Category: REMEMBERED HISTORY/NOT 100% FACTUAL/IN THE REALM OF FACTUAL/HONESTLY REPORTED FROM PAPA’S MEMORIES (Page 1 of 7)

Three of you are in high school and I hope you know that you have a front row seat in the constitutional questions being raised in Portland. (And in other states.)I recall having teachers who’d have such discussions in my day. I don’t know if that occurs for you. Before I get to Federalist 29, which is rather dry, first look at history. Local political leaders are saying there is no inserrection in Portland. All is mostly calm etc. No need for Trump, national guard or military in Portland. A NY Times reporter has sealed their concept by being filmed stepping out from behind a tree looking for chaos on a very calm looking street. Nothing to see here etc.

Now, as to history, look back to 1957 in Little Rock Arkansas. Democrat Governor Faubus was blocking implementation of the Supreme Court decision: Board vs. Brown. (I hope that is taughtin schools here.) No desegregation was emphasized by Faubus who used the state national guard to block 9 black kids from enetering school. Enter President Eisenhower who sent elements of the 101st Airborne Division into Little Rock to enforce federal law. He also federalized the state national guard away from cntrol of Faubus. All of this centered around one single high school. I’d bet that 99% of Little Rock was otherwise calm.

Other Presidntial actions in regard to deploying the military also has happened. JFK with Executive Order 11111 federalized the Alabama state guard when democrat Governor Wallace stood in a school house doorway. The whole guard for one guy. No riot mayhem there. Calm. Of course, Wallace was also obstructing federal law. In 1989 the military was deployed in he aftermath of Hurricane Hugo. Then in 1992 it was deemed necessary during the LA riots. There is a long history going way back into the 1800’s.

Papa may not be as sharp any more but the names of Justice Story or the Federalist papers still stir memories of law school. “I read a lot of that stuff,” comes to mind. Not going to do an indepth reading now but the gist is still there. States will argue that all is calm and under control by local authorities. The courts will decide. Is it still black letter law that the President has sole decision making whether an exigency exists? What is needed to implement federal law? Precedent can always be changed. However, for your purpose I hope that you do your own thinking about such issues, as dry as the readings may appear. Alexander Hamilton wrote Federalist 29. It deals with the military’s federal deployement. I think Justice Story goes back to the War of 1812. Next legal step at 9th Circuit.

An internet feature that highlights events from a date’s history caught Papa’s eye the other day. (Speaking of eyes there is a delay in this posting by a rest from viewing screens following eye surgery.) The event in question brought back a memory of a day I kicked myself for many years ago. It was 1971. I was in Vietnam. I was stationed as close to 100% safe as one could be under the circumstances. However, there were certain times in which Papa needed to exercise extra caution. Going off base was always one such time. I was more or less able to plan such trips as most times I had no deadlines.

Yet, deep into my deployment I lost my sense of caution when I made arrangements for off base travel. I didn’t pay attention. There was no emergency for me to travel. It was routine and could have been done on any day over a week or two timeframe. Yet, I picked that date in history for my foray. When I stepped out of my vehicle at the destination I was confronted by an enraged Top of the top and biggest sergeant in the military who demanded to know if I the dumbest guy in the military. I had driven through the streets of Saigon where there had been a series of explosions, ambushes and attacks. Several had been within blocks of where I stood face to face with the sergeant armed and ready in full combat gear. “We are under attack,” are words I can remember to this day. Of all days to stay on base safe and sound still nags at my conscience.

That day in history was the day of the Presidential election. A day the enemy was doing their best to disrupt. Yes, Top…Papa did feel fairly stupid that day.

Many years ago, when Papa was finding his bearings with the in-laws (YOUR blood relatives), the name Uri Geller popped up. It was undoubtedly at a “long table” dinner conversation. As background for you, many times family, friends and a wide assortment of passer-bys gathered for food and provacative conversation. At least at the time I felt the talk was stimulating. I naturally wanted to please. Papa was young and enthusiastic about education and having an open mind. But, buried deep inside me was a Mid-West anchor that had its roots in very different folks than I was starting to encountere out east. My hometown was decididly blue collar. Out east I wasn’t getting any vibes that my favorites of sports, history, movies or politics would be forthcoming.

Initially, I heard repetitive conversations about sex. I was all aboard with that subject, although it always felt like the doing should out pace talk.Along with sex, more sex and even more sex, other topics in favor were psychology ( Your great-grandmas profession), spiritualism, some arts and music and a tinge of the occult. Actually, much of it was very interesting to me at first. Open my mind etc. Different directions would be good for me. The topics were pretty far afield for me so I mostly sat and listened. However, that I was in the presence of what I’ve come to refer to as Woo Woo land was driven home to me one evening when I asked a simple question of a stranger seated across the table.

I received no response. The young man with straggly hair had a blank look on his face. I asked my question again. No response. Giving the benefit of the doubt I rised my voice a bit. After a few seconds he looked up at me, as if startled. “Did you ask me something?’ he offered.

“Yes, could you please pass the gravy?”

Reaching for the gravy he did not skip a beat and said, “I’m sorry. I transported myslf to India in order to check on a good friend. He’s having significant issues. I feel better if I can personaly see that he is okay at the Asram.”

Why didn’t I think of that flashed through my mind. After all, I have family and friends back home who needed watching over. Especially that one older brother. Expensive long distance calls were still a thing back then. Transporting one’s mind would have really helped stay in touch. Of course, Papa had no idea how this feat was accomplished.

No worry. All my questions would be answered. The table conversation became all atwitter about the young man’s spiritual ability. A few claimed the same ability but not on demand. They so envied getting away to India between courses at dinner. Papa’s foray into the intelligensia began to take an off ramp. Within minutes I was back on the smooth road of reality. That happened just about the time my dinner companions started to examine each others auras. (I never got the hang of that either.) Soon they were besting each other on the worst experinces from their past lives Beheadings, torture and serfdom had created great obstacles in this day and age for them. Until they captured and slew their inner demons. (I had missed out on therapy also.) Mostly I was silent during these types of conversations. Smile and nod while I enjoyed the humor of it. ( I will spare you the dazzling mirrors event from one memoranle evening. Too raw.)

But, it was all intersting and fun. Which brings me back to Uri Geller. His name came up at a dinner long ago. I’d never heard of him. Of course. The other attendees of that particular night were very much up to date with his mind bending of spoons and forks. So, when the Greta activist recently set sail for Gaza, Papa knew that the threat of knocking her off course had merit. I paid attention fifty odd years ago. (Or, does trivia simply get locked in?) Yuri Geller announced that with his mind he’d mess up the navigation system or twist the steering wheel or some such and thwart her getting to Gaza. Perhaps her ship was blown off course by mental powers into the hands of Isreal’s navy? I know of some dinner companions who’d have believed it.

Years later I now regret not learning the basics of mind over matter. At my remote cabin in the wild I could have diverted a beer truck up the lane and jostled a case or two off the back to land near my path. Through the years there were many magical things Papa was exposed to but never got the gist of mastering the inner workings. 

Federal disrict court judges seemingly are enjoining Trump at the drop of a hat. Anti-Trump zealots are fully engaged in forum shopping. The more lawsuits the merrier. The binge of news on the legal front jarred a faint voice loose from within me. While much of today’s news involves rage and tons of litigation erupting from sea to sea against Trump, I’m instead reminded of 1971.

Papa was walking down a corridor of Long Bien Jail (LBJ) when a plantive voice called to me. He knew me because I had represented his co-defendant in a courts martial. The two enterprising young men were in the process of cornering a segment of the heroin market on their base. Supply types. they were often driving on and off base for deliveries. An ideal time to stuff a satchel with vials of heroin. With the satchel hiddden under the front wall of the truck’s cab it was 90 % profit to be made. All that was needed was to go through the base entry gate.

I’m quite positive that Vietnam was a war zone at the time. MPs guarded the entry gates to the base. And, for whatever reason, the guards made more than a cursory check of the truck and its contents one fateful day. Busted.

So charges were duly filed, defense appointed and the process began. At the time the military had a diversion program that would become popular with criminal courts throughout Ameica second chances. No trial, no conviction and no punishment. In Vietnam a more powerful incentive existed for the defndant. If a first offense and one had a drug problem they’d be administratively discharged and on a Freedom Bird within 5 to 7 days. The ultimate second chance. No dream was bigger for any of us in country than the day we’d step aboard a Freedom Bird. Home awaited.

Papa had had a hand in setting up the administrative discharge of drug users scheme. I knew how it worked. My client naturally jumped at the chance to go home for his opportunity to seek rehabilitation. Treatment may have been far fom a priority for him but I fear actual availability in the states was also a pipe dream. Out of the service, out of mind and out of the country served both sides well. He was home for at least a month before that voice beckoned to me in LBJ.

The co-defendant had opted for civilian representation.  Yes, non-Army lawyers were around. Rumored to be funded by famous Hollywood disidents a group of attorneys were trying to up justice in the military justice system. The young co-defendant’s lawyer wanted to contest the legality of the gate search. He wanted to argue that the Army had no right to screen what material was entering a secured, fortified base in a time of war. I had made an attempt at objecting to the searh as a matter of course without success. So, it was a given that the other soldier would fail.

The war do gooder of course knew this outcome. He told me that his group knew of a possible friendly federal judge in the states that might present an opportunity of success at opening up the law of search and seizure at bases. Why a more relaxed entry at a gate was a good thing was not explained to me. However, something obvious did not seem to concern him. His goal of forum shopping meant that the soldier needed to first be convicted and hauled off to prison. (That’s one way out of the country after a long wait for trial.) Then he’d need to lose his appeals inside the military system before he’d have acrack at any federal court jurisdiction. Perhaps two or three years. It seemed that the young man spending a few years in prison was overshadowed by the activist group’s interest in a cause. Papa always tried to be more practical in helping individuals out of jams. 

I could not speak to or help the soldier at LBJ other than pass on to the Army JAG office that he wanted an interview with a different military lawyer. Which I did and his administrative processing home began thereafter. I have always had a dim view of forum shopping. It is a value taught long ago. But, to an acivist it is a goal to pursue. Thus, many courts today are being flooded by lawsuits that target Trump and his actions in office. I’d prefer a more orderly filing of localized litigation allowing issues to percolate up the chain. Now, nationwide court orders seem to invite chaos. And, my memory of LBJ.

Talk about memories. A high school prom is at the forefront of one’s school days experiences. Both good and bad. Papa has a vivid recall of praying for isolation from the prying ears of brothers or parents when I made my first prom telephone call. The upstairs extension in our house was directly connected to rejection land. Or, so I feared. Today I am still amused that I mustered enough courage to actually make the call. My fingers were crosed that the expected rejection would be gentle. Fearing laugh in my face funny was unfair to the young lady but that is in retrospect 65 years later.

Now it is your turn. The two oldest have Junior Prom tomorrow. How times have changed. The land line of my day was not only connected to possible disappointment but one had to run the risk of talking with a parent who’d answer the phone. Would I stumble over her name with the gatekeeper was not an unwarrented thought. I learned that you followed a new tradition of making up an artwork poster with which to pop the prom question. Which of course put a visual in Papa’s mind. Does the young lady also need to answer with a poster? Is a yes poster more elaborate than a no poster? Has anxiety transferred from male to female in the new process? Does she have a fear she’ll grab the wrong poster answer from her backpack?

You guys are good at art. I’d bet your posters knocked it out of the park. I guess I was better off with my fears of a phone call than to try to draw stick people on an old piece of cardboard. Have all your fun. You are embarking on a journey of fond memories. Those are the best ones. They hang around for a long time; like treasures.

Papa recently returned from the old home state. I returned for my brother John’s memorial. Perhaps it was a journey that will mark one of my last visits to Badger land. Never say never but it’s getting close. Seeing family and old friends stirred up all the pleasant memories of the past. In retrospect I had very few bumps in the road of life. Nearing the end, perhaps it’s easier to bury less favorite times but even if I search I don’t recall many bad times. Losing John was tough. We were very much on the same wave length. I don’t have enough fingers than can count the times I’ve already thought of a missing detail and counseled that I will just ask John when we next talk.

What has surprised me since my return is being more attuned to memories. After a death and at a memorial it is natural that memories of the past rise to the forefront. Yet, weeks later two movies pop up on TV from the 1950’s that struck me because the actresses reminded me of a first date in high school. “The Actress” and “Brigadoon”. A month ago I would have channel surfed right past those films. Watching portions of each reminded me that I was able to exercise good judgment in my youth. Something was churning in Papa’s mind in the fifties. She was just as good looking as the actresses. It also helps explain my use of the name Fiona in my second self published novel.

Recently, I took the time to sit quietly while watching your Nana’s nemesis linger in her garden. I failed in my shoo away duties and simply enjoyed looking at a deer. As I did so often up north with my brothers. Each night our Uncle Jim drove us up and down country roads of Oneida County looking for and counting deer seen. Hundreds was not an exaggeration for our summer sessions with Uncle Jim. Fortunate does not adequately describe how lucky we brothers were to spend an entire summer near Lake Tomahawk. Courtesy of Uncle Jim, chief cook and bottle washer.

Ironic that another memory of Uncle Jim came courtesy of an old high school friend. While home for the memorial I had breakfast with that buddy. And, for the very first time I learned he went to the grade school of which Uncle Jim was principal. (Why he had the summers off to give us time in nature. ) That grade school contained a segment of handicap kids in attendance. My friend went there rather than to the school near his home. I never made the connection in all the years I’ve known him; including the need to attend McKinley. Again memories of visiting McKinley and its assortment of physical therapy equipment was revived.

A few weeks later I had finished a swim on the first warm day in months. It was warm enough to sit for a time near the pool. I like my sun even without the #2 Coppertone. It was quiet. A good opportunity to enjoy the sun. That is when I recalled what was a most contradictory moment from 1971. The military had a swimming pool on our base in Vietnam. It was available on Sunday afternoon for us. We got 1/2 day off each week. A sort of in country recreation and relaxation. Finished swimming, I was sunning. (Which as I write this reminds me of the picnicking scene discussion in a John Wayne Calvary film.) There Papa was, pursuing a tan, when I heard the distinctive sound of a Huey helicopter. It flew just overhead and landed across a nearby field. The 24th Evacuation Hospital. I might just as well been engaged in frivolous picnicking when I saw some poor GI getting off loaded on a stretcher. So, more than fifty years later I conjured up that day on a sunny day far removed from that sadness.

There’s a lot of hand wringing now that President Trump is trying to negotiate a peace between Russia and Ukraine. He’s being accused of taking the side of Russia. He’s allegedly changing/abandoning decades old European/American defense concepts. Lots of verbal rattling going on. It will certainly be interesting to see if the killing can be stopped. One question might be to ask what is the traditional defense concept that may be changed by these peace negotiations?

Our last president famously said we’d support Ukraine for as long as it takes. We sent that country a lot of weapons. Some not in a timely fashion and others in slow increments of usefulness. (Guns that shoot 8 miles but not 9.7 miles…or old but not new tanks/planes….or attacks that don’t cross the border and then later maybe by 10-15-30 miles across the boundry??) All for as long as it takes. Lots of young men and women have died in battle. As long as it takes; keep grinding. One million lost? Dead or dead and wounded combined? Hard number to count either way. As long as it takes.

After the White House blowup between President Trump and President Zelinsky the news media quickly shifted to shock and dismay that Ukraine was being betrayed. The world order was being torn apart. What happened to the as long as it takes policy? Not to worry. Papa saw an inerview a few days later with an Europen leader and darn if he didn’t use the as long as it takes line. It might be one thing to say as long as it takes if there is a clear objective. As in defeating an enemy or tossing invading forces back across a border. What is the objective of pledging not to use our troops but supply one side so that that side is not overly disadvantaged? An effort to balance arms between the warring parties so neither gets too much of an upper hand. The US policy was to supply the means to keep the fighting and dying at a steady pace. Or, so it seemed. As long as it takes.

It is hard to know what the US policy might have been if push had come to shove. As long as it takes sounds determined but it’s hard to take seriously when spoken by a guy who helped lead the charge to abandon Free Vietnam. Or, abandoned the people, especially the women, of Afgahanistan. Yet, a cold war mentality supplied the necessary materials to keep the meat grinder in Ukraine fed. Cannon fodder anyone? Shades of World War One. ( Watch the movie “Paths of Glory” for insight into that conflict’s state of mind. )

It was an odd mixture of standing up to the bad guy without getting a bloody nose for the USA. Unspoken but obvious is that the bad guy has nukes. It’s not just a bloody nose we face. Which makes a negotiated settlement between Russia and Ukraine viable despite being repulsive to the concept that good should triumph over evil. No doubt that Russia is the bad guy. But, so were the Communists in North Korea and North Vietnam as were the Soviets in East Germany. Unsatisfying truces/settlements/acceptance is not a new concept for America. The active war and killing did stop at least in prior conflicts no matter that a sense of justice eluded the good guys. There are nukes in the hands of bad guys that tempers/restrains actions. Only time will tell if Trump’s negotiations will work. If the killing stops and a truce is sustained it will be up to historians to debate who got the better of the other guy. Many will be happy that the killing stops. Others may argue that ongoing war is justified to obtain justice. Or, more favorable lines on a map.

Papa does wonder at times if Europe has stood on principles of justice too often in the past. 30 years war? 100 years war? They actually happened in Europe where borders often floated back and forth between nations/principalities/kingdoms/empires and invading hordes. I often think of the poor peasants who might have needed to swear alligence to 2 or 3 different despots in a lifetime. War followed by peace and then more map drawing. How many lives need be lost for the principle that Crimea is an entity of deep rooted Ukrainian or Rusian blood? (More Tatar may be more accurate.) European Poo-Bahs seemed to have an inate ability to fight at the drop of a hat. They were also quite creative in he naming of their peace treaties. Who can forget the “Treaty Of Eternal Peace?”

Fingers crossed for peace. However, it is difficult to ignore that Russia’s Putin appears locked in an European mindset of 100-200 years ago. Balance of power. Spheres of influence. Illusions of grand power. Not too sure that without US power the other European leaders are up to date either. They seemed to have been played by Putin in the last 20 years or so. Germany especially marches as if it made a grand bargain on oil and gas. It will be interesting to see if Europe can fend for themselves if the big stick of America is pulled back. Papa always jokes that he hates change. (Especially with packaging.) I admit it is hard to resist the impulse for the US to use force against a bad guy. However, the US feeding weapons to others who will then die conjures up a sense of resistance also. Time will tell if a third path that may vey well contain distasteful concessions ends the war. At least for now, the world may come face to face with change that involves the potential shift in US foreign policy. Unless “it” is defined it may be wise to change from a policy of for as long as ” it” takes.

(BTW: Papa is aware of even longer wars….600 to 700 years on Iberian Peninsula?)

Your great-grandmother sometimes sent Papa to a grocery store for a gallon of milk or a few needed items. There were four grocery stores within two blocks of our house. Off I’d go. I can’t recall whether I ever noted the cost of what I purchased. It was simple. I had a list, money in hand, items to carry home and change to return after accomplishing my mission. Later in life I started to pay attention to costs. Penny candy was about the limit of my understanding of the value of money in my early days.

All of this changes when you are on your own. When employed there is an in and out flow of money that very quickly becomes noticeable. Flush on payday devolves into watching declining balances until the next payday. The old paycheck to paycheck life. It takes a variety of experiences for folks to adjust to handling money. If ever. Some people never get money under control. Beware that excessive debt can rear its head. Papa was lucky to the extent that I did not have a credit card until near age forty. It only took a month or so to figure out the trap of living beyond one’s means. Pay your credit card balance in full each month is my best advice.

The price of chicken is on my mind because it is an item I remember from the start. Twenty-nine cents a pound ranged up to thirty-nine cents per pound when I first started to pay attention to prices. Unless you are born with a slver spoon, win the lottery or invent a super gizmo early in life your first working years may have a slug it out feeling. Keep trucking. However, there came a day for me when an uphill climb became discouraging. Chicken was sixty-nine cents a pound at one store. I found it cheaper elsewhere. I don’t recall the exact year but I had the distinct thought that if chicken ever went higher per pound we were doomed. Like a dollar a pound. Sixty-nine cents a pound became my barometer for the economy. Or, more accurately, what I felt was my personal sink or swim financial level.

Papa also developed a barometer for the democrat party. My hometown was blue collar through and through. Union membership was the norm. Wisconsin did not have voter registration by party but I assume most locals voted for democrats. I think the state representatives in the nearby area were democrats with one exception. A large Catholic population seemed democrat to my young eyes. JFK created excitement when he stopped by a few local factories in 1960. I equated republicans as richer, more advantaged folks. Not bad but certainly not in tune with the paycheck to paycheck existence of many families in my hometown. I think only 20 % of my high school class had the opportunity to go to college. After completing military service the boys were back to work in the city of homes and industry.

Party voting was galvanized in my mind one night in a local tavern. (City of homes, industry and taverns more appropriate?) At any rate, over the years I discovered a lot of wisdom near 72nd and National. I recall one discussion of politics and the state of the country. Three working men were talking issues. As I listened I remember thinking that they sounded more conservative than my concept of democrats. So, I asked the question. I don’t recall the republican candidate at the time but these men seemed more in tune with his views. They looked at me as if I was crazy. Of course not they protested. They’d never vote for a republican. Their families had been democrats since the 1930’s. Yet, they were certainly not supportive of the hippie/anti war crowd associated with the democrat party at the time.

Fast forward to 2024 and before the vote I calculated that whichever party lost should welcome the chance to make corrections. Change if the republicans had lost seems as if it’d be easier. With Trump and his personality gone the party could duke it out internally for a successor. However, it turns out that the democrats lost. Their comeback now may be a heavier lift. Papa is not a supporter/member/registered voter of either party. But, I love all things political/historical. 2024 has been very interesting.

In June of 2023 I wrote on this blog that all the criminal charges beimg levied against Trump by democrats might turn out to be a bad idea. There’d already been a steady negative media stream against him since 2016. The big Mueller investigation and then two impeachents. Finally, the old nail in the coffin of nearly 100 charges. It has always amazed me that Clinton, Biden, Harris, democrat party and most of the media is obsessed by Trump. The negative of his persona seems too apparent to remain so focused. I get it. He’s got issues. Now, move on. However, none seem able to move on from making Trump the center of attention. After his 2024 election the party might want/need to do serious soul searching.

Which brings me back to chicken. Papa is now comfortable in a financial sense. I routinely pay more than 69 cents a pound. Boneless, skinless has been seen at 7 to 8 dollars a pound in certain stores these past few years. At a high price point I pay some attention at the nusiance. I buy certain things with the mentality of a splurge. However, it is important to never lose sight that there are a ton of people who may not be able to put some items on the table at various price points. All through my life, especially on the bench, I tried not to lose sight of the working men and women from my hometown experience. They are good, hard working people. Somehow the democrat political party has to regain its recognition that these folks harbor their own version of Papa’s 69 cent chickedn stardard. They are the folks dreading tomorrow because they see an economic sinking. They can sense that things are not right. Nearly 100 criminal charges and a steady stream of shouts that votes are needed to save them from an evil person. How high can a pile be of more and more and repeated stacks of reasons proving someone is a bad person?

Everyday for years it was a “look how bad he is, ;look how bad he is.” The next day “look how bad he is.” And, the next and the next days awful proof of how bad he is. Exhausting. Getting folks riled up. Always working the fear angle. A monster. No, he’s not a monster. He’s worse. No, he’s Hitler. Are you riled up enough? Have to make sure no one votes for Hitler. Or, a crook as witnessed by charges in New Youk, Georgia and US courts. Almost 100 charges he’s so bad. Did the press mention he’s really, really bad? They can pile on more in order to support the democrat candidate. Is it possible that some around 72nd and National felt too much piling on made a mockery of our justice system and rubbed Americans sense of fair play the wrong way?

Well, I suspect that those folks in my hometown also had their own cost of living pain level. Chicken prices in Papa’s mind but gasoline, milk, eggs and butter for others. Those forever democrats in my memory changed and many voted for Trump. Mostly, I suspect they voted against hyper-inflation, 300,000 missing migrant kids toiling away as child labor or worse, millions of illegals driving down wages, easy peasy drug flow into the US with its attendant cime and a world on fire with wars. Nearly three years of war in Europe and it feels normal.

Knee jerk reaction from the press and most democrat party leaders to the 2024 election result again is “Resist!” Wow, that’s a lesson learned. However, there is some hope when a few democrats and a few in the media suggest that perhaps it’s time to do some soul searching. Perhaps getting back to basics of the party. I remember those common sense, lean a bit right men who’d never consider voting republican. Many probably claim it was the party that abandoned them. It will be interesting to see if voters can be recaptured or are lost.

It well may be time for democrats to get away fom the looney left. That was a cliff they took the party over. Thud!

Three of you will not be able to vote in a presidential election until 2028. Papa does hope that you are nonetheless paying attention this year. If so, you undoubtedly have heard the above phrase bandied about. Wow! I guess someone thinks this election is important. Papa’s first vote in a presidential election was in 1964. LBJ had a commercial with a little girl pulling petals off a daisy with a countdown from 10 to zero; at which point an atomic bomb blew up. Watching that mushroom cloud was scary. The message was clear. A wrong vote meant death.

Apparently the voters in 1964 were paying attention. They didn’t elect some crazed blow up the world candidate. The country was enough on edge; 216 soldiers had already been killed in action in 1964. Cold War was raging. Would not want to make matters worse by electing the wrong candidate. Country ducked disaster. Nevermind that 1965 saw 1.928 Americans die in combat; 6,350 in 1966; 11, 363 in 1967, 16,899 in 1968 and so on.

Every four years voters are told that this is the year of the most important election in history/lifetime/ever. Papa keeps waiting for a politician to claim that the next election is the 4th or 7th most important. However, it is always the election of doom or gloom. Get scared and vote for one or the other. Both political parties are never short on selling fear. Fears that flow right through the voter to the toes is best for getting votes. Who in their right mind would want to vote for a monster? Or, for a candidate who will take all your money, deny you health care/life support and enslave half the population?

When it is your turn to vote use your brain to overcome emotions. Don’t have high expectations for candidates/office holders. Lean a bit on physicians advice, “First do no harm.” Less may be the best first instinct when it comes to government/politicians. And, remember that 2028 will be the most critical vote you will ever cast. For sure. No doubt about it.

Papa has never been big on gambling. When I was young I did of course play Sheepshead for nickles. 5,10,15 cents double on the bump. Years later, after Kiwanis meetings, the stakes were the same. Have gone to Vegas twice and its tables were too fast for my style. I prefer to lose my money slowly without a frenzied pace that reeves up anxiety levels. Pace reminds me of the one gambling I have enjoyed for many decades. Pacing horse races at the Inverness raceway.

Everything is slow and easy at this track. It’s a community event as much as it is serious racing/gambling. Nothing frantic. It is one of the most comfortable venues for entertainment to be experienced. I don’t recall anyone anxious about a race or betting. There is no scurrying to place bets. Every now and then there might be a bit of a cheer for a win by a hometown favorite. After each race a few up to 20 or 30 people cross the track for a photo with the winning horse. Occasionally I will do what my dad did and place bets based on specific, meaningful numbers. On my last day at the races my mind was on high school so I bet a trifecta on my homeroom number and won. Good old 245.

The thought of high school was naturally on my mind. Two of you are juniors this year and one starts his freshman year. On crutches, after a broken ankle sustained at soccer practice. Papa thinks of all the soccer moms who were so happy their sons didn’t play football and avoided getting injured. My memory of high school remains vivid. The transition from freshman to senior was anything but seamless. It remarkably was one of floundering confidence at its start and overhyped vim by graduation. Solid formative years in retrospect. The last reunion of our class is history but I was fortunate enough to have the same 4 friends/ mates at the table as when we were at a school event fifty-five years previously. Not too common an occurrence at our ages.

I have limited insight what high school is like today. I simply hope it is as fun and rewarding for you as it was for me. Whether via our face to face interactions or modern device conduits I suspect there will be moments of social anxiety for you. It will not be serious in the long run. More like annoying speed bumps. Hormones are bouncing around inside and some days will feel like the entire student body woke up one fine morning and decided to judge something about you. Clothes, complexion or uncontrollable hair. Don’t let things get under your skin or too deep in your brain. It will work out. I hope that friendships develop that will bring fond memories as well as reunions.

What is different today is a phenomenon I can never understand. School violence. Crazy kids acting out with guns. I think the difference isn’t the guns part of the equation. We had plenty of guys in high school who hunted and had guns. Jerry, who sat near me in home room, often talked a lot about shooting his rifle over a weekend. He didn’t participate in any school activities. Never saw him at a sporting event, dance or clubs in high school. Shooting/hunting and working on cars is what I remember about him. He wasn’t fully engaged in high school as I thought one should be. Yet, at graduation I was surprised. He received one of, if not the only, perfect attendance pins awarded.

We all got sick and missed some school. But, there was no hard core truancy. Central High had a truant officer. It may have been one or two and done in those days. Mr. D. and a kid’s parents would have put a stop to that. I also do not remember thinking of another student as being any more dangerous than having the capacity to launch spitballs. There was a bit of talk about tough guys but no one that created fear of life or limb. Violence in school was best depicted by a movie of the times, The Blackboard Jungle. Insolence by smarty pants boys who defied classroom decorum while a gang was up to no good. It created quite a stir at the time mostly because of the effect of its rock and roll music. (Sorry, it’s a black and white film.) Even then it was hard to view Sidney Poitier as menacing. Much less “Klinger”. The movie was somewhat shocking at the time but not in the sense that it reflected the reality of my high school. We were in a very traditional blue collar, Midwestern environment.

it’d take a host of experts to know what has happened in the ensuing sixty years to create the madness of school shooters. Perhaps the failure to treat or separate mentally ill individuals that started in the sixties. Or, the dismissive attitude to the value of fathers in a child’s upbringing. ( In the 1980’s I was at a custard stand window and overheard two teenage girls talking about one’s pregnancy. The mother to be enthused about money to be received, rent/transport subsidies and freedom to live alone. Not a word about the boy’s responsibilities. What struck me was the reaction of the friend who didn’t say “whoa but for the grace of God go I” but rather that it was a way to independence. A very unlike reaction to the girls I recalled in high school.) How unfair was my other thought that the newborn faced high odds of doom? Tolerance for antisocial behaviors for years in schools may play a long term role. Consequences can be good for the soul. Glorying guns in movies/videos filled with gore can’t help. Political theater seems to divert from going after root causes. Limit the number of bullets seems akin to saying there is an acceptable level of dead people. No guns owned per some foreign countries results in stabbings.

You’ll be long out of high school before solutions are found, much less addressed. I would not count on either of our major political parties to step up on the issue. It’s too good of an issue to allow solutions. Beat the other party over the head with simplistic pros and cons. However, it’s not simple. I hope and pray that your school is not visited by such hate/craziness. Keep your eyes open is best advice to give. You and your fellow students plus teachers are the ones who may observe and know who is a danger. Don’t be afraid to speak out about legitimate concerns.