You’re No JFK

I was enjoying a few moments with a friend of mine, a mechanic who happens to be of Asian lineage; perhaps I should include that he is here legally and is a citizen. Somehow the conversation turned toward space exploration and I mentioned that I had a neat laser disc copy of “For All Mankind”. For those not familiar, that’s the one with John F. Kennedy standing at the podium at Rice University on September 12, 1962 explaining to the nation that he intended to jump start our space program efforts and to take over the lead from our only competition, the Russians.

There is one of the most exhilarating pieces of recorded audio video footage ever taken as a Saturn 5 rocket takes off, cameras at every conceivable angle with the sounds of raw power being pulsed through every speaker of my sound system. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to being thrust into space, the walls bending and the floor shaking as I watch our nation’s hopes rise with that rocket.

There are several locations on the internet where you can listen to that particular speech, a most inspiring and riveting start to our journey to the moon. I’ve linked to one of them in the title bar. Here is a small sample, one which I would hope you are familiar with:

“We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too. . .”

{…}

“Well, space is there, and we're going to climb it, and the moon and the planets are there, and new hopes for knowledge and peace are there. And, therefore, as we set sail we ask God's blessing on the most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked.”

I’m only guessing that JFK is literally rolling over in his grave after listening to Ted’s victory speech after the Senate agreed to support the updated and improved immigration bill. I’ve got news for you Teddy, you’re no JFK. Here’s what might have been spoken from the pulpit were it to have been done yesterday:

“We choose to open our borders. We choose to let anyone vote in this decade and to do the other things, not because they are legal, but because they are convenient, because their votes will serve to promote progressive socialism regardless of our best energies and skills, because we are willing to redistribute income to pay for the challenges to our Social Security and Medicare, one that could have been avoided had we built a wall, one which we never intended to build to begin with, and those others, too.”

{…}

“Well, there is no wall, and we’re going to let them come in, and the hills and the valleys are there, and new hopes for social assistance and other hand outs too. And, therefore, as we swim across that river, we ask Gomez as he starts on that most hazardous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked, remember to always vote the straight Democratic ticket.”

We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Borders!

Another nail in our coffin was hammered home as both sides of the Senate jumped into bed with one another in support of an immigration bill which would rubber stamp 12 million illegal aliens into becoming legal citizens. Why couldn’t they do like Houston’s City Council does, just annex Mexico and declare them part of Houston regardless of what they want.

“The agreement we just reached is the best possible chance we will have to secure our borders, bring millions of people out of the shadows and into the sunshine of America,” Democratic Sen. Edward Kennedy of Massachusetts said; I’m not sure, was that a glass in his hand that was raised high for the cameras? This is like catching a burglary suspect in your garage and having to invite him in for dinner; what is wrong with this picture?

“Secure our borders”, Teddy “I’ll drink to that” Kennedy actually said this was the best possible chance we will have to secure our borders. I thought the use of LSD was against the law, maybe this was a 60’s flashback for those bubble heads in the Senate. Are they out of their minds? I was tempted to insert flowing poetry by the use of expletives as I have in the past, somehow, “Are they out of their minds?”, would have sounded much more impressive had I included the all too common and yet quite illustrative “F” word placed directly in between “their” and “minds”.

Teddy, I know this might be difficult for you to understand, having had your brain pickled on alcohol; but what excuses do the rest of you imbeciles have? I was going to say “What excuses do the rest of you Senators have; but “imbecile” and “Senator” are easily substituted with each passing day. This agreement does nothing to secure our borders; it completely erases our borders. You have declared that there is nothing wrong when 12 million people storm across our border as if they were tourists who decided to stay a little longer.

Do you know what does secure borders; a very large fence with barb wire, bricks and broken glass on top of the wall. Guards with guns that really shoot would help, guards who don’t have to worry about going to prison for shooting those who cross over illegally would help secure our borders and deporting those who snuck in while our eyes were closed would help too.

You (add which ever popular profanity works best right here; but it has to be said loud enough for them to hear you over their shouts of jubilation) Senators and Representatives keep patting yourselves on the back, FOR WHAT? How much more of this can we afford? “W” has promised that he will sign this piece of garbage into law as soon as it hits his desk. I was thinking of a more applicable term, “when it hits the fan”.

Little Courtesies Build Better Neighbors

I read an article on the internet this week, a reminder of something simple that might be helpful to everyone. The short piece was written by a fellow who goes by the moniker, Big White Hat and he called it, “Texas Charm School Lesson 3” (linked via title bar); going on about how drivers are supposed to “finger wave” at those passing by on the road using the free fingers on top of their steering wheel. The comment section to his article is worth the time as well, offering a wide cross section of information. If you think about that for just a moment, what a simple friendly gesture tells about the mindset of the person offering a passing “howdy neighbor” as opposed to the many negative attitudes which seem to abound. This would work for you Yankees too, instead of “howdy neighbor” substitute “Hey, Youse Guys”; be sure to smile and have your pistol ready, just in case.

I’ve noticed some of the younger generation and some older folks who have moved in from other areas of the country may not have been exposed to the “howdy neighbor” sort of mentality and it’s truly a shame. There doesn’t appear to be any association to being neighborly along racial lines, these minor courtesies are common among nearly every one I’ve met. I often see folks wave or nod to friends as they pass, even to those they may not know and yet recognize as neighbors. Maybe it’s not too late to instill a sense of community; the monthly newsletter that we get could be a gentle way to place this idea into homes without pointing a finger.

I have a poster full of colloquialisms and one of them is, “There is more to life than increasing its speed”. I suppose that could be a warning to ease off the gas peddle or maybe that refers to something more important, our need to be a little more appreciative of what is around us, to include being more neighborly. We are all children of our Father in Heaven; isn’t it time we showed a little respect for each individual who shares this time and place with us?

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend, mostly among the younger generation; but not limited to them, that of people walking two, three or more abreast as they take up a good portion of the street. It’s fine that these young people are able to enjoy one another’s company and have a good time while on their way to the store or some other point of interest; however, the street is also intended for vehicular traffic. These young people often times act in such a manner as to challenge those driving down the road, something which appears to be confrontational in nature, as if the vehicle should take drastic measures to either go around or even stop and wait for these young people to pass by; or else!

I hesitate to equate such deliberate hostilities with gang mentality; however, this type of behavior isn’t much different than spray painting or tagging an area or “turf” as can be found on fences or walls of shops which have been defaced with gang graffiti. The antagonism which is presented might even be considered an assault worthy of retaliation, were these young people to run into an equally arrogant driver. I’m afraid that the consequences of such a meeting could be tragic.

There are variations of the need for “community spirit” while sharing the road, for lack of a better name, by those who jog with their backs towards the traffic. I’d always thought that walking or running would be much safer were these folks to be facing in the direction of those vehicles which present a hazard to their health and safety. Pedestrians and joggers might even offer a smile, a simple wave or any number of simple salutations which create the notion that each individual has been properly addressed with a minimal amount of dignity. As my friend Big White Hat has explained, drivers should be equally aware and return such pleasantries. Does that sound too old fashioned or could we all be doing a better job at being neighborly?

Old Billy Crystal Joke

Monday I spent the afternoon with one “specialist” to talk about a “minor medical procedure”. Wednesday I’m scheduled to see my neurologist about something totally unrelated as a follow up and then on Thursday I’m supposed to talk with yet another “specialist” to evaluate the blood tests that were taken Monday along with the CT and MRI scans; presumably to discuss surgical procedures. Wow, three specialists in one week; this isn’t funny and yet I find myself looking like the opening scene from a Billy Crystal movie.

He has his “white man’s afro” hair cut as he wanders around his bedroom explaining the life cycle of the average male. There’s a pretend walker which he uses to move about the room, making exaggerated faces as if his dentures had been left in that glass on the night stand. I can hardly wait for my memory to begin to fail, sitting in the bathtub while Carmen, the care taker from the clinic, the one we hire when my brain turns to oatmeal; when Carmen reminds me to clean behind my ears. That will make my world complete, the total Billy Crystal “old man of the sea”; bathtub, what’s the difference at that age.

Now I’m getting those looks from Lucy, the kind of look that tells me I should have listened to her way back when. You know that look; yea, be careful now.

“I told you, you should have continued going to see Dr. Frank” (named altered). “Just because you think he’s a quack doesn’t mean he couldn’t help you get past this without them cutting part of your liver off.”

How can you get angry with the love of your life when she wants so desperately to help? The fact remains that I lost any respect for Dr. Frank when he checked me over that one time I relented to Lucy’s promptings to go see that quack. He told me flat out that I probably had suffered a heart attack; but instead of advising me to go immediately to the hospital, Dr. Frank zapped my chest with some sort of cosmic ray gun, put some foul tasting drops on my tongue and told me that he just saved my life. No thank you, that kind of back woods medical attention might play well on the Walton’s television show; but I’d prefer somebody with a little more respect for common sense.

So, I’m still in the dog house for rejecting “old fashioned homeopathy” and the real benefits it offers when done in moderation. I’m sure that those foot baths help relieve and make you feel better; not so sure that years of toxins are actually pulled out through my feet, quack, quack-quack. Was that a duck walking by or an opinion? I’m not entirely against taking herbs to maintain a proper metabolism that has been subjected to modern day fast foods; but I don’t believe for a minute that passing some cosmic ray gun over my chest will fix a tumor, a heart attack or a sack full of gall stones.

If, after having talked with the liver specialist, I am given sufficient information to either live with the tumor they spotted on those tests or have it removed; then and only then will I make the decision to rely on modern medical procedures and doctors. I can always walk out and close the door, let the tumor sit there and hope it isn’t something I’ll regret later on. That is what being an adult is all about; living with the challenges you are given and accepting responsibility for whatever happens.

“Piece of cake!”

Come Two Thirds of the Way to Houston

This should be the new banner on top of City Hall, our new slogan to entice businesses, tourism and prospective families to move to our fair city. I read in the Houston Chronicle this morning where the “City can't keep pension fund promise” and that Mayor White's administration “will propose paying only two-thirds of the statutorily required pension contribution…” (link in title bar)

Come to Houston; but, when your airplane lands on the runway it will bring you only two thirds the way to the terminal where you will be required to exit onto the tarmac and walk the rest of the way. Your luggage will be waiting for you somewhere on the tarmac because it too will only be brought two thirds the way to the terminal. That should be a good indicator that Houston is in deep trouble and to avoid it like the plague. I can hear the passengers request for alternative destinations, to include Ray Nagin’s “Chocolate City” that has yet to be rebuilt.

“911 dispatcher…; No Sir, that ambulance was dispatched as you requested. It had to turn around when it got two thirds of the way to your location. We are truly sorry that your wife is having a heart attack; but I’m sure you’ll agree that raising property taxes to match with prior commitments…” “Excuse me Sir; but that kind of language is unacceptable and I’d send a police unit to your location, unfortunately two thirds of our work force resigned and moved to other cities.” “I’ll inform Dick Chaney that two thirds is better than none; thank you so much for the explanation involving two thirds Birds and two thirds Bees.”

“City of Houston, Waste Management Services, how may I assist you?” “Oh, no Sir, we no longer have trash pick up. Yes, I know that you are being charged for trash pick up; we simply cannot afford to furnish that service. Is there anything else the City of Houston can do?” “Why thank you; I’m told that quite often these days, fortunately elephants can’t fly.”

I see litigation on the horizon, a drawn out and very expensive process that the taxpayers will have to pay for. I hope the legal council for the City of Houston explains the basic concepts of contracts and responsibilities to the Mayor and the rest of City Council. Scaring the taxpaying public with proof of fiscal mismanagement, regardless of which administration was responsible, cannot be the foundation for a legal retreat from an existing financial debt. Sorry, you guys will have to do better than that.

This is a replay of the same situation that Mayor White’s administration brought before the public back in March of 2004. The City can’t pay because they spent that money on other items so, “Sorry”, we overspent.

I will remind the City that during the twenty years I served as a police officer of the “routine” of pay negotiations. Here’s how it went; the police would be told, by which ever administration was in office, that the City couldn’t afford to raise police pay “X” amount, an amount which would keep police pay marginally behind that of every other major police department’s base pay; instead they might be able to squeeze by with “One half of X if the police would accept 5% added on to your retirement package”. I couldn’t tell you how many times that particular scenario was played out instead of getting a decent wage increase; however, I do know that I was promised an improved retirement package.

When I joined the ranks of Houston’s Finest the retirement package for a twenty year officer was 30% of base pay. Over the years that retirement percentage was raised, each time we agreed to continue working without a raise in take home pay. I now receive 55% of base pay and the City continues to “renegotiate”; most notably when it comes to how much I pay for medical insurance and how much the City puts in. Now I’m being promised yet another empty envelope in my retirement. I suppose one lesson I should have learned by now, “liars are going to lie”.

If I were to mail this to City Hall, with an understanding that the postal rate just increased, I don’t suppose it would get there if I only put a stamp on the envelope that was worth two thirds, now would it. When I go to the grocery store, imagine the look on the checker’s face when I hand over two thirds of the amount due. How about when I go see the gastrointestinal specialist this afternoon; what if I only pay two thirds of the amount due; what kind of diagnosis should I expect? “Sorry, I don’t have the money” won’t make it in the real world; what makes Mayor White believe it should work in the fantasy land he is living in?

Shock Jocks

I thought I’d toss in my two cents worth after hearing of yet another case of Shock Jock hogging the head lines. I won’t even link to the many current stories listed when I Googled the term “Shock Jock” to find all the various articles on them. I will note that to my surprise Rush Limbaugh is listed as a Shock Jock, fancy that.

Perhaps the loose fitting definition of Shock Jock should be examined; from Wikipedia, the all knowing and never mistaken source of wisdom, I found the following:

“A shock jock is a slang term used to describe a type of radio broadcaster (sometimes a disc jockey) who attracts attention using humor that a significant portion of the listening audience may find offensive. The term is usually used pejoratively to describe evocative or irreverent broadcasters whose manners and on-air behavior is offensive to the listener.”

I suppose Rush might actually be the premier Shock Jock since his programming offends almost anyone with whacko liberal left leanings; but that wasn’t the kind of offensive broadcasting I was thinking of. Political talk show host’s spectrum of offensive broadcasting usually keeps to defining differences between liberals and conservatives; which in itself might be offensive but constrained to only acceptable language devoid of profanities and vulgarities. No, the broadcasters I’d target and label as Shock Jocks would fall into the area of “unacceptable public behavior”; those who thrive on sexual depravity, profanity, hate and other generally despicable forms of human debasement.

Here in Houston I know of at least one morning radio station, which I stopped listening to, with a pair of rude pranksters who would call people up with the intent of getting under their skin. These guys would get a tip about some dispute that was on going in a person’s life; contract issues with their landlord, home owner association issues or any number of situations which make blood pressure go through the top of the measuring device. These two jerks then pretend to be involved, leading the unsuspecting listener down the garden path, each step more steeped in anger, veins popping as the tension mounts and after preparing just the right moment these clowns spring the truth of the matter and let the targeted individual in on the joke. Some joke, creating a heart attack situation for the listening audience, “Ho-ho, ha-ha; that sure was funny listening to that poor sap sucking wind for thirty seconds while he looked for an ax to bury in somebody’s skull.” I’m sorry; but creating all those feelings of hate and anxiety isn’t funny, isn’t entertainment and shouldn’t be part of the morning commute.

Those prankster type Shock Jocks pale in comparison to the more popular, the nationally syndicated super Shock Jocks. These guys have no problem reducing the human race to its lowest common denominator. A steady stream of vulgarity, profanity and sexual depravity seems to be the ticket to stardom. The FCC has rules of engagement, a list of words which are not to be uttered over the air waves; but, what about satellite transmissions which are technically not part of the “public air waves”? In the past couple of weeks there have been a number of extreme cases brought to the public’s attention, instances which have gone far beyond anything which could be considered fit for public consumption.

I’m not endorsing any form of government intervention, nothing which would or could be considered trampling of Constitutional “rights”, to include freedom of expression through speech or any other God given rights. Quoting from an article I posted back in February, “Well, freedom of speech never included the right to offend your neighbor’s ear in public, no different than slapping someone in the face or spitting on them.” (link provided in title bar). What I’m concerned about is the ever increasing amount of pure trash that is being scattered around and consumed by the public, all in the name of “entertainment”.

I was going to put my opinion in on Rap music; but have decided that any comment I have would be misunderstood as a racially motivated “hate crime”. I can’t bear to be near the “stuff”; makes my blood boil as a steady barrage of profanity and degradation to the human body is pounded incessantly from some home boy’s stereo system at volume levels capable of reshaping sheet metal; sorry, I forgot that I wasn’t going to comment on Rap. I don’t listen to Rap stations and I couldn’t tell you what kind of remarks a disc jockey would have to say leading up to or following that kind of filth; but I would hasten to add that in all probability it wouldn’t be quotations from the Bible intended to lead the listener nearer to God.

Shock Jocks have their moment in the spotlight for now, taking home the bucks and wallowing in the cesspool reserved for such stardom; a cesspool with endless boundaries, one which will accommodate an entire culture if such is their desire. The only way to cut off their funding is to abandon their programming on an individual basis; stop supporting their sponsors, quit listening to them and they will vanish into thin air.

The next sound you hear will be the toilet being flushed. Howard, Howard who?

Recommended reading:

The State of American Culture and What can be Done about It
By Robert Bork
http://www.ldsmag.com/ideas/051027americanprint.html

Gosh and Oh My Heck
http://tfsternsrantings.blogspot.com/2006/10/gosh-and-oh-my-heck.html

Are we fully ripe with iniquity
http://tfsternsrantings.blogspot.com/2006/06/are-we-fully-ripe-with-iniquity.html

Senate Votes that Mormonism is the National Religion (snark)
http://tfsternsrantings.blogspot.com/2006/05/senate-votes-that-mormonism-is.html

The Freedom Collection
http://tfsternsrantings.blogspot.com/2006/02/freedom-collection.html

You won’t hear this being taught in school
By T. F. Stern November 5, 2005
http://www.americandaily.com/article/10057

Measure Twice - Cut Once

I’d have made a terrible carpenter; but I did learn one rule from my father in law and that was the old rule, "Measure Twice - Cut Once". I’m sure that it can’t be applied to many other professions; locksmith work would have to be included.

When I cut a key from code, one that needs to be put on the expensive transponder technology key blanks, I first make sure that the information is correct by cutting the coded information on a less expensive key, one that doesn’t have the transponder. If the cheap key works smoothly in all the locks I then cut that same information onto the expensive key and finish off with the programming.

This morning I had a chance to work on an older Corvette, a total reconstruction job that had the appearance of a brand new vehicle. They’d finished all the windows with fresh weather stripping and new chrome. All the windows fit snuggly and had fancy tint film applied. The paint job must have cost as much as the car as I admired the extra clear coats that made it look an inch thick. The owner had left the car for some other improvements and mentioned, almost in passing that he didn’t have a door key yet, only an ignition key.

That information had not been shared with the young fellow responsible for locking up at the end of the day. He’d methodically gone around closing and locking doors, locking tool cabinets and making sure that each Corvette was carefully parked in close proximity to the next so that the doors could not be opened except for the last car in line. Some cars were up on lifts which suspended these cars above the others to take advantage of the limited safe spaces.

When I got there it took them several minutes to sort out the morning ritual of moving all these “sardines” so they could work on them. The one I was supposed to work on, to make a door key, was up on a lift. It was locked up tight as a drum; but at least they were able to lower it to ground level for me.

I admired the restoration work and at the same time realized that it would be a crime before God to put a scratch on that beautiful paint job, take a chance on scratching the brand new chrome strips or tear any of the freshly replaced weather stripping. The car qualified as an antique, or nearly one and I had to scratch my head to remember the last time I’d worked on a 1978 classic Vette.

The owner of the garage watched as I studied the vehicle, similar to the way a billiard player plots a strategy around a pool table prior to taking a shot; knowing all to well that it might be the only shot he’d get if he didn’t run the table. I determined that attempting to go down inside the door was not an option and remembered an old trick, an ancient Corvette trick that took advantage the tiny opening where the door handle was hinged, an opening which would permit a small right angled piece of rigid material to hook the linkage. I never was good at that particular option; all the same I was glad to have at least one viable option.

I tried for a while and was very careful as I noticed that the handles had also been reconditioned with a new coating of chrome. How long do you spend on a procedure that you were never very fond of; ten minutes, fifteen, twenty?

“This isn’t working; I’m looking for another way in.” There was a glimmer of hope on the passenger side where the window looked to have about a sixteenth of an inch gap at the top where it met with the T-tops. I had an old window bypass tool that I hardly ever get to use anymore, one that was designed to get past wing windows.

I might have to explain what a wing window is to the newer generation since I haven’t seen one in years. Wing windows permitted stale inside air to be pulled outside, mostly for those who smoked. There was a chrome lever that would keep the triangular shaped window shut and this tool would slide under the weather stripping, position part of it on the button that permitted the latch to turn while the rest of the tool put pressure on the side of the latch in order to flip the latch. Once the latch was bypassed it would permit you to reach in and open the door.

I sprayed a coating of lubricant on the window where it met with the weather stripping so that the tool wouldn’t grab. I think I was more afraid of putting pressure on the top edge of the window, pressure that could break the window. It slipped in so easily I found myself smiling. I then tripped the lever which holds the T-tops latched to the windshield frame and was relieved that they hadn’t been left in the locked position. The T-top came right off and all I had to do then was reach down and open the door. I fitted the door key from off the glove box lock and breathed a sign of relief; “Yes!”

I watched a ball game the other day where the pitcher plunked the first batter, gave up a single to the next and followed that with a walk. He was in a real jam with no outs and the heart of the line up approaching. He struck out the clean up hitter and produced a ground ball which turned into a double play to get out of the inning without any damage. That’s about the way I felt as I picked up my check, the owner having watched the whole time as I “operated on his baby”. I was able to get out of the inning without any damage; a very tough inning even for a seasoned locksmith.

The picture of this Silver 1978 Corvette was pulled from the internet (Link provided in the title bar). The one I worked on looked so similar as to nearly be a twin.

What do you keep in the other pouch?

I was on the phone a while ago talking to my friend Steve, a gun enthusiast who’d just gotten home from the range. He and his wife had been shooting a pair of 38’s; an inch and a half barreled Smith and Wesson and the other a snub nosed Charter Arms. I told him that I couldn’t hit the side of a barn with my old short barreled Smith, the one I’d bought as a back up pistol back when I was graduating from the Houston Police Department academy.

That brought to mind the fact that I was basically a welfare case while in the Academy; I just didn’t know I was poor until many years had gone by. I was making all of $ 600 a month, a modest increase from what I’d been making at Montgomery Ward. I was able to pay for my apartment rent and a car payment with plenty to spare for food and entertainment. I was doing fine; just didn’t have any money.

Before graduating from the Academy they explained that the City was supplying the uniforms; but that we needed to pay for our pistols. I waited for them to ask for a down payment on a patrol car next; wondering how I was going to pay for what I considered an expensive piece of equipment. I ended up buying two pistols that day, a Smith and Wesson K frame 357 as my primary weapon and a snub nose Smith and Wesson 38 Special as a back up. I figured they wouldn’t have suggested it if we didn’t need one.

I was a fair shot with my regular duty weapon, nothing to write home about; but nothing to be ashamed of either. I’d shoot about the same score with or without practice, in the mid to high 80’s every year. I shot exactly the same score several years in a row; could have saved the City the cost of a box of bullets by simply changing the date on my card.

On the other hand, as I mentioned earlier, I couldn’t hit the side of a barn with the snub nose 38; a slight exaggeration since I did qualify, just not near as comfortable a score. There was a Homicide detective who would come down to the Capitol Street Bridge shooting range with his snub nose pistol just to pick up chump change. He’d place a pasty square on the target down range at the far end and bet any comers that he could hit it with the first shot. That pasty looked like a small dot at that range and so he’d generally get a few takers. I have no idea how he learned to control that short barreled pistol so well; but he’d win more times than he lost.

Upon graduating the City sent us down to Supply to be fitted out in our gear, a worthless piece of garbage for a holster that had been tagged as the “Kennigy Holster”, a handcuff case, 3 “keepers” to hold the “Sam Brown” to our regular issued belt and a double pouch to hold extra ammunition. Memory has faded to some degree and I’m not sure if the City supplied all of that or if we had to buy some of it on our own; not that it’s all that important now. I remember wrapping the barrel of my brand new Smith and Wesson duty pistol in a soft cloth on the night we graduated so that the barrel wouldn’t have the blue rubbed off; that’s how crude the Kennigy Holster was. ( Anyone out there; please correct my spelling on the name; in honor of Julius Kennigy who was a police Sergeant at the time.) I know for sure that I went down and purchased a much nicer holster, one that was lined with soft leather that wouldn’t destroy my fancy looking blue job.

I later found that neither of those early generation holsters were worth a tinker’s damn when it came to pistol retention. I’d have to chase some fool down on a run holding my pistol to keep it from falling out; not exactly a cool feeling to arrive at the show down without your pistol. The City eventually phased out the Kennigy Holster in favor of one that actually had been designed for modern police work; retention and ease of use for the officer were built in; but that isn’t what I wanted to write about since I’d posted about this a couple of years ago.

http://tfsternsrantings.blogspot.com/2005/06/police-holsters.html

I was telling my friend Steve, the one who’d just gotten back from the shooting range, about the spare ammo pouches that were on my belt; I was already laughing as the memory came back. I kept six spare bullets in one and in the other I had a small box of Bayer Aspirin. It made for some interesting conversation when talking with others, police personnel or regular folks.

“Why on earth would you keep a box of Aspirin in there?” They’d go bug eyed, as if I were keeping a pet hamster in there would sound as silly. I’d go on to explain as best I could.

“I figure if I get into a real “storm” (expletive omitted) and used up the six rounds in my pistol, reloaded and then emptied the next six then I’d probably have a severe headache and it would be nice to have some aspirin handy”, followed by a quick smirk of a smile to indicate how much fun it was to make it up as I went along. The fact remained, had such a situation come about; there’s no doubt I’d be looking for something to make it all go away.

Steve was howling on the other end of the phone; I was about to say “phone line” and it dawned on me, in this day of cellular calls that the expression might not mean anything. I changed from the Model 19 Smith and Wesson to the much heavier 586 after a few years and found it stayed on target better with a little less kick. I still prefer a revolver to an automatic; call me an old fart, I’m old enough. (link in title bar)

While looking up the linked postings I noticed that June of 2005 had a few other police related stories if you get bored watching television and have nothing better to do try clicking on the Archived 2005 articles. Just scroll through until you find them.

Mother’s Day Planning

Birthdays, Anniversaries, Christmas and New Years are on everyone’s calendar; but if you overlook Mother’s Day you may as well start scoping out the dog house for the rest of the year. I was in a planning meeting this morning at church where one fairly minor detail took the spotlight; what to kind of token handout should be given the lovely ladies as a means of letting each of them know they are appreciated next Sunday on Mother’s Day.

In years past there have been two traditional gifts; a single cut rose or a small plant with some kind of small flower. This morning’s discussion centered on which one, the rose or the plant that dies on the window sill within a week, which is more desired. I never had given it much thought, naively believing perhaps that any gift offered would be sufficient as a small token of the gratitude we all share for motherhood and all that conjures; nurturing, caring, teaching and so on.

“Well, if we give a single rose it might remind some of them of how their husbands should have given them roses.” I would hope that husbands give their wives cut flowers from time to time, roses are fine; but almost any sign of affection that can be placed in a simple vase during a meal will work. I vote for a single cut flower, carnations or roses are easily handed out at the end of our meetings and will last for a couple of days as a reminder that a kind thought was sent their way.

“My wife always feels guilty for murdering yet another small plant that sits in the window. We either water it to death, let it die of drought, it gets too much sun, not enough sun; you get the idea.” I’ve always thought that handing out those small live plants made women feel good; springtime being the start of new life and all those nurturing feelings, but what do I know?

“We could give them chocolate; say those little hearts that Dove makes? It would stay with them forever.” A not too reverent burst of laughter followed the fact that anything with calories that taste as good as chocolate will go straight to the waist. You can see how planning something as simple as a Mother’s Day handout has turned into a national dilemma worthy of Henry Kissinger’s advice.

"I’d like to change my vote from roses to chocolates. We can hand the ladies a beautifully wrapped piece of chocolate with an all encompassing Mother’s Day thought tied to it with a fancy piece of ribbon, let them carry on about how they wouldn’t dare eat it and then volunteer to save them from a fate worse than death by eating the very same chocolate we wanted for ourselves to begin with; everyone goes home from church happy and if there are any left over we can eat them at the next planning meeting."

The names of those persons offering suggestions have been omitted to protect their identities much as the opening lines from the old black and white television series, Dragnet. Any similarity to members of prominence are purely coincidental and should in no way reflect our incompetence when understanding what goes on in a woman’s mind. If only we’d had input from the Relief Society during our meeting none of this would have come up; we’d simply have asked, “What would you like us to do?” and we’d have gone along obediently.

Picture courtesy of Russian Flora, (linked via title bar)

Robbery Suspect Caught

I read in the Houston Chronicle this morning where an officer was close enough to a robbery in progress to actually witness its conclusion; the part where the robbery suspect got shot. Not to make light of the situation; but when you point a gun at the police I have no tears for you ( linked via title bar )

When I was a young police officer I’d always wanted to be close enough to a major crime scene to jump into the middle of it. I was assigned to Central Patrol Evenings out of Central in the early 70’s. One particular Churches Chicken store was getting robbed on a regular basis and we decided to allocate a handful of units to stake out the place; when I say “we”, bear in mind that I was not in on the decision making process. I was; however, thrilled at the prospect of being in on the detail, it having a fair chance of offering results since the store was being robbed a couple of times a week.

My partner and I were set up about two blocks away and out of sight so that when the robbery went down we’d be in a position to catch them if they came our way. Other units were similarly positioned with one unit watching the store through binoculars. I heard the call go out, the familiar address and waited for the primary unit to alert us with details of the suspects.

“Suspects in custody”, was put out almost simultaneously. We collectively drove to the scene and were somewhat dumbstruck when we noticed that the primary unit didn’t have anyone in the back of their patrol unit. They were talking to the young man working behind the counter, taking notes as he explained how he’d just been robbed and wanted to know why we were all standing around instead of chasing the bad guy.

“We have the suspect.” The young man behind the counter had a puzzled look on his face; knowing that it was impossible since he’d just told us about the robbery. It turned out that nobody had been into the Churches Chicken for the past twenty minutes as had been observed by the unit with the binoculars. There had never been any robberies; at least not by anyone walking up to the counter wielding a pistol. The young man behind the counter, the employee had been pocketing the day’s receipts and calling in to report a robbery; so the fact remained, the suspect was in custody.

Several years went by and I was assigned to make a robbery report downtown. I listened as the young man explained that he was on his way to the bank to deposit the day’s receipts when he was robbed. The details were sketchy at best; almost as if he were making them up as he went along. A little red flag went off in my head as it occurred to me that in all likelihood I was talking with the suspect.

I had no proof, only my suspicions to guide me through as I took great care to record the details, or lack thereof, exactly as they were given. This may have been the shortest robbery report ever made; I might as well have put down that the suspect was a grey blob who vanished into thin air carrying all the money and left it at that.

The folks who check over the quality of reports turned in flagged my report as being a sorry excuse for police work and requested, perhaps too kind a term, that I do a better job as I was handed it back accompanied with something of a scowl as if I’d cheated the Department by doing shoddy work. The fact was I couldn’t accuse the one person who I believed to be the real suspect with no evidence to prove it.

I went back and made a very detailed report. I measured the sidewalk, listed the placement of the traffic signals, how high the curb was from the street surface and even listed cracks in the concrete at the location of the alleged event. I put so many useless details into that report that it had to have a second full page of single spaced details which had about as much to do with police work as this blog has. I turned it into the fellow who’d been critical of my work and explained that not all is as it appears; that perhaps he might have asked why the first report was lacking before going off with extreme criticism.

I’m sure there’s a lesson for us all in there somewhere; maybe the fellow behind the register should be watched a little more closely would be important to remember. How about we get all the information before jumping to conclusions; now that would really be asking too much, now wouldn’t it?

Lawsuit Abuse or Criminal Oppression, $65 Million?

A District of Columbia administrative hearings judge, Roy Pearson, had a pair of pants lost for a week and so he tried to extort $1000.00 from the cleaning establishment, the value he claimed the entire suit was worth. When the pants were found Roy Pearson refused to accept them and decided to sue because the establishment claimed “Same Day Service” and “Satisfaction Guaranteed”.

You have got to read the article ( linked via title bar) to appreciate the great lengths that the cleaning establishment has gone to “accommodate” Roy Pearson, A District of Columbia administrative hearings judge. I’d call what District of Columbia administrative hearings judge, Roy Pearson did extortion, criminal oppression or at the very least criminal malfeasance for an appointed judge, to use his position in the community to target anyone in such a manner as to put a gun to their heads, figuratively, with such an outrageous tort suit.

I have an idea; have the District Attorney’s office file on him for any of the above listed crimes and haul his worthless fanny off to the jail house. Ask for the judge hearing this criminal case to post Roy Pearson’s bond so unbelievably high as to make it impossible to attain freedom until the case is heard and make sure that there are plenty of continuances in order to properly prepare the case. Did I leave anything out? Maybe place Pat Pearson in a jail cell with an overly aggressive gay macho stud who may have had some sort of previous encounter with District of Columbia administrative hearings judge, Roy Pearson. Assign Roy Pearson the laziest county jailer, one who has a record of sleeping on the job, to that cell block and see how long Roy Pearson survives.

In the event that District of Columbia administrative hearings judge, Roy Pearson, does not survive; place a sign on his worthless shredded corpse as a warning to others that extortion, criminal oppression or such insidious malfeasance will not go unnoticed or without serious consequences. After these events have occurred we can move on over to the House of Representatives and the Senate and the Supreme Court.

Hypocrites in Austin Regarding Identification

Locksmiths are required by State Law to obtain a form of photo identification, preferably a driver’s license when performing service. The purpose of this exercise in common sense is to verify that persons requesting service are who they say they are. I'm also required to record that information on each and every sales slip. When I ask for such ID from customers who've lost a key to their vehicle and wish to have a replacement key for their ten thousand dollar vehicle, their twenty thousand dollar vehicle or more; at no time have I had any of them feel as if I were singling them out due to age or race.

I read in the Houston Chronicle where the Democrats in Austin, the same ones who signed off on the locksmith law requiring photo identification, are all in an uproar because the Republicans want to require this same photo identification for voters. In a similar piece of legislation going through the house similar identification would be needed to renew voter registration. (linked in title bar)

"House Bill 626, sponsored by Rep. Phil King, R-Weatherford, would require state election officials to verify citizenship of every applicant for a new voter registration card."

{...}

“"What this is is an orchestrated and national movement to suppress elderly and minority votes," Van De Putte said, adding that in Texas, the Secretary of State's office has no reports of people casting illegal ballots.”

No, Van De Putte, this is a common sense attempt to insure that those who vote are who they say they are and at the same time verify that they are citizens living in Texas legally. Maybe these requirements seem a little over the top when it comes to voting, and anyway the locksmith already checked them and said they were okay.

The Mormon Experience via PBS

Yesterday I wrote about the first two hours of the PBS show, The Mormons, as linked in the title bar. I was careful to keep an open mind and yet, all the while there was something telling me that the presentation had an ominous dark agenda. Having endured, and I believe that is the proper word, after having endured subtle and not so subtle insults and insinuations regarding sacred beliefs which I hold I must conclude that the PBS broadcast was anything but a non-biased sampling to acquaint a stranger to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I would go further and state that those unfortunate folks who watched were being sold a bill of goods.

I noticed that many of those interviewed to offer insight into the workings and the more spiritual aspects of the church were disgruntled feminists with an agenda which ran contrary to Church doctrine, excommunicated members with an ax to grind, or some rather colorful individuals intended to portray normalcy. Those authoritative members within the mainstream Church were often placed in positions of defending the Church’s stance on a variety of oddities rather than asking them to explain basic doctrine.

My son asked me why I was continuing to watch, noting that it was clear to him that it was “so negative” as to make him want to leave the room. My response was that I would be required to know what had been presented in order to counter the flawed picture which had been painted, to be able to answer questions from my friends and acquaintances, those who might be alarmed at some of the slanted information which was given as truth.

Lucy got home a few minutes after the PBS production had ended, having provided her services at the Bishop’s Storehouse most of the day helping folks properly store and can basic food supplies, something which was glossed over in half a minute on the PBS show. The man hours provided by members in such a capacity are free and the goods are provided basically at cost in order to make them affordable to the most frugal members living on a shoe string. My wife’s expertise makes her perfectly suited to help get them started down the road towards self sufficiency which is one of the goals of the Church Welfare System; but that wasn’t really brought out now was it?

Lucy noticed the beautiful music coming from the stereo which had been synchronized with the television broadcast of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir special which followed the PBS presentation, The Mormons. Lucy wondered if I had started replaying the production and I had to explain how this was a different show; this was 180 degrees turned around from what I’d just experienced, this was actually uplifting. I wish I had listened to the Tabernacle Choir for two hours instead of the “enlightened intellectuals” who’d been hand picked to distort and destroy anything sacred which my church stands for.

I then added something of how betrayed I felt when I compared “The Mormons” with something that happened to the actor Tom Selleck several years ago. He’d been invited to some talk show, supposedly to ask him about a new film he was in, a way to promote the new movie. Instead he was blind sided with a string of accusations in the form of questions regarding his views on the NRA and gun control. I’d expected some margin of negativity regarding the Church as a natural outcome; instead I was subjected to nothing less than an orchestrated attack on most everything I believe to be sacred. Thank you very much; next time I’ll take the bus.

If you want to find out about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, The Mormons; I suggest you talk to members of the Church who are living within the doctrines which define the Church. I would avoid following the information gained from a disenchanted feminist who wants to hold the Priesthood, an excommunicated member who would rather tell the leaders of the Church what they need to change rather than accepting the existing doctrines of the Lord’s Church, an interview with a rather unstable young man who upon returning from his Church Mission explained his Mission in terms that could only be compared as a lunatic with terrorist ties or historians who suspect black magic secret combinations behind the doors of our most sacred edifices, our temples. Other than that the PBS production was …, I better stop or I might say something negative about it.

The Mormon Experience in One Night

I watched the first two hours of the four hour PBS broadcast production entitled, The Mormons. I had a couple of reasons for wanting to watch the show; in some regard I wanted to see how a non-church production would present the early history of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Days. I wanted to be prepared to answer questions from my non-Mormon associations, many of whom have little if any solid awareness of what I believe or why I hold to those beliefs in the face of a steady stream of often contentious argument against my beliefs. (link provided in title bar)

I should also add that my evening was tempered to some degree with an additional treat; another PBS presentation which followed, “The Mormons”; an accounting of the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies attempts to reach the Salt Lake valley. I had, in my studies of the history of the Church, read many accounts of the hardships encountered by those who were overtaken by an early winter storm, unprepared in nearly every way with the exception of their faith in God, their testimony of the truthfulness of the Gospel and that regardless of their success or failure to reach the Salt Lake valley their eternal progression could not be halted. I will speak more on this topic later; all the while explaining that my evening television viewing was well rewarded.

“The Mormons”, as presented seemed to be preoccupied with two distractions, which while true historically, were given an inordinate amount of presentation time in relation to the other historical elements of the Church which I feel would have given those who took the time to view this work. I refer to the Mountain Meadows Massacre and the topic of Polygamy. In a two hour production intended to offer strangers to the history of the Church, the Mountain Meadows Massacre was allotted nearly twenty minutes of air time and the subject of Polygamy closer to thirty minutes.

I had a cursory knowledge of the Mountain Meadows incident prior to having watched this evening’s explanation of the issues leading up to massacre along with journal entries by those survivors, children under the age of eight years who were spared. I have no way of knowing what sparked this violence, the destruction of human life by members of the Church any more than those who speculated and then created this section of the docudrama as best they could. I found it fell within the boundaries of believable, no less a tragedy and deplorable as would be eyed by any civilized human being.

I’m not sure at all that the provocation which led to this incident was given its proper place, ignoring, as I have been informed by members with a better historical background, that certain of those targeted had been members of the “mob” and had been suspected of poisoning water holes, which in turn poisoned the livestock and led to the deaths of many native Indians. While this particular time in American history has many events associated with violence, the fact remains that the members of the Church had been living in what I would consider a state of war, sometimes declared as in the Extermination Order in Missouri; but mostly as an undeclared state of being outcasts from the secular surroundings in the formative and frontier setting of the times. While the incident exposed to the world that members of the Church had offended the laws of the land, my regret would be that so many other areas of Church history could have filled those twenty minutes, items which would have more accurately explained the “Mormon Experience”.

Polygamy was examined and given a spotlight, one which indeed does cause members of the Church to bristle and assume a defensive position. I found it enlightening, distancing the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, that being the official title of the church to which I am a member, and the fact that a goodly portion of the time extended in this PBS production was “shared” with so called splinter groups which continue to practice polygamy to this day. I’m not sure how to discuss the topic as it was presented other than to make a clarification to one aspect of Church doctrine which is, in my humble opinion, a very meaningful part of the restored Gospel, Celestial Marriage which exists because of a revelation given to the Prophet Joseph Smith. It seems unfortunate that this same revelation is associated, at least by those detractors of my church, purely with polygamy.

I will explain as best I am able, the importance of understanding the eternal aspects of entering a Celestial Marriage. Most folks are familiar with the common marriage ceremony which concludes with the preacher explaining that the vows taken are serious commitments that in the eyes of all witnesses before God, that these two, a husband and wife, are to be married until death. I refer to the vows as “common”, not to detract from their importance; only to identify that the limited commitment has a higher order, one that is Celestial in its nature and therefore not “common”. I am speaking of a bond which is ordained of God that will take a husband and a wife past the boundaries of mortality, based on their desires to be obedient to the mind and will of God as expressed through their actions while here in mortality, and through all time and throughout all eternity.

I ask you to contemplate such a glorious possibility, speaking to those who may not have considered marriage in such parameters. My recollection of tonight’s PBS presentation only mentioned Celestial Marriage briefly, possibly a blink so to speak; not giving the viewer anything with which to ponder such a grand commitment and the blessing which are availed the children of our Heavenly Father, heirs to all that He has in a literal sense.

It is one of the most basic beliefs in the Church that God and His Son, Jesus Christ exist in individual bodies of perfected flesh and bones. Joseph Smith testified that upon praying in a grove of trees that he was granted a special witness of this fact. The age old speculations of the “Godhead”, the lack of understanding as outlined in the Nicene Creed, that our Father in Heaven has a body which is separate and distinctly apart from that of His Son, Jesus Christ is of paramount importance to understanding our individual relationship to these, our Heavenly progenitors.

Many outside the Church consider such a statement as blasphemy or utterly ridiculous based on the false teachings which have been passed down through either the Catholic or the splintered and various other Protestant reformers. It is my assertion, rather than contention, that Joseph Smith did indeed record for all mankind this most important piece of information, information which when inculcated will permit the human spirit to also understand that our eternal progression is assured, that the resurrection of our older brother Jesus Christ and His Atonement are real, that we are indeed made in the image of our Father in Heaven and that the promises made to each of us are in place today as they have been since before the foundation of the world. If you come away with nothing else from the PBS production, The Mormons, know that our lives are more than the short and unpredictable experiences gained or heaped upon us while in this frail and breakable mortal body. We are intended to live our lives in such a way as to always be focused on our eternal nature so that we may be blessed for time and all eternity by that God who continues to care about us individually and personally.

I look forward to the second two hour installment of The Mormons which will air tomorrow evening. According to the information provided during the ending credits, the next show will attempt to explain how current day members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints fit into with the rest of the World, these United States of America and, hopefully, some explanation of the promises of our individual eternal progression through eternity. I’m not sure that any of this will be included and so I await with some degree of anticipation with the stated hope that my non-member friends and acquaintances will be offered at least some glimpse of those sacred issues which have had such a wonderful bearing on my own life.

I may have used up your attention span with all that I have recorded; all the same I would like to share at least a little of the emotional roller coaster which I experienced this evening by having watched the one hour production on the Willie and Martin Handcart segment which is part of Mormon history. I had watched, with some feeling of disappointment as you may have noticed from my writings above, two hours of historical data and yet spiritually lacking in most regards. I had hoped for more and yet am willing to accept that the information was offered through a venue which was not Church sponsored and so was not a missionary tool intended to gain membership into the waters of baptism.

The portrayal of immigrants from Europe, recent converts to the Church who were intent on making their way to the Salt Lake Valley at any cost, to include their lives if necessary, was an emotional investment which I took in with the assistance of many pieces of tissue to wipe away tears. The most important aspect of the demanding and often time tragic journey was their testimony that the Gospel truths which are found in the Book of Mormon and which witness of the divinity of Jesus Christ are true. If it were not for such a testimony the trip would have been impossible and each loss would have been nothing more than a reminder to them of how poorly prepared these individuals were for starting out on such an ordeal. The journal entries which were shared were only a small part of the presentation offered in this one hour show.

I would like to share something which was not shared, something which would give a little more significance to the testimonies of the truthfulness of the Gospel which gave strength and meaning to those members of the Willie and Martin Handcart individuals who lived and who often times were asked why they did not complain about the lack of planning which cost so many lives.

One survivor, I apologize for not having his name available at this time, while sitting in a meeting in which the leaders of the Church were being openly criticized and ridiculed for permitting such a tragedy to occur, a tragedy which took the lives of so many innocent members and which, according to those speaking out against the leaders of the Church, should never have been permitted to happen. This one surviving member stood up and stopped the onslaught of accusations and bore his testimony. He silenced any criticism of Church leaders and thanked God for the refiner’s fire and ordeal which solidified his testimony that the Church was true, that nothing he had gone through could have detained him from his goal of reaching the Salt Lake Valley and his desire to be among the Saints. Such strong emotions cannot begin to express my appreciation for those who have forged the way for my membership in this Church. I am grateful for the history of this Church, the good and the bad, as it reminds me of the resolve necessary to build character, something which in today’s world may seem a thing of naught.

I leave my testimony with you that the Book of Mormon is true, that God and His Son, Jesus Christ Live, that They have bodies of flesh and bone and that we are children who are heirs to all the blessings promised in the scriptures. May we live in such a way as to be deserving of those blessings; I leave this short testimony in the name of our Savior, in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Edited May 1, 2007 11:00am

This portion of my thoughts was added the following morning after I’d had a chance to review the recorded program. I’m still in awe of the technology which provides such an opportunity, the crystal clear image and sound quality to match; as my grandmother would have said, “Remarkable, truly remarkable!”

I’d missed the first few minutes of the program and so I didn’t hear some of the opening dialogue. There was one line in particular that caught my ear. The narrator was attempting to explain how the members of our Church feel about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I was highly disappointed in his choice of words as he described Joseph Smith as the “Alpha and Omega” of our church. The term Alpha and Omega is reserved for God and no other. Most viewers would be familiar with such a comparison and I could feel my own resentment; how much more then would be the feelings of displeasure from someone who is not a member of my church, someone who is taking this in as an attempt to understand what we believe? If it had been me, prior to my investigation of the Church and prior to my becoming a member, I would have turned off the show or, at the very least, discounted anything which followed as being pure blasphemy.

Medical Insurance Help For the Children

The Sunday Houston Chronicle ran an AP story, States Expand Children's Health Coverage. (linked via title bar)

“The goal of the states is to allow more middle-class families to participate in the State Children's Health Insurance Program. The states are raising income limits so families once shut out because of their earnings now can qualify.”

The goodness of our hearts tells us that taking care of those in need is the right thing to do; stepping out on a limb, “What would Jesus Do?”, comes to mind. My cynical mind sees little red flags anytime an article starts off with “Help the Children”; call me skeptical. Children need to be taken care of and I’m sure they will be; but let’s examine what is being proposed before we all start sobbing for the underprivileged little kid with his empty bowl asking, “More, please, Sir”.

“When the program began a decade ago, states could offer coverage to families whose income was not more than double the federal poverty level. Today, for example, that threshold is $41,300 for a family of four. A few states use a Medicaid-based formula that lets them insure more children than under the income limit.”

“Already, 18 states exceed the 200 percent level, with federal permission. Five more, plus the District of Columbia, could join the list this year, according to a survey by Georgetown University's Center for Children and Families.”

I never considered myself poor back then, just prior to retiring from the police department with my family of five. I was making right about $40,000 from the City and never thought about asking the government for help, not ever. I had a portion of my income set aside for necessary expenses and lived on what was left; health insurance was part of the necessary expenses along with lots of other items that are not all that much fun.

Responsible folks build what’s called a budget and pay for the necessary items and then they consider extras like a fancy car, fancy clothing, a vacation and even what kind of food they plan to eat.

Now I know that the word budget is a four letter word in government, so they’ve used a “progressive dictionary” to alter its meaning, it now means nothing and so it doesn’t make them quite so uneasy when the numbers for money expected through taxation doesn’t come close to money promised in the form of entitlements. When that happens anything which comes up short or over can be passed on to some other generation who won’t mind.

Going back to that last quote, “Already, 18 states exceed the 200 percent level, with federal permission.” So why didn’t they just come out and say that in some states the poverty level is $82,600 a year for a family of four? I’m starting to wonder if we should start airlifting supplies for all those impoverished souls living from day to day with no hope of ever owning a new BMW.

“"State leaders are moving in a very different direction than the Bush administration is talking about," Guyer said. "They see that even moderate-income families increasingly find that coverage is simply unaffordable, and that it's appropriate to have some subsidy.””

Therein lies the problem with America, rather than take responsibility for managing and budgeting the funds available and acquired through individual efforts it has become increasingly more appropriate to have the government subsidize for the really important stuff like insurance for health care, prescription medicine or anything else that isn’t that much fun to pay for on your own. After all, if I can force my more wealthy neighbors, those born with a silver spoon in their mouths, those lucky ones who make way too much money and don’t deserve that much to begin with; if I can force them to help pay for my kids medical insurance then I might also be able to enjoy the good life.

The only way for a free people to remain free is to act responsibly. One of the rules of existence is approaching the breaking point; when a greater percentage of citizens line up looking for a hand out than the number of folks actively contributing to the public wallet then collapse is eminent. It’s time to shut off the free ride for those who are perfectly capable of carrying their own load; but they would prefer a lighter load at the expense of their neighbor.

There is Hope for Harry Reid

I read an AP article which explained that doctors are now taking advantage of the human body’s “natural openings” to undertake surgical procedures which in the past left the patient with scars and required long recuperative time. ( linked via title bar )

“A 4-year-old boy lay on an operating table in Pittsburgh a few weeks ago with a tumor that had eaten into his brain and the base of his skull. Standard surgery would involve cutting open his face, leaving an ugly scar and hindering his facial growth as he matured.”

“But doctors at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center knew a way to avoid those devastating consequences. They removed much of the tumor through the boy's nose.”

I found the information especially promising as I contemplated the many opportunities for saving the life of Senator Harry Reid. They can now use Harry’s anus to remove that brain tumor, the one which has damaged his reasoning powers so badly as to make him believe that he is a patriotic American working to safe guard the country. In plain language, “Harry, pull your head out of your ass”; it would be so much easier for the doctors to work on you.

Laughable to the Point of Crying

I read Steve McVicker’s piece in this morning’s Houston Chronicle ( linked via title bar) where the U.S. Border Patrol is looking to hire 120 agents; not to guard against the influx of illegal aliens from Mexico and points south, no, they are being hired to guard the borders of Iraq. Did somebody slip drugs into the water or what?

We have 12 million illegal aliens who have infiltrated our sovereign soil and we are going to show another country how to prevent unwanted individuals from entering their country. Does anyone, other than Steve McVickers and myself, see something wrong with this picture?

Maybe next week we’ll invite Harry Reid to talk to the Iraqi troops to teach them how to win their war at the same time, you know, kill two countries at the same time. I’m sorry, that was supposed to be “kill two birds with one stone”.

First Day on the Job

Lucy, her brother Donnie and I went to Minute Maid Park on Saturday to watch the Astros. As it turned out we actually won a game; after a seven game losing streak, a 10 – 1 blow out was plenty of fun for the 41,000 folks in the stands. That’s not what I’m writing about though; something else got my attention, I’ll eventually get to that.

We got to the stadium plenty early because there was a give away promotion, Astros Blanket Day. The first 10,000 through the turn stiles got a free Astros Blanket to take home so, knowing it was going to be close to a sell out crowd we wanted to be there when they opened the gates. We’d purchased our tickets on line and had to pick them up at the Will Call window prior to the game.

There were lines at each gate that stretched pretty much around the block and so I had them get in line while I did my impersonation of a speed walker. Will Call was on the far side from where we started so I had to go clear on around the block, all the while noticing how many folks were standing in line, snaked into the street where several police officers where attempting to keep some sort of order.

The late afternoon sun had warmed things up into the mid 80’s; but with all my walking it felt more like the 90’s. I showed my ID and they handed me the tickets about the same time as the gates opened up. I put some extra step in my step, noticing that the lines were moving at a good clip and not wanting Lucy and Donnie to have to wait. I got back to where they were in plenty of time.

Lucy had her purse which had to be searched for hand grenades, machine guns and atomic bombs so Donnie and I went in, had our tickets scanned and were handed our free Astros Blankets. While we waited for Lucy, we noticed that the supply of free blankets was just about out. The lady handing out the blankets opened the last box of 30 as Lucy waved from just outside the turn stiles. I don’t know how many blankets were left in that box; but Lucy got her Astros Blanket and we made our way up to the nose bleed section where our seats were located. Actually, the view from up there is pretty good and we enjoyed every minute of the game. We were in section 422, row 6, seats 13,14 and 15 if you want to go over to the Minute Maid Park web site and take a digital peek at how it looks from up there. ( I’ll post a link in the title bar )

I inquired where I might purchase a canister of oxygen, jokingly, as we made it ever higher and the effects of my power walking tour began to take hold. Normally when we go to a game I hold off purchasing our soda until a couple of innings have been played; not so on Saturday.

It was Dr Pepper time as I asked for two large tourist trap specials in the fancy take home souvenir Astros/Coca Cola plastic cup. I’d called my banker prior to making the purchase and he wired me some cash as I waited in one of two lines to pay for the first mortgage payment on the fancy take home souvenir Astros/Coca Cola plastic cups.

The folks in front of me had handed the young woman at the cash register a plastic credit card; only thing was she couldn’t figure out how to slide the card through the magnetic reading device in order to complete the sale. After watching the ineptitude show for a couple of minutes I decided that I’d try my luck at the other cash register. There were three young women working the two registers, one of them was teaching the other two how to properly perform at what had to be their first day on the job.

I watched carefully as I explained that I wanted to pay cash for my two fancy take home souvenir Astros/Coca Cola plastic cups. The veteran cashier explained how to enter numbers, pointing to the keys on the cash register as if the other young woman had never seen such a contraption in all her years here on planet Earth. I kid you not:

“That’s one large drink, uh huh, now press it again”, “Hit total and look at how much it says to take.” A half minute or so went by as the young woman let the information given to her roll around in that empty head of hers. The blue lights showing the total amount of $9.50 flashed on the eye level display board.

“That will be $ 9.50.” I think she was waiting for her supervisor to pin an award on her lapel for having excelled on her first attempt at pushing the large drink button twice, the total button once and for being able to read the amount due display as an awkward smile appeared from out of the edge of despair.

I handed her a ten dollar bill, took my change and bit my tongue as I handed Lucy her Dr Pepper. I know there must be a reason why there is no “period” after the letters D and r in Dr Pepper; just like I wonder why they would hire some idiot who’d never used a cash register to work in an area where 41,000 hungry and thirsty folks were going to storm her position in the next few minutes. Maybe this is one of the mysteries of the universe that I will never understand. Am I being to hard on this next generation, the generation that will be voting in the next presidential election?

Gospel in a Nutshell

What if you had never heard about the Scriptures, never met anyone who could tell you about the Gospel of Jesus Christ and all you had to go on was one page that had somehow fallen out of a bound book and been blown by the wind as to wind up at your feet. Upon picking it up, out of curiosity, having observed that it had been highlighted by whomever had at one time thought it worth making such notations, you read the typed information.
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I like to go through the scriptures looking for short pieces, contained within the boundaries of a single page or even a single paragraph, looking for what I like to refer to as the “Gospel in a Nutshell”, a statement which would explain that Jesus Christ is the redeemer of mankind and that through His atonement we may return to our Father in Heaven. A single statement which would be sufficient, if that were the only surviving piece of the Gospel message left of all the other important messages that had been recorded, sufficient for you to understand what was important regarding your eternal soul.

This morning in our Bishopric meeting Ron Keller was called upon to pick a scripture to start our meeting. He opened his Book of Mormon and read from Helaman 5:12. While he read I opened my own book, well worn and marked from years of attempting to learn those lessons which will make me a better disciple of the Lord. I smiled as I recognized that on numerous occasions I had read and marked this same verse.

I also re-read the rest of that page, giving me a more rounded explanation as to why that particular verse was so important. This was a father’s heart felt prayer that his sons live a righteous life following the commandments of God in such a way as to be worthy of the names which they had been given.

Going back to my original “what if”, the supposition that this was the only available page for you to read, wondering where it might have come from; would it matter if this page had come from a history book, a novel or the Bible? The information contained in these few verses would be enough to understand the essential elements of the Gospel. I invite you to leave no stone unturned in your search to obtain the rest of this wonderful message, one that has been prepared for the salvation of all mankind.

On the Lighter Side

Thanks and a tip of the hat to my friend Judy Eckerle for sharing this through my email.

I won’t try to explain anything; just read and let it soak in.

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