Caveman Meets Cavewoman

Paranoia

Part 23 of 30

I've got it going on a few days with the caveman, today accompanied by a beautiful blonde cavewoman, thrown in to soften up the place and give her the satisfaction of existence, such as it is. No matter what, I'd say just having her around would definitely make the toughness of life easier to handle. She'd be great to share life with, the ups and downs, conversation, and whatever followed from a quality relationship. She's got it going on.

But -- easy come, easy go. Anything you receive something (or someone) you can just as quickly lose them. I mean, I'd never do it to someone else. And full respect to everyone trying to cope. If you had something, unless you took it from me first, I'd leave it with you. But not everyone's so kind. I was just at the grocery store yesterday and someone stole a sack of groceries from me, true story. Which was weird, because she must've thought I had caught her, so she acted like she wanted to help me if I was missing something. I thought it was kind of weird, but figured she was just being friendly. Then I got home and was missing a sack of groceries, the items, and figured out the whole weird story. I'd never do that to anyone.

I want to examine this situation a little closer. Pretty decent curves, huh? The face, a very friendly look, like 'I'd never do you an ounce of harm!" And "I'll be right by your side, come what may, whatever enemies we might face..." And that's just the dinosaur, the woman would probably mean well for me, too, making the three of us a force to be reckoned with. She seems to be pointing, not quite, to the pile of lumber the Creator stacked up for the caveman, to build a cabin or carve out a cave.

The situation then turns a little sour. This has happened to me. If you think there's the slightest security -- smooth sailing from here on out -- you realize, no matter what, security's shaky. One day of happiness quickly overbalanced by three or four years of misery. There's karma, then there's Super Out-of-Balance Karma, the terror of unmerited discipline every time you think you've gotten a foothold on the future. In reality, it's more like a footHOLE, something to trip over, stumble over, and sooner rather than later fall into. If the hurt doesn't kill you, the embarrassment of it will.

Then you get a few neighbors. They see your weakness and move in. "This guy won't mind if I park my carcass a house or two down." Then he sees my hunting and fishing techniques, steals all my patents on things, the Anti-Pterodactyl radar, etc., and finishes off his victory with a brand new relationship, a certain blonde with a fickle heart.

Cavemen, Cavewomen, Rodeos

Part 23 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo

While we do not possess records of the exact day they invented the rodeo -- for all we know it might've taken a week -- the very existence of the rodeo points to the definite fact that it happened. And like so many things in history, it may even have happened more than once! Because in millions of years many things can happen, the idea fizzles when they put it on hold, then it's taken up by a later generation.

We are not completely in the dark, though, because there are cave etchings from some of the world’s best and oldest caves that reveal all sorts of things. Naturally we know about domesticity from cave etchings. Early man sitting on the couch and the kids underfoot. The division of labor between the sexes, men getting the kids off to school while the women took the more natural path of hunting and gathering and protecting the community.

Then there’s the famed etchings of animals, animals of prey, animals for food, for domestic use, and, more interesting for us today, the first glimpses of pens, bleachers, crowds, in short the whole rodeo in rudimentary display. Archaeologists only wish they could see more, for instance to be able to read the programs they held in hand, apparently telling of the events, the performers, and even the communities involved. The mere etching of a single vertical line has been interpreted as the first claim of a particular rodeo that “We’re Number One;” imagine what we could do with a whole file cabinet.

My own thought on this is that while it is interesting, I wouldn’t pin too much research on etchings. My first thought is always “People are people, whether they lived 10,000 years ago or last week.” Which simplifies things considerably, so we’re not just gazing at scratches but observing living people -- some of the same characters we know today, the good, the bad, the ugly, the really ugly, and the so-ugly we move to different bleachers. My basic overall theory is what we do now, they did then.

This theory's a great time-saver, too, because we can skip caves all together. Examine what we do and there's your answer. The only point of discomfort I’ve seen so far is having to explain it continuously to the various idiots at shows. They demand, “What are you doing under the bleachers?,” thinking we’re trying to look up their wife’s dress. “Nope, nope, just anthropological research, we’re exploring primitive rodeo attendees from 10,000 years ago by observing you in this modern day!”

While the research is extensive, it didn't take long to determine that ancient man at ancient rodeos were very finicky about researchers observing them that closely. Even back then they were anxious about their privacy. They may have worn skins nothing like our clothing today, but they still didn’t want anyone getting peeks, particularly at their women. Then as now, they wanted to enjoy the show without having to worry about researchers crawling the crowds pretending to document their lives while they were busy looking for action of a more carnal sort.

Lincoln Declares Rodeos Good

 

Part 12 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo

All roads, when you’ve taken one, finally, inevitably converge at Abraham Lincoln. That's the magic by which he became president. He'd had his hand in the game for 4 million years, when inevitability finally won out and bore fruit sometime between 1732 and 1865. Which went double for the rodeo, because if they had anything up the yin-yang in the old days it was magical happenstance, plus, different from us, a clamoring for horses and rodeos. Horses jockeying for position, jostling one another at the starting gate or just breathing freely on the avenue.

Look more closely and what do you see? A farmer brings cattle to town. The wife’s low on pin money. But with cattle you have confusion, always grubbing somewhere for something to chew and finally needing to be content with their cud. So cattle and horses were together on the street, with a cop trotting by. From his patrol horse he surveyed his domain, the great center of democracy, the poop-strewn streets of Washington, D.C.

The Great Emancipator himself held forth in the Oval Office, “Close the window, the wind is from the streets. And you,” turning to one of his most trusted grunts, “Smegma, get me the latest data from the patent office, is there any word on key patents toward the mass-manufacture of automobiles? The day we drive horses into extinction will be a proud day in the history of breathing.”

Of course I have only limited notes on what everyone said. And though I’m one of the country’s foremost historians, even I have never been interested enough to get down in the weeds of history and grovel for everything that’s ever happened or been said. If you ever try it you’ll find you’ve given up your own life — and to me the best invention aside the fully-tilted-back saddle has to be the easy chair.

But all was not rosy that day in Washington. I hate to throw in a sad note, but it was a truth the world had to face sooner or later. Lincoln’s own assassin — and I won’t dignify his name by looking it up and reciting it here — rode a horse. Which tells me something I never thought I’d share with any living thing, that in the ambiguous weeds of existence (horse or no horse) there’s a lot of evil mixed in with the supposed good. Yes, philosophers have always been familiar with the weird juxtaposition/play of good and evil — you can’t have one without the other — but it took by surprise even them, exactly what depths could be plumbed and how long someone was willing to do it to discover the whole hideous truth: If you think horses have ideals, it’s time to look for new opinions.

Yet, even against those odds, once rodeos got going it was mixed with anguish — weepers beating their breasts, crying out, “Why! Why!” Until finally they saw the light of day breaking through, which changed their tone: “An ambiguous evil can lead to an unambiguous good.” And on that principle — tangentially related by hook or crook to Abraham Lincoln — the modern rodeo was born and pronounced good.

The Mam & Pap Rodeo

 

Part 1 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo

Alas, the days of yesteryear are all past. It’s true what the philosophers say, today is always today, yesterday’s always yesterday, but what these terms mean is a deep subject. The saddest thing about time and the passing of time is how stubborn it is, as it's never to return. Until such time, if any, I'm proven wrong.

Speaking from my own rich experience with this passing of time, I think back on the things I did earlier this morning. My dog for whatever reason had trouble doing her normal business, possibly something meant for me from the hand of fate to curse an otherwise beautiful day and slow me down on writing about the rodeo. The circumstances were certainly suspicious, like maybe the sun had a bad night on the other side of the world. And of course I've been messed with by the hand of fate before. I cried out to the gray sky for respite and the sun tried to peek through the thickness of what turned out to be clouds. I’m glad it's now in the past, but the past can be prologue if it happens again.

Then there’s the years gone by. What was once new becomes old. Grandma was a newborn once, later an old lady, and finally passed away when her time came. That’s a downer, I know, but it’s in the natural course of things. Just like someday, alas, the same thing might happen to me. I’m actually already fairly old. But as long as I’m able to pass gas and fake a grin, I’ll keep living and churning ‘em out, posts for my blog as well as days of life hopefully well-lived. I may not get the key to the city — I’m not well known — but it's all been done to death anyway, and I haven’t got time to stand on ceremony.

We’re sharing this month the memories we have in common — you and I — of the well-known traveling rodeo, The Mam & Pap Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo. It happened in the days of yesteryear, and as we speak today, of course Mam and Pap are gone. There's still a rodeo going by that name, which several years ago was bought out by a corporate entity — who hold the name so tightly that even writing this series might have some legal consequences for me. But you won't tell. I have had experience with entanglements like that, but this time I'll be OK. Of course I wouldn't have the money to fight a legal challenge and I'd never expect my readers to chip in a dime (last of the big spenders). So I'm just going to post these memories and hope for the best. I would greatly encourage you to save off copies.

In addition, the series stops well short of the corrupt corporate takeover. The corporate incarnation when I saw it was crap and the show was shelved. They did the takeover when Mam passed away, with Pap virtually senile [try to prove it] when he signed the paperwork. They had clowns in the rodeo that would’ve made better managers than Pap at the end, but they had no legal standing. In years since I’ve gotten drunk with a few of them and they bared it all, the hooks those corporate hawks put in their flesh. There's nothing sadder than clowns sobbing tears of anguish.

Anyway, I hate to bring everyone down. Let's make rodeo whoopee! C'mon, c'mon, let’s whoop it up, get again the spirit of rodeo reverie, forever remembering the wonderful non-corporate version (when it was genuine) of THE MAM & PAP ROYAL SPLENDID TRAVELING RODEO!

P.S. -- I won't be mentioning the corporation again and all the chicanery they pulled on Pap, there's nothing we can do about it now. I stood at his grave one day and cried big tears of grief. Friends, those were the wettest moistest tears I've ever cried. Even stained my shirt. Between my first dog dying when I was 6 and Pap selling out the rodeo for a pittance -- aww, forget it. I just can't say my life has been a hundred percent happy.

Sad History of Horny Dudes

 Part 8 of 30

There's Death In Them Thar Drawers

You probably picked it up in some of your history classes over the years, that things in the old days were different from today. Way back then they had to regulate society much tighter than today for the very simple reason that society was under many more immediate threats, outbreaks of disease, the plague, the croup, dizziness, etc. Even getting too close to someone then with your bad breath -- say you had pneumonia a month ago -- was a concern, and this would be equally true if the infection arose from ordinary breathing, dog breath, Italian breath, or what have you, which sometimes are never cured -- it killed entire cities right now, on a dime.

Still, obviously, you had horny guys. Who by and large were just as crazy as guys now, ever eager to get it on with anyone they could find, ranging from a hole in the wall (think construction sites) all the way down to ... I can’t even say it. But you know those Frankenstein movies where they're always digging up the recently deceased; did you ever notice how practiced they seemed to be at lifting bodies out of the ground? Whereas today we wouldn’t have the slightest clue or even the inclination to carry things that far.

Another thing, those were the days right at the ragtag end of huge leprosy outbreaks. Meaning they were used to social restrictions on such things, with the bitterly afflicted having to remain isolated, sometimes on their own islands, who could only come to town after having swam a mile, the water cleansing them enough to allow them to enter the market for a few minutes. Interesting, isn’t it?, that back then there were such horrible deaths in them thar drawers! With the whole leprosy thing necessarily carrying over for other conditions, mild or severe, and guys causing a genuine panic wherever they went.

Even now, if you know where to look, in some of our better antique stores you can find these “horny horns” that horny guys without wives or access to wooden mannequins with knotholes had to blow when they were on the desperate prowl. I’m actually old enough I was sort on the edge of the time when this was happening. Anyway, I remember clearly that Grandma and Grandpa would cross themselves and seek divine mercy if they heard so much as a random car horn passing the house. And they never -- not once, the trauma was too great -- went to a band concert in the park, they were so paranoid. They didn’t like any horn, and I mean everything from the shofar to the alp-horn to the Wagner tuba! Harmonicas were borderline OK.

We’ve come a long way, baby, with what all's allowed today! But we should still be concerned, and it’s a big mistake that we’re not taking precautions. Because it’s just as true now as it was then, horny guys are still in fast pursuit of one another -- maybe even someone in your family! -- and can just as easily spread death and destruction from their wanton desires. For my part, I hear someone with even the sniffles and, sure, I'm still aroused, but I know something’s going ‘round and take quick cover.

Tobacco Day In World War I

 

(No kidding, this was in the newspaper during WWI)

Part 31 of 31

They Found Another Body

World War I was a long time ago, and most of us probably don’t remember much about it. Even though I was briefly a history major and took coursework in college that included things about the war, I’ve forgotten most of what I didn’t really know very well at the time. Maybe if I'd heard they had a drive to get more cigarettes to the troops, I would've stuck with it.

The great thing about this public service ad is how much our fellow citizens on the home front — if you’re from America — wanted to support the troops overseas. And what better way to support them than to make sure they weren't lacking for something to smoke! That’s a little different from what our concerns for the troops would be these days. I can't think what we'd send. Bubble gum, adult magazines, what?

But take a look at the old movies, the '70s, '60s, and well before that, and you’ll see everyone was smoking. It was the national pastime. And especially dear to the south, Virginia, which was/is tobacco country, their best known crop. The boys in France were dying for a smoke, a taste of home, the old south, and it's to the south's credit that they came through.

How terrible it’d be for a bunch of them — a battalion — to have the enemy, the Huns at the very door (or on the run) and run out of smokes. What would they do? If they had guns and no smokes, of course they’d be able to do as much as they could with the guns. But how long could they just sit there with a noisy gun jumping all over the place, trying to put up a respectable fight, without smokes? They could only do what they could do and try to better their best, but the disappointment of not having smokes in a dire life or death situation might've been too much. 

Then it goes on like that for a while. They're just itching for a cigarette. "This foreign air tastes terrible without something to flavor it. And I was on edge as it was. That last volley of shots came in so close I don't need to shave for a week!" Plus, factor in they've only got a limited resolve and morale. Pretty soon, without smokes their will to live would surely dwindle to nothing. Buddies calling to each other, “Fight, man, fight!” And that rouses them for a while, until, finally, it's all in vain, like if you tried to slap mosquitoes with a limp noodle.

The Huns are coming in for the kill. And without the right tools at hand -- smokes -- that’s exactly what happens. Our guys, without smokes, go down for the final count.

Abraham Lincoln Vouches For Me

I finally figured out what’s missing at this blog, the one thing that shall transform it from mere decency to stellar excellence. And that's a seal of excellence, quality, virtue, and trust, with my exemplar or spokesperson being Abraham Lincoln.

I always liked Honest Abe, the 16th president (should’ve been first), not only for what he stood for in history but what they taught me in school. In short, when it came to men, he was basically the best they could find. We definitely know, when they found Lincoln, they quit looking. He was the gold standard, the cream of the crop, the exemplar of excellence that could never be topped. The weirdest part being, he never let it go to his head.

Unfortunately, we also know Lincoln was killed by an assassin’s bullet. A few years ago, I listened to an audiobook on Lincoln history, sketching out for me precisely what happened. Some sorry son of a bitch, holding an idiotic grudge essentially over the Civil War, but also harboring vainglory in his twisted mind, did it. With the only redeeming thing being, it wasn’t long till he got his. Burnt to death in a barn like the true rat he was. His accomplices, mostly men but one woman(!), were hung by the neck till they were dead, and good riddance to them.

By the way, the parallels with Lincoln and Kennedy are outstanding, although I can’t remember what they are. It seems Lincoln had a secretary named Kennedy and Kennedy had a secretary named Lincoln, or something like that. Both men liked easy chairs or rocking chairs. Both lived and worked at the White House, located in the same city. The biggest variance is Kennedy was much younger, having been born over a century later.

But enough education for today. Except a personal note: If it weren’t for these guys, mostly Lincoln, but also some our other presidents, I would’ve been absolutely bored in school. But that’s not my sole interest, the educational value of historical figures, although if it weren’t for history we’d be horribly lost. I’d wake up thinking yesterday didn’t happen. But of course it did, and we need to learn the lessons of yesterday. I was at Walmart yesterday and was impressed at their great stock of merchandise and what seemed to me very reasonable prices.

Perhaps the biggest value of Lincoln history — they say it and I concur — is the trust factor. We trusted everything about Lincoln when he was president, and in subsequent years as well. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say Lincoln has even increased in terms of trust since he lived and died. It’s definitely a fact that anyone who trots out Lincoln, whether part of their logo or not, shares in his glory, with trust and credibility theirs, and in good measure.

Today, then, my friends, I’m picking up the dropped mantle of Abraham Lincoln, and will be boldly featuring his picture on my blog. I hope to feature it everyday — if I can afford the extra browser ink. With God being my strength, I will. With the only other possible exception being, say, it’s a big news day and I need the space for field reports. But it’ll have to be something big, like an obscene spike in bacon prices or, more hopefully, a reduction.

No matter how that plays out, when you see the picture of President Lincoln on my blog, you can be sure you’re at the one blog you can trust. Because everything I say is true — to the level of my knowledge and whether or not I'm being blackmailed — and everything about me is trustworthy. So this is my seal, this is my bond, the man of the hour, nay, the man of the centuries, Abraham Lincoln.

Wonder if Lincoln had a middle name. Thomas Edison had one, Alva.

George Washington, Happy Birthday

 
Hey, hey, not to be left out -- after I wrote about his brother in the presidency, Abraham Lincoln -- is the Father of Our Country, George Washington, with another birthday!

I regret to say I haven't learned one single new thing about Washington in the last year. I'm ashamed to say that, of course, since I'm a conscientious person who goes through life trying to learn at least one new thing a day. Now, with the regime of President Trump upon us, however, and the general atmosphere of questioning the value of education -- Is it really still a thing? -- I've taken off a number of weeks to vegetate.

Never know when that might happen! I always figured it was "Onward and Upward" for us, the American way. Sometimes I imagined an end to it, but never thought it'd come this soon after we got the Internet. Which, between you and me, is truthfully the force that has made this vast difference in our general outlook. Before, nutcases could get together over beers, three or four guys who then went home and cursed the wind. Now they're a vast assembly, each stupider than the next. Dredging up from the depths of the collective unconsciousness enough evil to stock a dozen hells.

Wonder when Trump's birthday is. Could Google it. But then what? I'd have to remember it year by year like I do Lincoln's and Washington's. I haven't branched out from those two dudes in my whole life. Although I do remember Kennedy's birthday was in May, and I think he was born the same year as one of my grandmothers. I should do FDR. He was quite the hero to my other grandparents. I inherited the poster that used to hang over their headboard.

Anyway, George Washington. I hear there's been new books written about him and even a TV show or movie made recently. Which are apparently quite good, but I don't have time for all that. I'll stick with the tried and true: He cut down a cherry tree, he was honest about it with his dad. But his dad, not wanting him to get off scot-free, challenged him to a duel. Little George, ever honest, replaced the bullets with blanks, circled around and "shot" his dad in the back. His dad knowing he himself had gotten off scot-free, too, since he could've been dead, forgave him for the tree.

Then there were the wooden teeth, penance for cutting down the tree, whittled out by the dentist from the self same tree! He should've chopped up the toilet, then he could've had teeth that would've lasted! Porcelain teeth, brushing with SaniFlush. That'd be good for me, since I've had notoriously bad teeth most of my life. I had a dentist who did half a root canal on me -- then left me in the chair while he and the staff went off for hamburgers. I haven't been the same since.

A fun experiment would be to find out how old George Washington would be today! They used to teach us he was born in 1732, back when education mattered. But it seems to me there's some complication about the way they reckoned years back then. For the sake of convenience, though, I'll assume 1732 is still good. 2017 minus 1732 is-- I'm going out for hamburgers. I'll figure it out when I get back.

Ug and Craythur -- That Old Time Religion

Everyone probably knows I'm heavily into religion, with a slight difference from your everyday fundamentalist; to me, it's all good, with a few caveats, a big one, that it be life-affirming. There's nothing like a little transcendentalism to start your day. That's the way I get going, with a big difference being that now that I'm losing my memory, I have a hard time remembering later in the day what spiritual stuff I did. I only hope it's still cumulative in my various spiritual centers without me having to consciously recall it!

That's not my idea today, though, although that would be a great one someday. Today, I'm thinking of a time way back, way back before any of us were alive, in fact even before Cain and Abel were around, when there was another pair of first brothers, Ug and Craythur. (Look in any good encyclopedia of religion for more on that particular dynamic duo. My picture of Ug or Craythur -- scholars on divided on which one it is -- has him tapping out a message, presumably a message of affection for the other.)

I mentioned religion. This memory hit me today: Ug and Craythur, like Cain and Abel, loved whichever deity was current in their time. There's an old song we used to sing in Sunday School, "Give Me That Old Time Religion," that had a interesting (and revealing) verse:

Give me that old time religion, give me that old time religion, give me that old time religion, it's good enough for me.

It was good for Ug and Craythur, it was good for Ug and Craythur, it was good for Ug and Craythur, it's good enough for me.

But enough about that. I feel the need to riff on their names. Ug and Craythur go into a comedy sketch, centering on their names:

I'm Ug.
I'm Craythur.
Craythur is craythur than Ug.
But Ug is pretty crayth.

How'd you get to be Ug?
My mom looked at me and said Ug.

How'd you get to be Craythur?
After Ug, anyone would be Craythur!

Beware the Ides of March

It's the Day of Days, folks, the Ides of March! I may sound happy about it, but really I'm not. Because if I learned anything in school, and I'm not saying I did, it was to be careful on March 15. Because if anyone's going to knife you, stab you in the back, it's gonna be today.

So I got up, kept my eye on the dog, watched out for neighbors when I had her out, and was even wary in church. The church has numerous hallways and hiding places. And a few of the folks aren't crazy about my completely dismissive attitude toward theology. A quick knife to the back would make short work of me, and even be divine justice of a sort.

Fortunately, though, I survived today -- I knew I'd survive through the offering at least -- and lived to tell about it. Not that there's that much to tell. Had I actually been stabbed, but not fatally, that would've been a hell of a story. Guess what, I was stabbed in church, right after the offering. This after an earlier argument on how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. This one guy comes at me, yelling, "Dance on this, heretic!" This isn't really beyond the realm of the possible, since the subject of angels and dancing on pins in fact came up within the last month.

But no, it didn't happen today, thankfully. Although back in literary times, of course it was common. Like in the days of Julius Caesar, when the other guy stabbed him, and Caesar said something in Latin, "Et tu, Brute?" In literary times they were always talking the Latin, you know, like when the guy shot Lincoln, "Sic semper tyrannus," literally translated, "I'm sick with distemper, like a dinosaur!"

Ever since that first tragic Ides of March we've been whooping it up when it comes along. Reminding me of the old story of "The Husband and the Wife":

One year the husband comes in and wishes his wife "Happy Ides of March," and immediately stabs her in the back. She falls to the ground. The next year it's the same thing, she immediately goes down. The third year rolls around and there he is again, "Happy Ides of March," she's stabbed and goes down. But the fourth year comes and she's smart enough to leave home and come back the next day. The husband shows up, says, "Happy belated Ides of March," stabs her, and she dies.

I hope that doesn't happen to you. And if it does, I hope you're smart enough to leave the guy after the first year. Call the police and send him to prison. You don't need a guy like that ruining your life. I should know, for I am the husband in the story. Maniacal laughter here ... and fade to black.

George & Abe -- That's Presidents' Day

SINGING THEIR PRAISES

Today, I'm overlooking the whole Illuminati nexus thing with Washington and Lincoln and the shady dealings that elevated them to the presidency. Whatever secret information I may have intuited about them having to do with the Mysteries of Weird, I'm setting it aside. That's my serious face, this is my happy face, as I join the rest of the world in just blithely accepting the surface report of their service. Hurray for me! For one day, pyramids don't have eyeballs! The Illuminati aren't secretly symbolized in the American Eagle. I'm so happy! It'll be fun to see only what the other half sees!

I have to confess, though, I don't really know a tremendous amount of stuff about Washington and Lincoln. I was sick the day they covered them in school. But let me hasten to add that what I do know, I like. What's there not to like? These men brought us through whatever challenges there were at the time, and now we're fine. And they personally inspired me. So, everything I've managed to learn about them, while far from expert status, is something I feel I've done a good job retaining. We're always our worst critic -- as the old saw goes -- so I'd give myself only a weak A minus, perhaps dropping it to a strong B+ if I wasn't so generous. The other half of being your own worst critic is being the most generous forgiving your faults.

I'll go first with the main things I remember about George Washington. My earliest memories, looking through the haze, show a cherry tree, and him as a boy cutting it down. His father asked him about it, he said the Illuminati did it, and everyone lived happily ever after. Some time later, he crossed the Delaware, arriving safely on the other side. He was dentally challenged, being born with wooden teeth. One night he made a wish to be on the dollar bill, and woke up and it was so! I find that very puzzling; I couldn't wish myself out of an imaginary paper bag.

Next is Honest Abe, and what I remember about him, first, he was honest. He read by the fireplace, was a smart kid, then a smart man, split rails by day, and hairs by night, in debates. A little girl asked him to grow a beard, which he did, thankful she didn't ask him to wear pink panties and play with dolls. Later, with his beard, he led one side in the Civil War, annihilating the other. Finally, he survived all that just to be killed.

You can't get better than these guys. That much is certain. Still, though, understandably, we seek men for the office who at least aspire to be as good, if not better. That much has already been proven, as other men have held the same office. Each in his own way tried to emulate his forebears -- Washington and Lincoln -- and yet, however good they were, each fell way short of the mark. Except for Obama, who, like Lincoln, started with a team of rivals and only got more.


FUN FACTS ABOUT WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN:
(Kids, share these with your teacher for a sure A)

Neither ever jump-started a car, positive to positive, negative to grounded metal part, then disconnecting the cables in the reverse order. Too complicated.
Neither had any favorite records, always having to hear music live, or perhaps on a music box. In fact, most of the technological stuff we take for granted, they didn't.
Neither ever used a telephone, not the crank model, the dial phone, a telephone booth, or a cell phone. They had lots of time on their hands.
Both could speak English, no big deal.
Both had wives and lost their virginity at some point.
Both had a carbon footprint, but never as big and bad as ours.


DIFFERENCES BETWEEN WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN:

Washington never had to face a camera, Lincoln did. Washington faced painters, who quit before they got done. Lincoln's cameras achieved their goals.
Lincoln was born the same year as Edgar Allan Poe, Washington wasn't.
Washington died before the 1800s, Lincoln didn't live to see the 1700s.
There simply aren't many other differences between them. Both men were very similar to the other. What Lincoln lacked, Washington made up, and vice versa.

Chipping Away at February

It feels great to be taking a stand on an important issue. I indeed have finally stepped out and accepted my calling in life. And I hope I have your full support, for then our common goal will be so much easier to accomplish. That is, destroying the "month" of February, and finally having a calendar we can be proud of.

Of course I know it's a huge step. And if the critics are right, it's a huge challenge. Although I'm extremely confident it won't take that much. I'm honestly thinking that as early as Feb. 3 we'll probably glimpse ultimate success. Mere days away! But there's a lot of work to be done, if we're going to not just glimpse success but grasp it. For me, putting that knife through the calendar was a real rush. It did something powerful for my resolve, having taken such a decisive step. And now, once the knife's in, there's no turning back!

As I said, the critics see "a huge challenge." Which, as I recall, is always the way with critics. It's probably "a huge challenge" for them to tie their shoes, especially since their hands are always so busy wringing themselves! Frankly, if we left life up to the critics, we would've never evolved beyond the slime. They would've been slime oozing from a bit of moss, clinging to their precious comfort zone. While the rest of us were looking to trade in our gills for a set of lungs and get on with the damned thing.

Part of the challenge with February, as I understand it, is that the world's had too much history with it to dump it now. People were born in February, they commemorate anniversaries, their loved ones died in February, the calendar appears set in its ways, etc. Well, check the history of the calendar. It's changed a lot over the years! September through December are named for the numbers 7-10, but obviously they're known by different numbers now. I can't remember why they needed to add August, but they wanted July for a place to put July 4.

My current proposal is that we add a number of February's days to January and March, then leave, say, the last 13 days of the old February as a mini-month. That'd be like crazy time. Like a desert on the earth, a time of desolation. Lent's usually about then. We'd squeeze it into 13 concentrated days of ashes and mourning. Any new births in that 13 days would have their birthdays reassigned to the happier months, as would happen with existing birthdays. Eventually the word February would be synonymous with sticks in the mud, the sorrowful, the unhappy, and of course the deranged.

I think we could shame prisoners even further by reassigning their birthdays to those 13 days. It'd be like a hot brand they could never overcome. They probably already do this on some other more intelligent planet, so we'd just be keeping up with them by switching. Having said that, I would not leave the word February in the mix. To give those days the ultimate shame, thus making us more reflective, we would need to go beyond the old with something completely new. What would it be? Right now I'm in destroy mode, so I can't think of anything. Scorpion, Lizard, Dry Heaves?

Friends, I said I'm confident, and that is true. But there's still things that could go wrong. And yet -- All praise to the native god in the photo! -- I'm sticking to my prediction. February 3 sounds just right as the day that I believe we will glimpse our ultimate success. Meaning, if you want to share in the credit of this seismic shift in time, you'll need to jump on board right away. Our deliverance is less than a week away!

The Pages of History

My basic point today is that the past is not set in stone. It can be changed, if there's a very good reason and if you don't know what you're doing. Naturally, I don't know what all the good reasons would be, but I feel a dire emergency might qualify. Similar to adrenalin, where a 99-pound weakling is able to lift a Mac truck to save a kitten. Plus, I think swearing-to-something is important enough in the cosmic economy that you could just change history.

Here's how I see it working. Say you're with people and everyone's shopping and wants something. There's a buddy system, and you're buddies with a girl who's wasting her money. She wants a new pair of shoes, but you're afraid she won't stop there. So you get her to swear. "Do you swear on your dog's grandfather that you won't buy anything but shoes?" She thinks, "My dog never even met his grandfather. Do dogs even have grandfathers? I've never met him either," so she swears. But you go to the bathroom and come back and she's bought extra shoe strings. The phone rings and her dad tells her her dog's gone. "He was just here!" the dad says. She gets home later and there's no sign of the dog. She swore on "The Pages of History!" A bad thing. But she reasons, "The dog ran away, I'll get a new dog."

The second episode also drives the point home, but perhaps there's wiggle room here too. Two buddies at the state fair. The undisciplined one is eating everything in sight, much to the other's consternation. "Someone's gonna get sick!" he thinks. Now, the undisciplined one wants a corn dog. The disciplined one remembers his buddy's dad has a bunch of Boy Scout memorabilia on the mantle, souvenirs of when he went to National Jamboree. "Do you swear on your dad's Jamboree stuff that this corn dog will be the last of your prodigality?" He swears. But next thing he's got a snow cone! They get home and the Jamboree collection's gone. His dad's on the couch, crying, thinking thieves broke in. But his son knows, or believes, he screwed with "The Pages of History." On the other hand, maybe they were stolen. Father knows best!

The last incident is similar, with one gigantic difference. Two friends walk by DQ. One friend hasn't had a snack all day and the other's gorged himself on snacks. Clearly, he doesn't need anything. The first one says he wants a snack, but only if the other swears on the existence of DQ itself that he won't have anything. He thinks, "The existence of DQ itself?! What kind of idiot are you? DQ has a worldwide outreach and has been in business 60 or 70 years." In this case, however, he doesn't order a thing. He's true to his word. But going to the table, he sees an extraneous chocolate chip and eats it. Immediately they find themselves empty-handed, standing on a vacant lot, no whoosh of the store disappearing or anything!

They call the police and report the disappearance of DQ, but because no one's ever heard of DQ, they think it's a crank call! The police get there and the two guys are standing there. But there's no way they can convince anyone who's never heard of DQ that an ice cream shop was ever there. Their sincerity keeps them from going to jail. The friends leave and research it. Indeed, there's not a DQ anywhere in the world! The whole enterprise is simply gone ... vanished from memory ... all because the guy violated his oath with a chocolate chip!

In this case I see a whole different ending. Showing that you could mess with "The Pages of History" and come out on top. They know the concept of DQ is a winner, so they immediately get loans and investors and build 12,500 DQs throughout the world, and they're filthy rich within weeks. They try then with all their might to swear to things and renege, hoping they can duplicate their success with McDonald's and all the others. But as it turns out, you can't do it on purpose .... it had to be true swearing. They sell DQ back to Warren Buffett, who doesn't remember he already owned it, and retire at 14.

So here's the problem. You (my reader) can't do it now either, no matter how hard you try, because I tainted your mind with the idea. And if you tell anyone else to do it, having impure motives, no matter what they do, they won't be able to screw with "The Pages of History" either.

My advice is forget the whole thing. Then maybe someday, innocently, you'll forget and swear to something worthwhile and accidentally get rich. But don't count on it.

I'm Interested in Local (Lascivious) History

This isn't 100 years ago, back in the dark ages of history; this is now. So it's possible, and could be easily done, to know what's going on today. I always want to know what's going on. And if you're honest with yourself -- fat chance -- you do too! Because somewhere, someone's trying to get away with something. That much is established fact.

If you try to do it with older history -- stuff from a really long time ago -- you might get the rough outlines but that'd be it. And I venture to say you're not likely to get that much. Everyone's dead and there's no witnesses. Plus, add to that, the local landscape changes. A restroom in a local park from 100 years ago is no longer there, because the park isn't even there! Or they were doing this stuff upstairs at the saloon.

I sometimes wonder, if you could go back 100 years in time if people would just clam up. I've heard they had a greater sense of propriety than we do today, since we're a lot more open about lascivious things. I've personally heard people these days being very open -- painfully so -- about their love life, who did what to whom when. For embarrasment's sake, of course, it's tough listening, although it gives you a lot to reflect on later.

With this openness, you'd think you could just go up to someone and ask them what's going on. But I get the impression that even today people would clam up, especially if you were a complete stranger accosting them upon their exit. I'll give an example. I was at a picnic table one day and thought about going over to the facilities to go to the bathroom. Since I seriously don't want to be in there when someone else shows up -- park facilities are scary -- I spent an hour charting the comings and goings of people. I was able to establish that on average the facilities are visited about every 7 minutes. OK, in I went, and noticed a bunch of lascivious graffiti on the walls. I said to myself, "Somebody did this!" But which one, the guy from an hour ago? Was it one of the guys 7 minutes later, or 7 minutes after that, etc.? It wasn't me!

These places are obvious hotspots of a sort throughout the day, and, I'd guess, worse at night. Even though they technically close at 10:00 p.m., am I supposed to believe that an attendant shows up at precisely 10 o'clock every single night? I doubt it. That's a lot of weird history taking place nearly every minute of the day, 24 hours a day, on average every 7 minutes. I contend this stuff ought to be exposed to the light of day, documented and passed on to future generations. Who will have plenty of problems of their own.

I had the opportunity to investigate further today, but didn't take it. It was like this: I left the house and was way too early to pull into the church parking lot. So I went over to a different park, because there's some good shade there and I could stay cool while passing time. Naturally I didn't know when the 7 minutes started, but there was a truck pulled up next to the facilities. I thought, "Deja vu all over again." This phrase just popped in my head. Then like clockwork, here comes some guy out. That much is public record. But what he was doing -- the history of it -- is unknown. You could simply go up and say, "Excuse me, sir, what were you doing in there? Were you writing anything on the walls? Were you waiting for someone who didn't show up? Are you ashamed of yourself? Is that why you're refusing to answer? Sir, please, put your fists down! I'm sure we can resolve this amicably without nasty faces." Then I run across the lawn and step in about 12 episodes of dog droppings, another matter of park history that needs documentation.

Whatever he was doing, it was very possibly quite innocent. Or shameful and unforgivable.

Other things of of local history that one just aches to document would be: What goes on in old barns, knowing farm kids used to seeing animals breed, people walking briskly as though exercising (is that just cover after leaving someone's house?), and cat burglars in apartments, whether in broad daylight or under the cover of darkness. I'd love to bust a few of those guys. The key thing is I'm just looking for local history, as much as I can muster.

Memorizing the Declaration of Independence

You know how I'm always talking about how smart I am? Well, I thought I was, but now I'm not sure.

I've long had the desire to memorize things. I got the idea for this from a little old lady I used to know who memorized and recited poetry all the time -- all the time -- and always followed her recital the same way, a half hour of lambasting the rest of us, who hadn't memorized a thing. It seems that when she was in school, back in 1914, kids had to memorize a lot of stuff. It's like they didn't have enough books to go around or something. Either that or they had nothing better to do.

I know this is true of her generation, because I heard my own grandparents reciting a few simpler things they'd memorized in school, also ages ago. Now they're dead, and the little old lady -- who incidentally only had one eye, which makes it much more impressive; she wore glasses but one glass was fogged over so you couldn't see the sewn up place on her face -- is also dead.

And now here I sit, with two functioning eyes, and the vast library of the world wide web to assist me -- to find things worth memorizing -- and I couldn't memorize a grocery list. Or something simpler. The main problem might be I didn't get started early enough in life. So my brain doesn't have the trained grooves for memory work. I'd check out that website that helps you exercise your brain -- the woman advertising it on TV's kind of cute -- but I can't remember what it is.

Anyway, today being the Fourth of July, I had the idea of reading the Declaration of Independence. I've read it a couple times in my life. Mostly what I could already tell you by memory is that the king of England at the time was named George. That's a start, although admittedly it's not a heckuva lot to go on. What it was, what was going on is, the Americans at the time were very aggravated at George, so they wrote up the Declaration of Independence ... and the rest is history. Something, something. And our first leader was also a George!

OK, for some reason it's always easier for me to remember the first few words of something than it is the next few. Like the Bible. I always remember, "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth," words to that effect. The rest, I could probably hack out a few more words more or less accurately, but, again, my memory isn't what it should be. Did I already say that?

Let's review how far I got: "When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary to--" No, I just checked the webpage and the next word is "for," not "to." I'll just copy and past the first paragraph and we can review it:

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

According to that, "Course" is capitalized. Must be one of the Quaint Customs of the Time. So we've got a "Course of human events," the progression of time, pointing to a particular moment in that course, the "When." Then there's a people feeling it's necessary to dissolve the political bands that they had with another. Then they intend to assume "among the powers of the earth," other countries, a separate and equal station, blah blah blah. I'm sure George didn't care for this: the Laws of Nature and Nature's God entitle them to make this assumption. OK, When that necessity arises, they care enough about the opinions of the rest of the world to declare the causes of the separation.

That's a little different than now. Isn't our attitude now just to stomp the crap out of people and let them like it or lump it? Maybe I'm thinking of some other country, but I'm pretty sure ... I seem to recall ... although my memory ain't great.

That, my friends, the first paragraph is frankly more than I can handle, let alone the rest of it. I'm not one to admit failure easily, but the Declaration is simply too long for me to get it entire thing down pat. Not this year! Maybe next year when I'm older ... and, I hope, wiser.

P.S. -- Obama ought to prank the Republicans and just recite the Declaration of Independence on the radio. Since most of them likely have no knowledge of it, they'd hear it and start bitching, "He's totally full of hot air!" Then he goes, "It's the Declaration of Independence, you bozos!" They'd go, "It came out of your mouth, we still hate it!"

North Korea -- A Cool Place

I know I'm risking whatever security clearance I have, may have, or may not have, by writing this. But other considerations override my personal fate, the fact that I am of the opinion that North Korea is a cool place. I know, I know, it's not popular these days to stand up and be counted.

It all started -- I'm guessing here -- three or four years ago. A guy I met at the library was acting a little furtive with his reading material, like he didn't want me to see it. But I prodded and pried, and next thing, he was showing me some literature he had from the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, North Korea.

I looked at it with some suspicion, but he gave me the "shush" sign and assured me he possessed it legally, then he went on to tell me how cool it was. I thought, "Hmm," overcoming my inbred suspicions and turning the pages of the magazine, "This actually is kind of cool. I love the whole vibe." He smiled and nodded. After that, I guess you could say we became a club of two!

Now it's been, like I said, years, and we still have only that one magazine, dated 1975. I asked him if there's anything newer, and he said, No, that's what we've got so far. He thought back and said he'd gotten it fresh when he first shared it with me, that it'd just come in by ship and that that's all we needed for the time being. OK. And something about the printing presses needing parts from Cuba.

But the key thing is not its age, but the content, which we have to assume is still just as relevant today as it was in 1975. I've often heard that North Korea doesn't change that much, that they've been able to maintain a sort of constant stability, whereas we in the West have had tumultuous changes. What's better? The contentment of stability or the upheaval of change? I don't think I have to answer that...

This particular issue shows their great president, Kim Il Sung, traveling the world, as a goodwill ambassador for everyone. And meeting with various world leaders that I can only presume are still in power, heroes of the cause, Comrade Nicolae Ceausescu of Romania and President Josip Broz Tito of Yugoslavia. I seriously thought Tito was dead, or had joined the Jackson 5 or something; I honestly haven't kept track. But there he is, as of 1975, still very much alive!

But the article that really caught my attention is their call to Americans to defect, to "Join our unremitting struggle for the victory of the cause of people and democracy." That sounds cool! Really, why do we want to follow the lackeys over here who simply prattle out the things they want us to hear, all the while pulling the strings of repressive imperialism both at home and abroad? The key thing for my purposes is: The trip there is all expenses paid, and they have employment for you. The listings are mostly for field labor, but there's also a tractor factory looking for skilled workers.

I know I'm getting myself in deep here. But -- be bold! -- there's no turning back now. The magazine sketches out the steps: 1) Contact the State Department; 2) Go to the State Department; 3) Renounce Citizenship; 4) Complete Paperwork; 5) Enter Renunciation Room for Formal Swearing Out; 6) Go to North Korean Embassy for Hero's Welcome; 7) Live Happily Ever After in Great Struggle.

That is one cool photo I've got! Six motorcycles for every car.

The Sheds of Butlic County

You could ask nearly anyone in the state what is one of the most interesting of our many tourist spots, and they'd probably say, The Sheds of Butlic County. Some college students even made a movie there about a couple adulterous farmers and ladies from out of state, Butlic or Bust. I never saw it, but I understand it had quite a bit of each. Also, years ago, some genuine Hollywood stars were in the area.

As for me, it's sort of funny. I could live right across the street from a tourist attraction and never go to it. But then, if I'm in some other state, I make a beeline for whatever it is, a famous rock or anything, The World's Largest Rotten Tomato. But I hadn't actually toured our famous sheds, until around three weeks ago.

It's a little different, as tourist sites go, since they're not in one place but scattered around the county. That means you either drive yourself or get on the bus and go with a guide. I thought $15 was a pretty good deal, with the price of gas, and also because you learn more with an educated person.

OK, the overall summary -- and I'll be looking at my notes here, excuse me -- is that a Mr. Ebenezer Tobias Peabody Smith, who wanted to serve the world as a priest, but because his parents were deathly sick on the farm and he had younger siblings, had to drop out of seminary and help the family, worked as a carpenter. Most of the things he built are long gone, but he built nine sheds, six of which remain.

Of the six, there's three major ones, making the others minor ones, very minor. But they do take you to the minor ones, mostly so you can say you saw them, but, frankly, I'd advise dropping out way before then. So we have the Big Three. And even these vary, being called the Best One, the Medium One, and the Other One.

The Best One has quite a story. (That's it in the picture. It now has modern siding and bears little resemblance to its original self, since they want to preserve it for future generations.) Runaway slaves used to congregate there, with the brave townspeople pretending to help slaves in another part of the county, throwing slave owners off track. But it all came to a head when a turncoat, Col. Butlic's greatest nemesis, Benedict Ziffle, led the slave owners to the shed. They almost burned it down with the former slaves still in it. But the townspeople took them on, rounded them up, and burnt them alive. The slaves were free! All that -- an amazing story! -- happened at this shed!

The Medium One has a so-so story. Two donkeys had been tied there in the late 1800s when their owners were in school. One donkey belonged to a girl, the other to a boy. But the boy's donkey was a female, and the girl's donkey a male. One day, nature being what it is, the donkeys interbred and ended up with twins, the male of which went to the boy and the female went to the girl. So all was right with the world. Walking the little path to shed, the guide said it was called "The Trail of the Four Donkeys." So I watched where I stepped.

Then there's the Other One, the other "major" shed. Its most famous story is how a farmer came up over a hill, again in the 1800s, back when apparently all kinds of things happened, unlike now, and thought he saw a family of fairies dancing on the green in front of it. Then, as he approached, the truth became clear. Turned out that he'd been drinking and mistook the sun reflecting off some metal bars and the swaying of garden variety weeds for a fairy family. I thought, Big damned deal. I've seen weirder stuff than that without drinking!

Among the many other interesting things the guide told us, all the sheds had famous people who stopped by over the years. Since they've been there forever, of course that wasn't so unbelievable. But the famous names! I was floored, somewhat. Especially when it came to the Best One. When President Woodrow Wilson came through, he and his wife stopped and toured the Best shed. The duties of office prevented him from doing the whole tour. So there I stood, right in the very doorway where President Wilson himself passed!

The Medium One was also visited by a political titan, at least halfway a titan, Henry Wallace. Ever heard of him? Turns out he was a vice president in the '40s. So that's a definite step down from President Wilson, but still not too bad. So I also stood in the doorway right where Henry, uh, Wallace went through.

Then at the Other One, the most famous person to visit it was a guy named Walter Seymour Randall, according to the guide the founder of Randall Eggs, an egg farm which has since been bought out by a conglomerate and renamed. So I also stood in the doorway where a guy who sold eggs once passed...

The final story concerns more gossip than established fact, since people are usually quiet about their romantic shenanigans. But the rumor goes -- and I'll be brief since I doubt anyone's too interested in who was boinking whom way back when -- that there was enough hanky panky at these sheds alone to repopulate a barren land, were each coital encounter to have resulted in pregnancy and subsequent live birth. So I'll just sum it up with a few names, without suggesting what may or may not have happened between them. The Best Shed: W.C. Fields and Mae West -- very, very cool; The Medium One: Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, a married couple; and, The Other One, Slim Pickens and Gabby Hayes. You might remember the movies, neither one was a straight man.

Anyway, what a tour! It was definitely fun to get out and learn. In my advanced years, I really don't do much learning, so I'll be taking some time off. But it was quite a refreshing change of pace. I hope I didn't give away too much. Because next time you're in the area, I would definitely advise you to at least visit the Best One of the six.

Burp Loudly for Comic Effect

I'm a normal guy at a normal boring event. There's a shuffling hunched usher, decorum is rife, and everything's nailed down. Things are so somber you could cut it with a knife. It's time for an enormous burp.

If we've learned anything from the movies, it's that comic relief is always welcome. It breaks the tension, it puts everyone at ease. You've got the sense to do it, too, to your credit. And maybe it's even you on the spot. They've called you on the carpet for something. The boss is dressing you down. What better way to get back into his good graces but to burp loudly, or even fart? Anything funny like that will bring the house down. It's uproarious.

Have you ever been there when a family's planning their father's funeral? They denied death so long, even though it was clear he wouldn't last forever. And that's all it is, denial. Brother stands against brother, the whole story. But then death has come and now they have to face it; it's not going anywhere. The funeral director's there, appearing concerned for them while guiding them toward making expensive choices. It's all somber as hell, because no one wants to appear cheap. Then one of them -- a wag -- emits a gigantic "BURP!" There's a few titters with the tears, then they're rolling in the aisles. You know how it goes.

Just writing this brings back a flood of memories to me, the memories you suppress or don't appreciate fully at the time. Think of the same brothers. The fact of dad's death has softened the edges of past disagreements. Then there's a little burp, followed by the eye contact of questioning, subtle facial gestures as if to say, "What?" Suddenly then, the years melt away, and they're kids around the family table of so long ago. There's a chuckle of recognition of common memories, then giggling, then pretty soon everyone's burping loudly. With the same going for farting!

Which brings us to Benjamin Franklin, our common American ancestor. Such a famous guy from so long ago, and he wasn't even president! As I recall, wasn't he America's top negotiator at the tables of Paris, France? We had some problem, let's say, with the French, so we sent over our top negotiator, our top diplomat. The same guy who, incidentally, is responsible for the book, "Fart Proudly."  And he no doubt burped from time to time, too.

So there he is, Benjamin Franklin, taking a boat across the Atlantic, about a two month trip at the time, engorging himself on boiled cabbage. By the time he gets there he's bloated up two times his normal size. With such gaseousness, of course he's going to break the ice. The French were putty in his hand. And I believe that's how we got the Statue of Liberty. He was at the table and brought the house down.

Finally, back to funeral planning for Dad. This is what Dad passed on to them. 1) He started the company. 2) He was Mr. Nature in the digestion department. Working for himself, as he did, he was not known for social restrictions. It was a loud burp, a loud fart every time. LOL, what memories! The joy of life is rediscovered by his delinquent children. It is theirs ... once again!

Ralph R. Ferguson, Mayor Of Anderson, Indiana

I found this cool graphic of some guy's head while browsing some old newspaper microfilms. Of course I thought, What a great generic guy's head! But then -- and this is the hidden archivist/preservationist in me -- I immediately thought, This was an actual guy, with a history, a family, etc., I better find out more about him.

Since he was featured prominently in a newspaper's full page ad, the caption was easy to spot. He was identified as the mayor Anderson, Indiana, Ralph R. Ferguson. This was in 1960, of course in the Anderson, Indiana, newspaper, the Anderson Herald Bulletin. I love the severed head, the graphic's Wizard of Oz vibe.

Now, here's a better picture, that I found with a Google search. Resourceful, aren't I? I like this picture, too, which you can get at virtually any size. They have a fairly prominent copyright notice on it, so I hope they'll allow me this "fair use" of his picture, as I'm republishing it as a historical feature with educational commentary. That's a great picture, isn't it? It's pretty easy to imagine him as a major, which he was from 1956-1964 (the newspaper's dates). Wikipedia says his term ended in '63, as does the Indiana Memory Digital Collections, the source for the above photo.

Then you have to figure, he was middle-aged in the late '50s, he's probably passed on by now. And, sure enough, he did die, in 1975 as it turns out.

Ralph R. Ferguson was born December 28, 1898. Prior to being Anderson's mayor, he was a state senator and Madison County Clerk. Before politics, he was sales manager of the Central Indiana Gas Company. In the 1920s, he was a licensed real estate broker. In the '30s, he owned and operated the Independent Wholesale Corporation. And in the '40s he owned and operated the Jo Ral Nash Auto Sales firm. So he was terrifically successful, as far as I'm concerned. He definitely did more than I'll ever do, since what have I ever done? I sold used records in the '80s, that's about it. And a few books on eBay. And this blog.

Mr. Ferguson was a good guy in another respect: He was a Democrat. In fact, he was a delegate to the Democratic National Convention on numerous occasions. And if that wasn't enough, he once was president of the Anderson Country Club. Again, speaking of my own personal lack of success, I watch the convention on TV and a few times I drove by a country club.

Mr. Ferguson died on April 1, 1975, if I'm reading this correctly. The paper's a little less than explicit. The publication date was April 2, a Wednesday, and they said he died on Tuesday.

He was successful in numerous other ventures, political successes, etc. Speaking for myself, I do vote and I used to have the stickers to prove it, so I'm a success, too.

Mr. Ferguson's son-in-law*, Robert L. Rock, was also in politics, being the lieutenant governor of Indiana, then he also was mayor of Anderson. So success was passed down, making me wonder about my own forebears, "What happened?" If I were somehow miraculously elected lieutenant governor, I'd show up at the office and go, "What am I supposed to do now?"

UPDATE: The irony of this post, thinking of my own lack of success and the fact that I never heard of Mr. Ferguson until an hour ago, is that before the day is through I'll be one of the primary sources on Google for information about him.

*I changed this from "son" in response to a comment. Thanks.

What's Your Purview?

"Purview" is a word I have a hard time keeping in mind, its definition and how to use it. Typically, the only way I can use it in a sentence is to simply use it afresh. If I sit and think about it, it becomes unknowable and absurd quicker than most other words. Maybe the key to that is I only use it once in a blue moon.

But when it's called for, of course I use it, whether or not it makes me sound like an egghead. Yes, I have regrets anytime it escapes my lips. Because people will be sitting there going, "WTF is this guy talking about?" or words to that effect.

Today I used "purview" early on just talking to myself. And decided then and there it'd be a great game show from the past -- "What's Your Purview? -- with a panel of blindfolded socialites guessing a particular individual's purview. He's out there, and the panel is thrashing about, hoping to get a handle on his purview of whatever the topic is. "Would your purview ever include a breadbox?" I think that'd be entertaining.

Is something like that funny or interesting to you? Would it be locatable in your purview of what a decent game show would be? The subject could be something very trivial, like what his favorite brand of coffee is. He has a purview encompassing the subject, probably like all of us. Just speaking for myself, I have a definite favorite, but an overall purview on the subject that still encompasses other alternatives.

Or the subject could be something quite complex, meaning they'd have to have guests whose purview of matters had complexity in its scope. On a broad subject like the underlying unity of the world's religions, let's say, not everyone's purview could do it justice. But it'd still be interesting to see them try, humorously so if they were fundamentalists, or enlightening if their purview were already broadened by thought and strong conclusions. I mention this in particular because I feel that my purview concerning the topic is probably broader than most. On that and old cartoons.

However, let's leave me out. Having a broad purview, as I do, I'm more than willing to admit other voices. Plus, my purview of topics is wide enough that, really, any subject would be fit fodder for any given episode, and would interest me. If your purview differs from mine, I don't mind, because my purview is broad enough to allow for all kinds, the ignorant as well as the smart.

So let's say you ended up on the show. It's you and another contestant. The panel is in place, judging one purview against another. You win, that's good. Or you lose, it's good. Because I have a broad purview on the outcome of the show, knowing that the lovely parting gifts are worth having. And just being on the show, in my overall purview of entertainment history, it's a nice slice of immortality.