Back in the 50s I would occasionally spend a weekend with the family of a man my father worked with. They lived across the river from Cincinnati in Newport, KY. Being hardcore Germans the drank lots of beer and most Friday and Saturday evenings were spent at the neighborhood tavern. It was a time and place in America where a friendly tavern could be found on most corners of residential areas. The TV hadn’t began to keep people glued to their sofas yet and the tavern was the neighborhood’s living room.
Since 2008 and the financial collapse in America I’ve seen consistent reports that the number of illegal immigrants in this country is shrinking. To the political right, however, it is of no matter. They continue to pound the spike of immigration fear into the hearts of their fearful, xenophobic, followers.
But, if there is some fearful soul, cowering beneath the four-poster in their bedroom, who can be reached with a little light of truth, here’s a brief piece that appeared on The Daily Beast. Oh, don’t let the name scare you, it’s just a news site and not really a monster.
For you youngun’s out there, a deep cut refers to a song that was buried deeply on an album, probably somewhere toward the end of side two. The song probably wasn’t expected to be a hit, hence the song placement. Wait. Does anyone under 40-years old even know what an album is? Does LP ring a bell? Nothing? Sigh. Let us continue . . .
We all have personal favorites of a particular artist or band, songs that may have never been a hit or played on the radio. Songs that weren’t critically acclaimed but just struck a chord with you. Struck a chord, get it? Musical reference. That, my friends, is writing. Wannabe scribes take note. Anyway, it’s something that can’t be explained, that chord, that something that can bring tears to your eyes or make you want to listen to the song over and over. Sometimes the song can be something you’re afraid to admit you like. Full disclosure: “If Since U Been Gone” by Kelly Clarkson comes on the radio, I always sing along. That’s Kelly up top. Killer pipes, lemme tell ya. Continue reading Shoe’s Deep Cuts→
Rick Perry is absolutely disgusting. Last week he released a campaign ad in which he claims that President Obama is waging a war against Christmas and that gays can serve in the military but children cannot celebrate Christmas in their schools.
Well, I just went to a Christmas (not Holiday) program at my granddaughter’s public elementary school and the program was based on the Dr. Seuss classic, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, not The Grinch Who Stole the Holidays. I also remember well the lighting of the White House Christmas Tree this year and each year Mr. Obama and his family has lived in the nation’s home.
On Facebook, and elsewhere, I’ve had several recent discussions about the continued existence of racism in America. There are those who insist on claiming that race is no longer an issue in America, with the election of our first black president we have somehow moved beyond it. This is especially true in some GOP circles as they attempt their party as being one of inclusion and not exclusion.
Prior to the New Deal the GOP frequently did champion the causes of race and women’s suffrage. Things began to change during the Great Depression as blacks increasingly turned to the Democrat Party to address their issues. It was New Deal policy that provided aid to impoverished whites and blacks. It was a Democrat president, Harry Truman, who finally integrated the armed forces, it was the Kennedy and Johnson administrations who took on the issues of civil rights and economic opportunity. Continue reading Ain’t no Post-Racial Round Here!→
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell this story. After all, it happened a long time ago and a lot of people have heard at least parts of it. Still, it has never been written and I thought it might be of some interest and worth hearing. Plus, I have to admit that it’s a pretty incredible story. It’s very long, so grab an adult beverage and relax. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it.
See that picture? Hours before that volcano blew I was standing at its edge with my Caribbean basketball players, peering down into it. Got your attention? Good. Let’s backtrack . . .
It all started over 16-years ago at the University of Maryland, where I was working at Gary William’s Basketball Camp. At the camp I’d become acquainted with an international coach who had worked in several countries, including a stint as the Greek National coach. He’d also been the National Coach of a tiny island in the Caribbean. The country’s name was Montserrat. I’d never heard of Montserrat at the time, but that would soon change.
A few months later, in the early spring of 1995, I got a call. On the line was a gentleman with a distinct British/Caribbean accent. He informed me that he was a businessman from Montserrat who also happened to be a supporter of their national basketball team. He’d been given my name by the coach previously mentioned, and he informed me that said coach had stepped down and Montserrat was looking for somebody new to train their team. Would I be interested? After getting some details (paid fare to the Caribbean, free lodging and meals, an island in a tropical paradise) I agreed. Hey, I’m not stupid. At the time I had no misgivings. It wasn’t until later that I started to Continue reading Basketball, an Island, and a Volcano: My Journey to the Caribbean.→
I was sitting at my desk on a recent Saturday evening. It was 7:38 p.m. and I realized I was tapping my foot to the rhythm of the Lawrence Welk Orchestra playing Tequilla. Suddenly I realized just how old I must be if this is what my Saturday evenings have turned into.
Mentioning this to some friends I soon discovered just how popular Welk remains to people of my generation. Even younger people, who not have liked Welk’s musical style have fond memories of their parents turning on his program and singing along with Lawrence and his regular cast of musicians, singers and dancers. One acquaintance said, “Every Saturday night in the late 50’s early 60’s, my grandmother would baby sit me. Every Saturday night, we’d watched Lawrence Welk. I bet I’ve seen more Lawrence Welk episodes than anyone. To this day, when I am surfing PBS and Welk comes on, I pause, listen, and say, ‘There you go Grandma.'”
Seems like every cycle of the news brings new revelations of just how ill-prepared so many GOP presidential candidates are. The US Constitution only requires a person to be a natural-born citizen, lived fourteen years in the US and be 35-years old. But, while these are the legal prerequisites there exist others that are far more demanding.
One of my basic requirements is that my candidate has to be well-educated. That demands they be extremely knowledgeable of American and World History, advanced economic systems, Constitutional law, foreign affairs, policy, and diplomacy. Presidents have lots of people around them to offer advice and can’t be expected to know everything. But, they must bring to the job a deep and broad foundation Continue reading There’s More to Being President Than Being Old Enough!→
My generation is likely the last to have memories of the time radio ruled the entertainment empire. When I arrived on the scene in 1942 talking movies were only fourteen years old and TV was still a tinkerer’s toy being played with in a few laboratories.
Radio was the medium you didn’t have to leave home to enjoy. Wherever you lived you could have music, news, commentary, sports, drama, variety, adventure, mystery, and more. You could listen to a station next door or one half way around the world. By my time the magic box called radio was omnipresent and universally affordable. The price of admission was simply listening to the frequent commercial for dish soap, shaving cream, and Chevrolet.
There was no static free FM transmissions. Everything was broadcast in AM mode and subject to all the atmospheric scratches and static discharges Mother Nature could muster up. On a good night one could listen to programs originating in New York, New Orleans, Chicago and other major American cities. If one owned a radio with Continue reading Old Time Radio, Shoulders of Giants→
Fifteen years ago I was standing in front of a huge meat cooler in an IGA store in Monck’s Corner, SC and seeing a part of my youth pass before my eyes. I was looking at a massive variety of fresh and smoked animal parts, pigs feet, ham-hocks, jowl meat, pig ears, turkey legs, chicken feet, ox tail, and fat back. These were all the things that my Uncle Johnny sold in his Columbia, SC grocery during the 1950s.
My brother and I spent the occasional summer visiting our South Carolina relatives and working in Uncle Johnny’s store. Boswell’s Grocery was located in the middle of a largely black district of the city and impoverished blacks were the main walk-in clientele. The store also had a sizable “white” trade but that was mostly by telephone and delivered via a Chevrolet panel truck. One of the main joys of spending summers in the store was getting to run around the city in that truck and get a South Carolina driver’s license at the young age of fourteen.
Speaking before the Council on Foreign Affairs, retired General Stanley McChrystal reported that the US has always had a “simplistic” view of Afghanistan and after ten-years of fighting neither America’s military or that of NATO are much more than half way finished in achieving the major goal of establishing a stable government in that nation.
With major troop reductions scheduled to begin by the end of this year (2011) it seems the prospect of our total involvement in that nation being a waste is rapidly being confirmed. I am not a military person, my years as a Navy Radioman gives me no more insight Continue reading As Rome Burned the People Refused to Watch→
If you live in a city of 18 million souls the legacy you’re remembered by may not count as heavily as it would in a small town of less than 5000. Mr. Wert Ash lived and died in a small town and for decades his legacy has been stained by what small town’s are good at; accepting rumor and half-truths as fact.
During much of his life, this descendant of a grandfather who had experienced slavery first hand, was known as “Hammerhead” or “Hammer.” Few knew his real name but most in town knew him by those nicknames, didn’t know why he was called them, but knew that shouting those words at Mr. Wert Ash would drive him to a fit of anger, evoking oaths, threats, and at times hot pursuit.
You’re probably aware that I’m a great fan of blues music and when I’m in the car I’m usually listening to BB King’s Bluesville on XM Satellite Radio. Recently a song being performed by Maria Muldaur, a contemporary performer, titled The Panic is On began playing. It had a sound from the 20s or 30s and the subject was economic hard-times. The lyrics were so familiar I couldn’t tell if the song was addressing hard-times today or hard-times during the Great Depression. Muldaur had added a last verse containing the name of our current president, further confusing my thoughts.
So, later in the day I did some Googling and discovered the song was written by and first performed in 1931 by Hezekaih Jenkins and Muldaur had resurrected it for Continue reading The Panic is On→
Recently I wrote a piece about the demise of the old-fashioned hardware store. Well, another retail business genre that’s dipping below the horizon is the local book and office supply store. Shot from the saddle by the young bloods in town, Staples and Office Max.
In my hometown, Greenfield, OH, we had Gossett’s Bookstore. Gossett’s began selling paper, pins, thumb tacks, gifts, books, accounting supplies, typewriters, adding machines, ditto machines, postage scales, staples, paperclips, pencils, pens, crayons, tempera paint and artist supplies, all-occasion cards, Sunday School supplies, school supplies and workbooks, and much more since before Saint Peter strolled in one day and ordered some very large blank journals.
Seriously, every person who ever walked the streets of Greenfield, beginning in 1841, could relate some pleasant memory of doing business at Gossett’s. If a chemist were to enter his lab and synthesize the aromas of all the items I’ve listed above and then Continue reading Gossett’s, The BOO(k) Store of My Youth→
Let me tell you story, my Chapman’s General Store patrons. ‘Twas way back in the winter of ’64, and my music world consisted of listening to the likes of Bobby Vinton, Gene Pitney, Bobby Vee, Paul Anka, yes, even Andy Williams. Hell, we didn’t even have much Elvis in the house. My sister Karen had some Elvis soundtracks but even The King was way too controversial for Bourneville, Ohio at the time. Mom and Dad had some Dean Martin stuff I could throw on the turntable, if that clarifies my situation at all. I was 8-years old but listened to music as often as I could. I was too young to buy 45s, so I was dependent on whatever was brought home by Mom & Dad or my two older sisters. Bleak times indeed. Those times had become bleaker in November of ’63 when my 2nd grade teacher walked in the room to tell us that JFK, a man for whom I’d passed out flyers around Ross County with my strongly democratic family, had been blown away in Dallas. I was shaken, even at my young age. Seeing your dad cry for the first time will do that to you. With the country knocked down to one knee, it certainly needed a wake-up call. I, and everybody else, got one in February.