smell or perhaps movement under the soil.  In any case, Ellie pounced and retrieved a nice-looking specimen, shook it victoriously and then turned the carcass over to her young apprentice. 

A couple of minutes later Luna came prancing out of the hay field, the prize being tossed in the air, shaken upon landing and then tossed again to show off her hunting skills.  I was able to capture some of her theatrics on a short video clip; but our internet connection was too slow to permit sharing that moment.

What has this got to do with being grateful for an Empty Peanut Butter Jar; I’m getting there, be patient.

Luna played with the dead gopher until it was time to come inside for the evening.  I knew that first thing in the morning; well, second thing, after taking care of ‘business, both one and two, that Luna would be looking for the dead gopher.

I was correct.  She found it and immediately began tossing it in the air, maybe to see if there was any life left in it.  Then she gnawed on it a bit, carried it up the stairs to the house and pranced around on the porch, ending up at the other end where we have a shelter built for the puppies to keep them protected when it rains or gets too chilly. That’s where she decided to drop the dead gopher.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of plastic bags, the kind you take groceries home in.  These make excellent temporary surgical gloves for picking up small dead animals; mice, rats, rabbits, snakes, armadillo; just about anything we find here on our property from time to time. The dead gopher was small and I was able to double sack it to make sure it was packaged in such a way as not to leak or permit odors to escape once placed in our kitchen trash bag.

I washed my hands with On-Guard disinfectant soap and decided it was time for breakfast.  We have some sliced Rye bread that, if lightly toasted, goes well with peanut butter and a glass of chocolate milk.  I’d gotten down to the bottom of the jar and was about to toss it into the trash when it occurred to me, and this was purely inspirational, “Use the Empty Peanut Butter Jar to place the gopher in”. 

So… now the remains of that gopher are secured within a sealed Empty Peanut Butter Jar awaiting its final voyage to the blue dumpster at the end of our private road.  Luna will have to wait for another day to learn about the joys of rolling in the carcass of a dead gopher.  That means I won’t have to give Luna a bath this morning.  So much to be grateful for in this life.

Is it really over?

 

I read a comment issued by an old friend who happens to be a Biden supporter.  She was gloating, as if her intellectual superiority in assessing issues had prevailed, prematurely I might add.  “The election process is over; the final count had been done in Georgia”.  I’ve a great deal of respect for this individual and so rather than go for her throat, a rather crude way of saying we disagree; instead I remained silent, temporarily, which is why I’m writing now.

There is room to wonder what she meant with her remark, it’s over.  In all likelihood a reference to the vote count in Georgia as reported by the major news media outlets, those honorable individuals who’ve presented their propaganda as is if it were factual information.  She believes that Georgia’s vote count assures Biden of the number of Electoral Votes needed to win.

Perhaps she was unaware of those individuals counting the votes in Georgia, the state where several batches of uncounted votes continue to surface, supposedly minor errors in the care and custody of presidential votes that had been cast on, …or even after November 3^rd.  Never mind that the Senate seat which has yet to be determined in Georgia, the outcome will determine which party holds sway for the next several years.

I’d like to think she was selectively ignorant of yet another possibility, that our constitutional republican form of self-governance was over.  I say this because if we as Americans, regardless of which candidate we would prefer to win; if we allow the corruption which has tainted this voting process to stand then we are accepting corruption willingly and without regard for the consequences.

Many on the Biden side are asking for proof of any wrong doing, any at all.  They have some kind of unrealistic idea of how to identify corruption, the intent to manipulate and control the outcome of this election. 

I’m reminded of the scene from the movie, A Few Good Men, the courtroom scene where the now famous line is uttered, “You want the truth?  You can’t handle the truth!”

Let’s work on the idea that there is a ‘preponderance of evidence’ which would indicate to a rational individual that something seriously wrong has, in all probability, occurred in the voting process.  We’ll save having to prove ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ for later. In other words, is it possible that the statistical mathematics pointing out voting irregularities just happen to match with algorithms built into a machine intended to count votes, that these 20,000 Dominion machines were not intended to alter the outcome of such a count?  

(Image of Eric Coomer found on Facebook, quote verified)

Never mind that the irregularities occurred in several states around the same time of night after it became clear that Trump was not only in the lead; but was projected to win based on the vote count prior to the unexplained ‘shutdown’.

If your answer is a flat out, No; then you’re not being honest.  Why would anyone design a machine that could be accessed from the internet by way of hidden backdoor passwords, have the ability to discount certain votes while at the same time award a higher percentage to the opponent?  Worse, why would any honest person consider using these machines, their ability to alter an election’s outcome wasn’t exactly a secret? 

The machines in question have been used to assist the outcome of elections in other countries.  The CIA and other ‘three letter government organizations’ are on record as having used them to disrupt elections in other countries. To say this is new information is beyond believable.  Some states refused to use the machines in question because the results offered could not be verified, their being unreliable and corrupt.  But this could never happen in America…

So why did 30 states, to include so called battleground states authorize the use of Dominion machines that were capable of altering election results, changing the outcome in favor of whomever had been pre-ordained to win? 

But you say, that hasn’t been proven in a court of law…  I respond with, “If you’re walking along and see a pile of mushy brown substance, you wipe it with your finger, hold it up to your nose and take a whiff, then stick out your tongue and taste it.  After having puked on the sidewalk you say to yourself, Glad I didn’t step in it”.  Are you that hard to convince that something is amiss? 

Or…are you willing to accept corruption, move on because the outcome went the way you’d hoped it would, your candidate won.? 

If that’s how you feel, then you’re probably right; it’s really over.

 

Your Mother is on the Roof

 My father had a library of stories and jokes that he’d share, usually when we were a captive audience while on a long drive.  What has this got to do with anything… I’ll get to that after sharing one of dad’s stories.

While getting ready to go on vacation Fred stopped by and asked if my dad would feed his cat and look in on his mother from time to time.  He left a key to the house along with a phone number to call should he need to get in touch.

Two days later dad found the cat had been run over while crossing the street.  He called Fred and told him, “Your cat’s dead, got run over by a car”.  Fred could hardly contain his emotions; but at the same time explained to dad that he might have softened the news a bit instead of blurting out, “Your cat’s dead”.

Fred suggested that it might have helped if, perhaps, on the first phone call dad might have said something like, “Your cat’s on the roof and I’m having trouble getting it down.  Then on the next call you could say that the cat fell and you took it to the veterinarian.  That way I’d have been more prepared for the bad news about the cat dying.”

Dad listened carefully, aware that often times he didn’t consider the feelings of others. He apologized and told Fred to enjoy the rest of his vacation.  Fred asked how his mother was taking the loss of the cat.  Dad’s response, “Your mother’s on the roof and I’m having trouble getting her down.”

So what has this odd story got to do with current events?

(Image of Biden’s Miraculous Vote Count courtesy of theredelephants.com)

If you’re only paying attention to how the results of the presidential election are being reported by major news media outlets, Twitter and Facebook then you’re in for one heck of a surprise. 

These folks have already awarded the Oval Office to Biden/Harris even though not one state has officially certified the vote count.  In the meantime, they are ignoring what may be the biggest news story of the century, that being the use of computerized voting machines to steal an election.  They are not only ignoring the evidence of fraud, they are stifling anyone who says otherwise, censoring and containing the spread of facts.

Biden/Harris voters are thinking all is well, that their side has won.  The news media is telling them, “The cat is just fine, enjoy the trip”; not even a mention that, “the cat is on the roof and we’re just waiting for it to come down”…so to speak.

“There isn’t any evidence of voter fraud.  Trumpsters with their whacked-out conspiracy theories are only clinging on to hope.  The news media certainly would have reported something, that is if there had really been corrupted voting machines.” 

But the news media has ignored the truth; swept it under the rug believing the courts would side with the news media’s having already “called the election for Biden”. 

There’s little to nothing being reported about corruption which has been identified and graphed, mathematically and statistically impossible results have been referred to as ‘glitches’, baseless claims, rather than the result of intentional programming intended to steal an election.

There is irrefutable evidence that millions of votes for Trump were flipped and magically given to Biden; and this happened simultaneously in several machines at the same moment in battleground states giving Biden a presumptive lead and the presidency; but as with Jedi mind control, “Nothing to see here, move along”.

The impossible has occurred and yet the news media refuses to enlighten the public. 

This will be painful to watch as it reaches the highest court.  Trump will be declared the winner, as he should; but what about the public that thought and actually believed the lies which the news media promoted?  They’re going to be told Trump stole the election by having a stacked Supreme Court because that’s the story the media has been repeating over and over.

Can you see where this will further divide the nation?  The propaganda outlets, having long ago given up reporting the news, continue telling the public Biden/Harris have won.

Dark days are ahead as the media sews discontent and chaos, all the while claiming we should all come together and Unite under Biden/Harris.  I hate to be the bearer of bad news; but Biden/Harris are on the roof at this very moment. 

Avoid the Appearance of Evil

Call me ‘Old School’ if you wish; but certain principles of conduct from another era seem to have been lost along the way.  Let me explain…

Several years ago I was given the assignment to check up on a woman from church whose husband had recently died.  She moved into our area and was still in the middle of grieving for her loss while at the same time she had nobody locally to lean on when her emotions got the better of her.

I made it a point to drop by regularly during the month, no scheduled appointment; just a neighborly check by to let her know someone was thinking about her.  She would invite me into the house; but this is where avoiding the appearance of evil comes in.  Instead, I’d suggest we sit on the front porch where her neighbors could see that nothing inappropriate was going on. 

That brings me to the handling of votes and the appearance of impropriety, whether it exists or not, can be proven in court or not; red flags of danger have caught the public’s attention.  Perhaps that should be re-worded, red flags of danger have been ignored by those whose motto is, “Win by any means and to hell with anyone who says otherwise”.

I realize that being a supporter for your political party means hoping your candidate wins; but does that mean ‘at any cost’, to include destroying the fabric which holds your nation together as a constitutional republic?

When I watched a news clip showing poll workers covering up the windows so nobody could see them counting the votes, ignoring the protocols which call for members of the opposing party to be in attendance while the votes are counted, refusing to allow poll watchers during the election and other actions which would lead a critically thinking person to wonder if possible voting irregularities were being carried out. 

When I was in college taking a course in Insurance which involved actuarial statistics to determine risk factors along with other issues that comprised that industry, it became fairly clear that some statistics form the limitations of reasonability and allow for the determination of what is unreasonable.  That’s why people over eighty year of age don’t purchase life insurance; the cost would be prohibitive, that assumes you could find a company dumb enough to sell the policy.

The use of statistics is important when looking at votes.  Certain polling places shut down in the wee hours of the morning following the election and then opened up a couple of hours later proclaiming they’d found thousands of votes…all for one candidate; the laws of statistics chimed in and proclaimed in unison, “Male Bovine Excrement!”.  There’s no way, statistically speaking, that all the votes which mysteriously appeared during the night were all cast for the same candidate, at least not legally.

That said, there are folks jumping up and down cheering for their candidate’s presumptive win, closing their eyes, ears and minds to the likelihood of massive voter fraud; instead, euphorically caught up with, “He did it! We’ve won the White House!”

I’m having a difficult time congratulating the presumptive winners and those who’ve sold out this nation’s constitutional republican form of government for a cheap copy of a banana republic complete with bought and paid for election results. 

Some might claim ‘sour grapes’ because my candidate hasn’t been re-elected.  My gut reaction tells me I’m watching an election process that steals a victory at any price and a public that will not only tolerate evil; but blindly congratulate those involved. 

Putting it all in perspective with lessons learned from the Come Follow Me home study course, which only this past week covered Mormon’s witnessing the destruction of his people, a people ripe with iniquity who delighted in flaunting their evil ways rather than repent.  I had to wonder, did the Lord know this week’s lesson would be a duplicate of what is going on in America nearly two thousand years later?

The idea occurred to me that regardless of the outcome of this election, the steady downward spiral our nation has taken towards socialism along with accepting, tolerating or even so many of our fellow citizens boasting of their evil ways; in spite of all these warning signs, we must place our faith in Jesus Christ and find joy in our knowledge of the gospel.  We have enjoyed the easy life; but the refiner’s fire proves us in our trials, whether we endure to the end is us to us.

Appreciating the Moment

These last few weeks have been fun as I’ve been able to improve the audio video capabilities of our modest home theater system.  We updated the audio quality by switching to an optical digital cable that’s now hooked our television, and anything that goes through the television to the sound bar speakers.  I had no idea the difference would be that noticeable, speaking as a half deaf senior citizen.  We also changed out the RCA type cables that run from the Laser Disc player to the back of the television to ‘Monster Cables’ that are supposed to have better transfer of information.

But that’s not why I’m writing today…

One of the laser discs enjoyed this morning was Horowitz in Moscow.  There were images of various patrons soaking up the music produced by this world class pianist. There was a camera shot from the balcony seating area where someone had placed their personal cassette recorder hoping to capture the experience so it could be played again once they’d gone home.

Here I am on the other side of the world watching and listening to a command performance given many years ago, as if I were there.  I’m fortunate to own a laser disc which captured each moment visually along with crystal clear reproduction of music.  It’s a good bet the audio reproduction on my copy far exceeds anything that was on the cassette recording made from the balcony.

The image shown includes a couple of items of importance.  Center stage is Horowitz as his fingers carefully and methodically move across the keyboard; but secondarily, as the laser disc progressed, are images of those in the audience taking in the performance.  It occurred to me that I was among those in the audience, no different than if I’d purchased a ticket to sit among them as my reflection ghosts in from my vantage point on the sofa, nearly invisible until you study the image looking for that ghost.

Do we express our appreciation for the gifts we’ve been provided?  Perhaps we should say Thank You more often, not only for the things which are pleasing; but for the challenges that make us appreciate when things aren’t quite so hectic.  Gratitude is our way of paying for those moments, tears of sorrow for the passing of someone close, someone who was part of our world and made a difference, tears of happiness that they’ve gone home to continue their eternal progression. 

Think I’ll put on the laser disc with Harry Chapin’s Final Concert, the one that has Cat’s in the Cradle ; yeah... “but he smiled as he did and he said, I’m gonna’ be like him, yeah, you know I’m gonna be like him”. 

It dawned on me, my father passed away four years ago, those tears must be for the beautiful music I’ve been enjoying; yeah, must be the music…   

Safety Issues Tied to Police Cutbacks

The public is starting to realize that using the Police Department as a ‘whipping boy’ for all the ills of society has consequences.  An article by Melanie Torre of CBS Austin relates some of the safety issues associated with cutbacks to police services.

“The Austin Police Association says understaffing is causing 911 calls to go hours without a response.

According to APA president Ken Casaday, Saturday night some shifts were staffed at just 50 percent.”

A little further in the article more information was shared:

“Casaday says -- on the shifts he’s worked-- the department has enough officers to respond to Priority 0 calls. According to Casaday, Priority 0 includes shootings, stabbings, assaults and serious crashes. He explains, Priority 1 calls are where there’s been a delay. Priority 1 calls include criminal trespass, simple assault and non-active burglaries.”

Citizens requesting police service might see this as a minor inconvenience since really important calls are being handled in a timely manner.  Being told that you’ll have to wait an hour to file a burglary report or some other non-life-threatening incidents might not be as bad as all that. 

The City Council in Austin decided to cut-back police services and payroll; and, after all, slower response time goes with the territory.  These measures were taken to make a bold statement, that police brutality, shooting suspects without cause and such won’t be tolerated.  Other major metropolitan cities like Portland, Oregon have taken a similar stance.

To be sure, those municipalities which are making such drastic cuts in police services have turned their police departments into political footballs with little regard for either the safety of their law-abiding citizens or for the police officers performing these important services.

Several years ago, prior to my retirement from the Houston Police Department we were considerably understaffed; perhaps matching the observation made by APA president Ken Casaday, working with roughly 50 percent of the number of police officers needed.

One Friday night prior to the beginning of our shift several of us were in the kitchen area of the police sub-station enjoying ice cream bars donated by the local Borden Creamery.  An Assistant Chief of Police entered and I recognized and welcomed him informally to the younger officers who might not have known who he was since he wasn’t in uniform.  I asked if he was here in an official capacity or was it simply a casual visit.

His answer was polite; but hinted at something he had on his mind. “I’ll wait until Roll Call when I can address everyone at the same time.”  He smiled as if he had been dealt a winning poker hand, not wishing to tip his cards just yet.

I responded directly, “Then you might as well tell us now; this is the entire shift you’ll be addressing.”  There were only six of us in the room.  Consider the area we were assigned to patrol on a Friday night in Houston, Texas, an area that stretched from the 610 Loop out to the city limits between the I-10 corridor and Highway 290.  That’s a two-man unit and a one-man unit in Four District and the same in Five District, four police patrol units to cover the area equal to Rhode Island. In layman’s language, don’t get into any situation that requires a back-up unit, there won’t be any, none.

The cheerful countenance the Assistant Chief had upon entering quickly vanished as the reality of our being understaffed well below anything reasonable landed on his mind.  Originally, he’d planned to give us some kind of Pep-talk; but we’ll never know since he changed his remarks, sounding more like an apology for putting us in harm’s way without sufficient manpower should anything, anything at all go badly.

My retirement date came up a couple of years later and it’s with great pride that I display a shadow-box hanging on the wall of my office, a small reminder of my twenty years of service as a police officer.  I also am well aware of the dangers each police officer faces, a danger multiplied to an unacceptable level when those they work for don’t like police officers in general or appreciate the hazards that go along with that job.

One line that most officers are familiar with is shared at the end of each Roll Call prior to hitting the streets.  It’s both a warning and a reminder, “Y’all be careful out there”.

Irregulars and Militias - Are Militias Legal in the State of Texas?

 

By T. F. Stern 

(Image: The Concord Minute Man of 1775, a monument created by Daniel Chester French)

The most uncomplicated definition of Militia – military force composed of ordinary citizens.

The question has been asked, “Are Militia groups legal in the State of Texas”?

From 1903 to present, following the Militia Act of 1903, the Texas Militia is legally empowered by Title 32 of the United States Code and Article 4, Section 7 of the Constitution of the State of Texas to “execute the laws of the state, to suppress insurrections, and to repel invasions”.

Wikipedia addressed the topic of Unorganized Reserve Militia as follows:

“Militias thus can be either military or paramilitary, depending on the instance. Some of the contexts in which the term “militia” can apply include: forces engaged in a defense activity or service, to protect a community, its territory, property, and laws, the entire able-bodied population of a community, town, county, or state available to be called to arms…

a private (non-governmental) force not necessarily directly supported or sanctioned by its government,

an irregular armed force that enables its leader to exercise military, economic, or political control over a subnational territory within a sovereign state, an official reserve army composed of citizen soldiers known as the militsiya, a select militia composed of a small, non-representative portion of the population…

The definition is wide open for interpretation; however, that one line, “a private (non-governmental) force not necessarily directly supported or sanctioned by its government”, leaves such an interpretation up to the individual rather than leaving that interpretation up to the government.

Wikipedia went on to include:

“Within the United States, since approximately 1992, there have been a number of private organizations that call themselves militia or unorganized militia.  In states such as Texas, the state constitution classifies male citizens between the ages of 17 and 45 to belong to the “Unorganized Reserve Militia”.  The Texas constitution also grants the county sheriff and the governor of the state the authority to call upon the unorganized reserve militia to uphold the peace, repel invasion, and suppress rebellion, similar to the early “Texas Rangers”.”

It should be noted that the age limitation mentioned as 17 to 45 represent those individuals who can be drafted according to the mandates of the Governor of the State of Texas; however it does not preclude the involvement of individuals who are younger than 17 or older than 45 from being able to serve voluntarily if they so desire.

Other points of interest brought out through further links provided include the following statement:

“Most militia organizations envisage themselves as legally legitimate organizations authorized under constitutional and statute law, with reference to state and federal law of an “unorganized militia”.  Others subscribe to the “insurrection theory” which describes the right of the body politic to rebel against the established government in the face of tyranny. (In the 1951 case Dennis v. United States, the U.S. Supreme Court rejected the insurrection theory, stating that as long as the government provides for free elections and trials by jury, “political self-defense” cannot be undertaken.)”

Bare in mind that much of the article related to militia groups focused on those groups formed to respond against government tyranny, real or perceived rather than on citizen groups organized to maintaining law and order being threatened by domestic terrorists such as Antifa and/or BLM thugs.

So…If a group of local citizens living in a small community organized themselves into an Unorganized Militia for the purpose of defending their lives and property from those who would violate the laws of the State of Texas, such a non-sanctioned group would be within their Second Amendment Rights as protected by our Constitution’s Bill of Rights. Since their militia does not fall into the “insurrection theory” aspect by definition alluded to in the above paragraph, that portion does not apply (even though the Supreme Court got that one wrong; but that’s a whole other article).

The Lone Star Watchmen Militia is by definition an "unorganized militia" group in Texas which apparently fits the legal parameters which other communities might consider as they work to protect each other’s lives and property.  The following was copied from their website:

“Lone star Watchmen is a Texas Mutual Defense Group. We are Second Amendment based (first and foremost) and are sworn supporters of the United States Constitution and the Texas Constitution. 

Our Mission is clearly defined as providing for the protection and survival of our families, communities and ultimately Texas through medical, tactical support/security and survival training.

First and foremost we are your average American citizens. We are your citizen soldiers who are always ready to serve.  We are doctors and lawyers; firemen, EMT and police; teachers and tradesmen; retirees and young families like everyone else in your local community.  We come together as a group united by our moral beliefs, and our loyalty to our Constitution and Texas. We live by and support what the Constitution of the United States and the Bill of Rights decrees.

We are not revolutionaries. We are not a hate group. We are not Anti-Government. We are, however, in favor of promoting education and resources for the protection against Tyranny and the corruption of Government officials, bad and unconstitutional legislation.

The word Militia has been linked to many negative groups in the past so now is a good time to learn the truth. 

We are not a militia- because you are already a part of the Militia.

Everyone is welcome regardless of age, race, religion, gender or political affiliation provided you believe in our great country and the Constitution being the supreme law of our land. We are a diverse group of ordinary citizens with a love for our Country and for Texas. We promote the Constitution as a way of life and the only medium for our lives.  Our forefathers fought for us to have this Constitution, and we will carry the torch of liberty they lit for us and our future generations."

That should be enough information to validate the legality of forming a militia group as long as their stated purpose is to uphold the Constitution and Laws of the State of Texas.