Bagpipes and Claymores

The recent anniversary of the death of Robert Burns, Scottish poet, led my thoughts toward my own Scot ancestry. I have been researching my various family roots for at least 60 years. Not with any steadfast focus but with a continuing interest and fascination. My natural inclination was to trace my surname Cochrane from my own birth back to the earliest ancestor I could find. This journey then led to the other ancestral branches that were woven into my descent. Almost all of which were Scottish on the paternal side. Along the way one inevitably in such a search bumps into history and how antecedents were involved and shaped by it. And, my Cochrane line began in 1240 at Renfrew, Scotland when Waldenus DeCochrane, the first known of that surname, was born.
We might consider first of all who the Scots are. Well, we know where they are, in the northern part of the British Isles. As I understand it the earliest arrivals in that part of Great Britain were invaders from Ireland who established settlements in the highlands that were taken from the Pict inhabitants. The ancient language then used the word Scots which meant “invaders” to describe these new adventurers. So we can assume that they were originally Irish Celts, seeking new land for settlement.
The irony is that in the passing centuries some of the tribes (clans) were persecuted in warfare or for religious beliefs and fled Scotland back to Ireland. These people are called Scots-Irish. So when you see that term written it should not indicate people who are a mixture of Scotch and Irish blood (they are all originally Irish Celts) but are descendants of Scots who fled to Ireland. Many of the Cochranes were among those who did so. One can generally determine the case, whether Scot or Scots-Irish by the spelling of the name. The Scots-Irish dropped the final “e” in the name. Cochrane is Scot and remained at home; Cochran, without the “e”, is Scots-Irish and the family settled in Ireland. But, there are exceptions of course and my family is one of them. My gr. gr. grandfather Glass Cochran was born in Dublin, Ireland but my dad, Earl, did not like the shortened version of the name so added the final letter. Thus, my line is from the Scots-Irish that set out again to find a haven by immigrating to America.
The Scots-Irish are prominent in the founding and growth of the United States. No part of our country’s history can be told without including them. They contributed in every field of endeavor and in every war. In fact President Barack Obama is of Irish descent. His great, great, great grandfather Fulmouth Kearney was from Moneygall, Offaly county, Ireland before immigrating in 1850 to the United States.
If you would like to honor Mr. Burns or the Scots with a fine dinner then you can prepare a cock-a-leekie soup; a main course of haggis, which is a mixture of a lamb’s internal organs cooked inside its stomach lining (a 2 to 8 oz. portion is enough); add some side dishes of neeps (mashed turnips) and tatties (potatoes), and end with clootie dumplings (a pudding boiled in a cloth). End the evening singing Burn’s “Auld Lang Syne” while sipping a glass of Scotch. - - - Frankly, I think I’ll have a “Big Mac.” I am -

Just sayin'

Spooked by Salmonella

National newspapers seem to concentrate on “scare” news. Or emphasize the shocking or tragic news. I suppose that surveys have shown that these attract more readers than the “feel good” type. A recent story that was given headline attention was about a salmonella outbreak caused by peanut products. The story has prompted a knee-jerk reaction across the country. Stores are grabbing products off their shelves frantically. Some products that have nothing to do with peanuts but may be made in a factory that also packages peanut products are also being withdrawn. Is this story really as frightening as they portray it?

Let’s consider the salmonella bacteria. There are over 2,000 types of this common germ. It is found prevalently in domestic animals: dogs, cats, cattle and such. It is found in the soil. It is everywhere. Man has over the eons developed a strong anti-body resistance to this threat. How could we not? However, when one contacts or ingests one of the stronger types the body reacts more to the invasion. This can usually cause a stomach upset that can be mild or severe. The victim may spend the day with an upset tummy or make more frequent visits to the bathroom. If the victim has a frail or diminished immune system such as found in infants or the feeble elderly the result can be fatal. This is true of course in any illness - - even a severe cold. An example from my personal life is about a co-worker friend who seemed to complain every morning at work about his stomach upset. This lad was of Mexican descent. One day he asked me to join me for lunch at his house. Upon entry I noticed immediately the cause of his mild stomach problems. On the kitchen stove was a frying pan that contained refried beans from the day before. He was still using them. He did not realize that beans are one of the foods that will quickly go bad from salmonella. What was causing him mild stomach upset would probably put me in bed for a day or two. Another personal example is a time when traveling with my wife we had dinner at a popular hotel restaurant and shortly thereafter while on the road I became violently ill. We had to stop our journey and check into a hotel for the night. By morning I was O.K., and we realized that what I had ordered at the restaurant was a food that had been kept on a warming plate in the kitchen too long. But, we are not talking about this category of people. The story is directed at everyone.

For every case of salmonella poisoning that is reported there are 20 others that are not. People were infected and not so ill as to require medical help. The disease can last a day or occasionally as long as a week. The bottom line is that we are in contact with this bacteria every day! We eat unwashed fruit and vegetables from garden or store. We make burger patties on the kitchen draining board. We let our pet rover lick our face and hands. We use a hand towel for a day or two. You just cannot completely avoid it. So, why aren’t we ill? Because we are immune. Here is an example: you visit Mexico and are warned about drinking the water there. You are told you may get “Montezuma’s Revenge” or “the Mexican Trots,“the terms for salmonella poisoning. And it is true, you might. But the Mexicans living there do not get it. They have developed immunity. And, you too have developed immunities over the years to the local foods and community bacteria and virus that may be present.

Ordinary precautions you can take: wash fruits and vegetables before using, refrigerate leftovers and food you will use later, keep counters clean, wash hands after shopping, or gardening and frequently during the day, do not leave poultry, meat or beans outside the frig for more than a couple of hours. Outdoor picnics are a breeding ground for salmonella so do not leave the food exposed for too long.

The salmonella that has struck a few people in a particular location has petered out. It has affected a larger group in that area that have felt a lesser nausea. It did not jump into the Planters peanut can that you just bought. It is not in “Mother’s” peanut butter cookies. You have more chance of getting the bug from handling any package that the grocery clerk put in your bag. This story has in no way a connection with a peanut allergy which is a whole other situation. If you have no allergy to peanuts - then you can pay no attention to the scare. If you want to dwell on and enjoy the paranoia fine, but I am going to make myself a peanut butter and jam sandwich and follow with some Reese’s candy. I am
Just sayin’

Yes We Can!

President Obama gave an inspirational inaugural speech yesterday before over one million people attending in the National Mall and to millions more throughout the world. It was a call to our citizens to change direction of our civil programs and to resume a place of leadership in world affairs. He also promised to work with all parties in coming together to solve our problems. Whether Republican, Democrat or Independent; and from whatever religious faith we should all pull together to make a better life for ourselves. Our national progress affects each individual and every family.
When I consider my own extended family I can see the importance of how government programs, added or dropped, will change their personal lives for better or for worse. My son Ken, Jr. has been in the automotive repair business for many years and the past year of economic recession has slowed the flow of customers and put a strain on maintaining the workforce. It should be a priority for government to assist the small businesses across our nation with tax relief and help in financing progress. My second son, Kevin, is a professor in a college in southern California and faces the hurdles that now exist in recruiting students, improving curricula and seeking endowments; a result of the decline in the economy. My youngest son, Tyler, has a minimum wage position with a supermarket and could use assistance in training and learning the skills that would provide advancement. My daughter, Andrea, has faced and struggles with the declining work hours at her place of employment because of the corporation cut backs on expenses. My daughter Meaghan and husband Brandon battle with the costs of medical insurance, food and clothing for the family which includes daughters Chloe, Caydi and son Liam. Tax relief and affordable medical insurance are areas where proper government programs would help them. My grandson Glenn is an ER nurse who commutes to work, has mortgage problems and could certainly use assistance with plans that would help in the medical field and in mortgage adjustments. Grandson Kenneth III, is employed in the automotive industry and is directly affected by the decline in that area. A part-time student, assistance there would also be helpful as well as an easier access to credit. Granddaughter Angel as a grade school teacher endures the shortages in educational funds that have been cut from scholastic budgets; and her husband Ben, a talented computer graphics artist, would welcome some breaks in his effort to form his own small business. Two other grandsons each could profit by changes in government programs and new legislation that would aid in securing their futures: Matthew, a Marine serving in the Pacific who is newly married and Sean, a Freshman college student who works two jobs to help pay the way through school.
None of the family above complain about their lives, but all could use help. This is not an unusual example. Every family is enduring various hardships and sacrifices because of the nature of our times. But this can be changed. War and governmental mistakes have led us here - - and diligent effort with intelligent leadership can bring us to recovery and prosperity again. Obama may not achieve the goals he has set for politics is a murky profession; but, at least he has pointed a way. Government cannot do everything for us - - we each must make our own way - - - but I am
Just sayin’

Take the Fork in the Road, George.

Politics is a touchy topic in discussion and in writing so I usually try to avoid that subject. However, it is difficult to ignore the temper of the people as a new President takes office tomorrow. The citizens expect change. They are fearful of the economic situation, the war in Iraq and the energy problems that face the nation. I am an independent voter. Not registered as such because I wish to participate in the primary election process. However, I have probably voted equally for Democratic and Republican candidates in the presidential elections since my first vote in the 1940s. I did not vote for George Bush. As a sports fan I was aware of Mr. Bush long before he ran for our highest office. I did not believe he would be a proper leader. But, he left a legacy of humor that he did not intend but will long outlive him. Those of us who have watched the Late Night Show with David Letterman will know what I am talking of. His nightly sketches of “Famous Presidential Speeches” well documented the blunders, misspoken words and phrases and the befuddled stares that the President produced during his forays as a public speaker. It is difficult to face large audiences and deliver an address without mistakes. But, George gave us classic examples of faux pas that would equal those of Yogi Berra, the man who left us with such delightful phrases as “they give you cash, which is just as good as money,” and “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” He also told a sports reporter that the game “is never over until it’s over.” So - - on a humorous note we can say goodbye to George and wish him well.
Bushisms:

“It would be a mistake for the United States Senate to allow any kind of human cloning to come out of that chamber.”

“There’s an old saying in Tennessee -- I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee - - that says, fool me once, shame on - shame on - you. Fool me - - you can’t get fooled again.”

“Our enemies are innovative and resourceful and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we.”

“Too many good docs are getting out of business. Too many OB/GYNs aren’t able to practice their love with women all across this country.”

“I can’t wait to join you in the joy of welcoming neighbors back into neighborhoods, and small businesses up and running, and cutting those ribbons that somebody is creating new jobs.”

“We look forward to hearing your vision so we can more better do our job.”

“Make no mistake about it, I understand how tough it is, sir. I talk to families who die.”

“Thank you, Your Holiness. Awesome speech.”

“This thaw - took a while to thaw, it’s going to take awhile to unthaw.”

“The fact that they purchased the machine meant somebody had to make the machine. And when somebody makes a machine, it means there’s jobs at the machine-making place.”

And, as we leave George we may recall his statement to the people of Virginia: “Throughout our history, the words of the Declaration have inspired immigrants from around the world to set sail to our shores. These immigrants have helped transform 13 small colonies into a great and growing nation of more than 300 people.”

Thank you, George, I am staggered by the thought. We may soon be overrun - - - I am
just sayin’

It's Easy, Just Push the "GO" button.

Did you ever get the feeling that life has sped up and become more complicated as the years have passed? Well I certainly do. Of course I have counted many more years than you. I have moved from the age when you picked up the phone receiver and asked the operator to connect you with your Aunt Maggie. Now it seems that you have to find a small, pocket-sized phone set, check to see if you have enough bars or something (I don’t have one) and then punch in a series of numbers to either locate Auntie for a chat or send her a text message or e-mail her; and, you can do this while taking a photo of the children and listening to a new tune with the same device.. Even disposing of garbage is a problem.. In my earlier times any disposal of food garbage was handled by a service. Today I have to separate every thing. Paper, plastic, metal go in one can, grass and tree clippings in another and food garbage in a third can. But wait, you can’t put old flashlight batteries, worn out electronic gadgets (such as phones) motor oil and various other things in any of the cans. You must locate a collection point where you can carry your old double A batteries and the other stuff to dispose of them. You can get a guide from the city disposal headquarters.

As an old postal employee I am amazed at how complicated the mail service has become. It started with getting rid of small branch offices where mail could be received, cancelled and sorted for delivery quickly to various destinations. Nearby cities or villages could often get same day delivery. The postmen then kept a forwarding address book at their desks where your new location would be listed. Since usually only a few folks would move from a route each month the carrier would usually not even look in the book; he could memorize the forwarding address and write it on the envelope for immediate re-distribution. But management decided that there should be large distribution centers where all new mail should be sent before being cancelled and sorted out for destination. Soon after the forwarding of mail was removed from the carrier’s responsibility and that mail would be bundled up each morn and sent to the distribution center where clerks would forward them. But first, of course, sticky labels with the person’s new address had to be made for each change of address request. The requests were printed on file cards and boxed by route number. Are you beginning to see the problems here? The carrier who knew you and your new address could no longer just write it on your mail and send it on - - -- no, now your request of change and your mail had to wait while labels were made and cards filed alphabetically in proper boxes. If a number was out of place on a letter the forwarding clerk, who did not know you or the route, would just send it to the dead letter office where it would eventually be destroyed. To top it off in the ’ridiculous’ category, now the sorting of mail is no longer done by hand. Clerks operate machines that read the punched in zip code and address and direct the mail to the proper city and route. We hope. The mail is then machine sorted so that the carrier just picks up a row of mail in the morning for his route, bundles it and sets off for delivery. He no longer fingers the mail. This means that if the sequence is out of order relating to the rows of homes, he may find that, whoops!, here is Smith’s mail and I passed his house a half hour ago. Count your blessings if the mail to your home is on time now, or even makes it to your house. Forget about mail from your old address - -if some few pieces find the way and they are only a few weeks old - - and you are lucky.

Maybe I am over reacting to the present state of affairs and how it affects us. Here is a personal story that should be told once more. I bought a modern digital camera. I made myself comfortable on the couch at home and began to read its operating manual, the guide through menus and the directions about focusing, flash, deleting and/or viewing photos and onward to nausea. I tried to program this complicated device and finally was satisfied that it might take a picture. This was in preparation for my trip to Salt Lake City where I was scheduled to officiate at my younger daughter’s wedding. When I arrived there and enjoyed celebrating the reunion with my children and preparing for the coming affair I remembered my camera. I was confident that either of my daughters could teach me the rudiments of its operation. Both had been born into the electronic age. So, I approached the eldest who has computer memory, the world’s fastest typing speed, can manipulate scanners, Tvs, remotes, Tivos, and ‘smart bomb’ laser guiding sights. I handed her my camera and asked “Can you show me how to take a picture with this?” She looked at it briefly and said “Sure, dad. You look through this little window, point it at the subject and then push down this little button on the top.” Yeeaaahh! It worked. Now, I am no genius but I could handle that operation. Maybe life isn’t as complicated as I thought - - - but I am
Just sayin’

White House Hurry-Up Call

We’re talking about change here and I have some ideas about what kind and where they should be made. President Elect Obama will be inaugurated soon and I hope he gets right to work on the economy. If congress gives him the right to use the remaining bail-out money he can stimulate the economy by giving a money rebate to tax payers. Not like Pres. Bush did with rebate checks in the belief we would all run out to buy things, thus stimulating business; because, that didn’t work. We paid down credit bills and stuck money in savings accounts. No stimulation help there. But I would suggest issuing vouchers or coupons, even gift cards; say another $600 worth to each and every tax payer or worker who never made enough to pay taxes. These would be redeemable in merchandise stores only. Maybe they could come in different values: like $300 for groceries only, $200 for clothing and $100 for anything else. The government would then redeem the vouchers from retailers with cash. That is an economic stimulus.

How about providing work for the seriously unemployed. As in the “great depression” there should be a work force financed by the government to start repair on the nation’s infrastructure. We seriously need highway and railroad improvement and levee repair. We need the cleanup from storm damage, fire fighters, bridges built and brought up to standard. This work would provide jobs and the people employed would happily spend their well earned money by buying food, homes, autos and everything that makes life more enjoyable. And people who now are threatened with foreclosure on their homes should receive assistance in re-structuring their mortgages and insist that the bailed out banks join in the solution. You can read about the mortgage aid farce in my son’s blog. http://www.sensonomics.com/

Taxes should be more fairly applied. Businesses need relief from heavy taxes in the large inter-cities. Small business owners should have aid in tax relief and the wealthy should pay a larger amount. I am tired of hearing about the lavish parties and frivolous display of riches by our celebrity elite. Many of course give remarkable effort and money to worthy causes - - but, let’s present a bill to the ones in the entertainment world who don’t. Those who sign 10 to 20 million dollar per year contracts, the executives who take home large bonus payments and receive ‘golden parachute’ retirement checks.

Yes, I have some ideas about how the government should proceed and I am sure you do too. Maybe I should be patient and just wait and see what our leaders will provide in this new year. I am sure they will do their best - - - but - - - I am
Just sayin’

Win the War - - Surrender!

Controversial subjects and topics in the world abound where people with strong convictions disagree. Heading the list would be Religion and Politics. Since our earliest history great wars have been fought over these two. So, I try not to get into serious discourse with others concerning either. I don’t mind friendly discussions in a broad way about them but resist making the topic personal. You can’t win an argument here. But I don’t mind stating my position on other controversial issues. One such subject is featured often in our daily news media. Drugs.
For years now the U.S. and State/local governments have been fighting “the war on drugs.” And without success. The law regarding use, possession and sale varies greatly from state to state. In some jurisdictions you can get years in prison for possession and in others perhaps only a warning. Vast amounts of money are being spent on this “war.” The federal government has wasted huge sums in trying to stem the trafficking of drugs from other countries into our country; even to the extent of supplying troops and equipment to foreign nations in the pursuit of a hopeless policy. There is a saying that “those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it.” This certainly applies to the general policy of criminalizing drugs. A perfect example is the constitutional 18th amendment of Prohibition of Alcohol, which went into effect in Jan. 1920. It made it a federal crime to manufacture, transport or possess alcoholic beverages. This act established the breeding ground of a crime wave that swept our nation. The ‘speakeasy’ replaced the saloon as the public continued to seek alcohol. Smuggling provided spectacular profits to gangsters and racketeers. Gang wars were fought for control. Liquor became stronger as it was more profitable to the smugglers. This amendment also permitted individual states to still pass laws prohibiting alcohol, resulting in the absurdity of one state banning it and an adjacent state allowing use. In several states there were counties with opposing laws. The temper of the times which was also influenced by the “Great Depression” led young people to flaunt the law and to seek the adventure and excitement of doing so while others sought some financial relief by covert brewing activity or making “bathtub Gin.” The whole effect was the complete failure of the results wanted by temperance groups and those who favored abstinance. How is this result different from what is happening under the present policy on drugs? We have been doomed to repeating the history we have ignored.

If we were to legalize the possession and use of drugs here is what I think would happen. There would be no increase in the percentage per capita of drug use. Our prison population, that is mostly populated by convicts serving time on drug charges or the violent crimes committed to obtain drugs, would decline drastically. This in turn would save a gigantic amount in our government budgets. Law enforcement would benefit from the freedom to pursue other issues. I might note that during my term as a clerk of the Grand Jury in Pinal Co., Ariz. we gave some 30 to 40 indictments a week for violations of drug laws; and this in a sparsely populated county. The vast sums now being wasted on this war on drugs could be spent to treat addicts or alcoholics in a positive way to rehabilitate those who are victims. And we must realize that as in the freedom to use alcohol many of those who use drugs do not become addicted. If you watch the late night talk shows you find that many of the celebrity guests admit to having used or still use drugs. They discuss it with humor. They are not failures in life. But as in life everywhere there are a few who have less control and have succumbed to over use. They need our help. Former First Lady Nancy Reagan had a campaign against drugs with the slogan “Just say no.” Well that is good advice but it is hardly practical. To be practical we need to get rid of the law just like we did with the 18th amendment in March 1933. I am
Just sayin’

The Butler Did It

Among the most popular television shows are the action/suspense Crime Scene Investigation productions such as CSI Miami, CSI New York, CSNI and the original CSI. These all begin the show with a committed crime, usually a murder, follow up with the investigation, a suspect, great scientific forensic work and then the apprehension of the guilty suspect. It is suspenseful and fascinating stuff.

My recent comments on the cliché plots used in blood and thunder movies and a follow up discussion with my daughter led to the incredible solutions that evolve in CSI shows. For example it would not be unusual to watch an investigator at the scene of a murder, where the victim is lying alongside a highway, to pick up a stray leaf, bag it and take it back to the laboratory. There it would be determined that it had dropped off the boot of someone who was at the murder scene. And further that it was from a rare expensive plant that is only sold in 3 stores in the city. Store records show that among the few customers who bought this kind of plant in one store, a clerk remembers a tall red headed man who wore boots and so - - - - on and on to the inevitable guilty suspect. Of course this is all made possible by the fantastic modern scientific equipment that is available in the lab which can dissect and separate every molecule in whatever speck of evidence that is under scrutiny. Not only that but it can also then print out the details; geographic location, chemical makeup; who might have grown or manufactured the item; and, how long it might have been lying where found.

My favorite of this genre of shows is CSI Miami (which, incidently is filmed in Los Angeles). It is the flashiest with the high tech instruments. If examining a spent bullet it will not only reveal the results of the examination but in a flashback they show you the flight of the bullet and its eventual striking of the target! Exciting. But all of these shows depend upon the viewer’s suspension of disbelief. It is like professional wrestling (sorry fans). I see it but how much of it can I believe. Well let’s do our own examination.


While it is true that we now have amazing technology that can devise scientific tools that are of major importance in forensics. It is not true that these instruments are found in your local police laboratories. If your police force even has a scientific lab. In small towns their equipment may not even include a microscope. Why not? Well, because major scientific instruments are highly expensive and the trained specialists who could use them properly are also highly expensive. Further, on a more basic level, it takes trained officers to diligently work a crime scene and gather all the evidence according to a certain protocol. Not every police department has that training. If you have watched the TV show “Cops” you will have seen officers pick up a gun at the crime scene without even a glove on. They tromp around the area and scoop out items from automobiles without a thought as to preservation of evidence. History surely has shown us that a criminal with enough money can hire a super-lawyer who would make mince meat of any evidence that wasn’t properly handled. But, even if the evidence is properly gathered, in most cases it must be sent to a central forensic laboratory for evaluation. This may be a state run lab in the capital or a major city. This lab will probably be completely buried under a ton of evidence submitted by police departments from throughout the state; all waiting impatiently for the results of examinations. And you can be sure these labs are under funded as well as the departments that sent the evidence. So - - - the flake of sand, or the tree leaf or murder weapon will not be immediately submitted for scientific examination and results gained within the hour. Even simple tests may take weeks or longer to evaluate. As a member of the Pinal Co., Ariz. grand jury, I recall hearing testimony where the suspected offender was held in jail for weeks while the local law officials waited for the results of a blood test for DUI or drug use prosecution. The suspect was held on other charges while awaiting results such as possession of drug paraphernalia or disorderly conduct. In most cases the bail set could not be paid. The reality is that in small towns the arresting officer doesn’t rush right back to headquarters, file a report, grab the evidence and race his motorcycle to the closest forensic lab. And the mails travel slowly nowadays. Even some innocent people plead guilty on a plea bargain to escape the detention that may ensue because of delays in forensic work or the crowded dockets and heavy backlog for public defenders.


The TV shows are enjoyable and fun to watch - - but it ain’t really happening that way! We just don’t have the money, the trained personnel or all that futuristic equipment. I have no use for those who drink and drive, but if you are slightly high and get into a accident you should hope it is in front or close to a bar. Then you can hurry in to get another drink or two while awaiting the police. The officers will realize that they have no case against you. Takes too long for tests to determine the exact time when you began drinking so you would most likely just get a warning - - - I am
Just sayin’

The Food Trip

My food trip began when I was old enough to eat solids. And those early food tests were an adventure. I quickly discovered that most things green which my mother tried to force down me were like poison to my body. Gerber's was not a staple in our cupboards then. The fare was usually right from our dirt farm. The family had to grow most of what we ate. Veggies were carefully prepared from our harvest, chicken, eggs and milk were from our small gathering of stock and fruit trees and berries were crops we grew. Grandmother and her daughters canned a great deal of the produce and fruit for consumption out of season. My problem was allergies. Now nobody had 'allergies' in those times. If you didn't eat everything put before you, then you were a "picky" eater. I am not sure if the medical profession recognized an allergy. But I would not have been examined by a doctor for that in the first place. Medicinal treatment was also home grown when needed. So my trials through life at the dinner table were difficult and annoying. I've had aunties who said "You will sit there until you clean your plate, young man!" After an hour or so a sympathetic uncle would usually save me. Eventually my mother gave up and decided to let me eat what I wished; and, of course, that was to choose the things that did not make me deathly ill. No one seemed to understand this approach. It reminds of the people who try to get you to try something new by saying "It tastes just like chicken." Which invites the reply of "Then why don't you just serve chicken?" The funny thing is that I was never reluctant to try new food or its preparations. After all I did want to be able to eat a variety of things. And here is what I found out. My body will not tolerate green vegetables. I don't know what component within these things triggers the quick nauseating response that ensues. I cannot tolerate any cabbage unless cooked and then only a little; spinach is a big no-no; avacado (guacamole) will make me ill, as well as asparagus, celery, broccoli; brussel sprouts, radishes (tho' not green), green onions and parsley. Among the "green" things I can barely tolerate are peas, green beans and lettuce. To add to the problems I encounter in my food search trip is the fact that I also am allergic to fish, fresh water or sea and, in fact, most seafood. No oysters, shell fish, shrimp, lobster or crab. As a child I could endure a few shrimp and a few samples of crab or lobster but not much. I can, for some unknown reason, enjoy the mild northern cod fish that is served in fast food places, halibut and abalone. These do not seem to have the 'sea' taste and are very mild.

So, what do I eat - - - well, I am a meat and potatoes kind of guy. But, as I searched for and tasted foods from around the world I found a wealth of variety and delicious items I enjoy. My wife, Virginia, raised in Cincinnati, Ohio where they have never seen a food like an artichoke (I can eat these!) and barely knew how to boil water when we were married eventually became a gourmet cook and chef. Together we went on a food trip that sampled the native fare of most every ethnic group. You can do this in your own neighborhood by checking out local eateries. And together we founded the Afro, American, Irish, Mexican Meeting & Eating Society, which eventually garnered so many members that it collapsed from sheer popularity. We would meet every other month at a volunteer host's place, bringing our own food preparations and beverage, a real pot-luck affair. The last one's that Virginia and I hosted we had to hire a hall to accomodate everyone as over a hundred members would arrive. We learned a lot about food from these good friends.

My wife and I also on a whim decided to eat our way through the restaurant listings in the phone book! This was really an adventure and gave us a lot of fun. Starting with the "A" listings we sampled fare at a nearby Asia Cafe, the counter at the Alhambra bowling alley, a five-star restaurant called Aldo's, a Japanese tepan place called Aido's, I believe and some rather discouraging places along the way. At home we continued to invite guests to dine and featured choice items that Virginia prepared from scratch to compliment our friends ethnic origins. One such luncheon we served a deep fried pastry that was popular in Cambodia to some refugee acquaintances from that country. We prepared char shi bow for Chinese friends and dim sum for our Japanese ones. She could even build from scratch the fabulous Greek dessert Baclava using the very thin filo pastry sheets, nuts and honey. We were also interested in wine which many people routinely serve with their meals. This interest led us to tastings throughout the California wine country in the Napa Valley and the purchase of great French and Italian wines found in the cellars of San Francisco and Sacramento. Soon we were growing the select wine grapes and making our own wine which featured our personal label "Chateau D'El Monte. Thus, my travel along the food trip has permitted me to sample more choices than the average person will ever encounter in a life time. I have no trouble in sitting down to a meal any where or any place. If I have any fair sampling offered I am certain I will not go away hungry. But, don't be offended if I push aside most 'green' things - - - I am

Just sayin'

Hey! It's Hollywood!

Some of my pet peeves about movies have to do with the exaggerations that are used in scenes and the clichés that are used in certain plot themes. I will write about a few of these but this list is not all inclusive.

The first that comes to mind are the scenes where one group bursts in upon another group gathered in a 14 ft. x 14 ft. room and starts firing sub-machine guns, rifles and pistols. The noise is deafening and the destruction to furniture, decor, windows and other inanimate objects is complete; but, not one person is hit by the gunfire. They all, after hiding behind desks, chairs and such and returning fire, are able to make it out a doorway. This is incredible. I venture to say that if I were able to surprise a group by entering the room with intent to harm someone I could kill at least one if I had only a pellet gun.

Another often noted scene is where an attacker tosses a hand grenade into a building's doorway or window and the entire building is blown up. Well, unless the grenade contains a cup full of nitro or the building is a straw hut, this is not going to happen. In army training I have been lying prone within 40 yards of 50 standard army hand grenades going off simultaneously and was only lifted a couple of inches off the ground. I have thrown grenades and have had them thrown at me. They are immensely destructive but they are not as powerful as a stingray missile or Hamas rocket. They will not destroy a building like a 500 pound bomb dropped from the sky.

It is fun to watch for awhile the acrobatics of a martial arts actor taking on a crowd of assailants. But, believe me, when a normal size man kicks you in the face during a fight you are not going to bounce to your feet without a mark or a bruise and be ready to go again. If you have ever seen cage fights on TV you will note that when an opponent is downed and being pummeled the referee is quick to stop the action. The lightly gloved punches can be lethal and a direct kick to the head pretty much ends the fight. But on screen we watch the combatants continue to battle after multiple such blows that often only end when one participant is knocked over a railing and falls 75 feet to the pavement below where he often is only stunned.

Car chases provide the greatest spectacles. I love it when the police are chasing the bad guys and in the process both adversaries manage to cause multiple wrecks of innocent drivers caught in their pathway. Spinning victim's cars then crash into others. Can you imagine the suits against the local departments that would follow? And all too often when the pursued or the pursuer finally flips his vehicle several times and/or catapults off of a cliff the driver and passenger will crawl out, dust off clothes and prepare to continue the action on foot. Please! In actuality most law enforcement agencies have a policy that when an auto chase becomes too hazardous the officers involved must back off for safety reasons. That is not true of all such agencies though. I and my wife were near victims while walking on the sidewalks of Dayton, Ky. That morn when a vehicle was being pursued by a police car both both vehicles careened around a corner at high speed and slid right up against our curbside. They disappeared in the distance without looking back or losing speed. But, hey, that was in Kentucky.

Let us not forget the cliché endings of some suspense movies. The bad guy finally catches the good guy/girl and a furious fight ensues. The evil one is eventually killed by falling over a railing, being fatally shot or stabbed and the hero comforts his loved one in his arms. But, wait, the body is now missing! And, watch out!, he is behind you. Oh, darn, I should have checked on that body or at least have picked up his fallen weapon. Now I don't actually hate these scenarios; I can always fast forward through them. But they are peeves and I am - - - - -
Just sayin'

Cash, it's Just as good as Money

I am informed by my daily newspaper that because there have been thefts from local libraries of the money collected from fines imposed on borrowers of overdue books, they will now change the system of collecting the funds due. Anyone choosing to pay his fines must now do so with a credit card or a check. I have several objections and observations about this.

The news item related that from one branch library the daily take from fines collected was over $300 and this amount was found missing after a break-in the previous night. My question is: why do you leave that amount of money available on the premises? Most businesses make a night deposit to their bank account at the end of each day after closing. I have owned several businesses and that is what I did. Is it so difficult to drop by the bank and deposit funds on your way home or wherever? Can't the manager (librarian) or a trusted worker do this simple task?

Another question is: how do you expect a person to pay his fines if he/she has no credit card or checking account? Will the library trade for labor? Can the delinquent party stack books, dust shelves or sweep floors to work the fine off?

Another question is: Isn't the library breaking the law by refusing to accept legal tender as payment for a monetary debt? I believe this is true. The U.S. government prints on its paper money the statement: "This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private." That is fairly plain and clear. So - - - I suggest that if you owe the library money, whether for book fines or any other matter, you pay them in cash; and, if they won't accept it inform them that they will hear from your lawyers. I'm - - - - -

Just say'n

Fool's Gold

I am sure we all have taken a second look at the shiny metal flakes of "fool's gold" we found in the sand at the beach or the dirt of a forest or in the banks of a cliff. Could this be a real gold flake? Well, it doesn't hurt to look, but there are other enticing items that we consider which may also turn out to be fool's gold. I am talking about the collectibles that are offered for sale everywhere; on TV, in the mail or in your e-mail inbox.

Now as a hobby collectibles are great fun, whether it be stamps, antiques, plates, paintings, coins or anything else you can imagine; but, be sure you collect them for the enjoyment they give you. If you are enticed to purchase for the possible investment reward later on - - - beware. I have been a collector for many years and in diverse fields. I was a professional stamp dealer for several years. I have been an appraiser. So, let me tell you a few things gathered from my own experience and knowledge.

You may see adds in magazines offering stamp approvals for your consideration and possible purchase. This is a fun way to begin or add to a collection. There are literally thousands of postage stamp dealers in this country. Approvals are a method of selling which allows you to look at the merchandise, choose what you want and then return the unwanted merchandise to the seller. All it costs is the price of the stamps kept and the return postage for the rest. But, if you are buying for investment it is advisable to work with a reputable dealer or (based on your knowledge) attend an auction where you may find desirable items. Value is based on rarity, condition, and demand for the stamp you are considering. The stamp market is connected to the economic situation of the country. Stamp values when on the rise do so slowly. The same applies to coins. Current issues of stamps are almost certainly never going to rise in value enough to make investment worthwhile. A particular stamp issue is printed in the hundreds of thousands and will never be rare. An example is the 3 and 4 cent varieties issued in the 1940s which cannot now be sold, unused and in mint condition, for their face value. A stamp dealer, if at all interested, would only pay half the face value. Collectors who buy full sheets of each stamp issue will never receive more than face value when sold. A lady once visited my store to offer her collection of U.S. mint sheets for sale. She had invested hundreds of dollars over the years. I had to tell her the sad news. I was not interested and the only way I could suggest for her to recover some of her money was to contact large direct mail merchandisers such as Montgomery Ward or Sears who might buy the stamps for use as postage - - - at perhaps 5 per cent discount from face value.

Some companies offer plates for sale. These are usually items created by or for a popular artist. They are very beautiful. There is even a trading market for them. But, again, there is no intrinsic value and would rise in price only if another collector shared the same attraction for the subject or artist involved. A risky investment.

Antiques are a different sort. They not only have the value of utility but also have a demand by others because of the nostalgia of the past. My wife and I collected antiques but only with the provision that they would be something we could actually use in the home and were in good condition. Thus we could enjoy the beauty, the sense of owning a part of history and still have the use of a practical item. Our kitchen was a haven for such antiques: coffee grinders, utensils, iron ladles, pottery and, on the wall, even an early wooden cased crank telephone which I had a technician convert into a dial phone that was hidden behind the front cover. When folks asked if it worked I said "Sure, just lift up the receiver, crank the handle and then tell the operator what number you want!" Can you believe some actually tried to do this? Antiques can be a good investment if you use them and take good care of them. An antique sofa or chair can be purchased for the price of a current one. But, the antique will grow in value and the current one will take a hundred years to become an antique.

Precious metals: gold, silver, copper can be good investments. It will depend on the economy and the value of its use at the time of sale. But, do not send your gold jewelry by mail off to some buyer that you cannot reach in person. You must know who you are dealing with. Reputable dealers are everywhere and there are probably several in your own community. Be careful and knowledgeable when making a purchase for investment. That goes for all such collectibles.

Those of you who have seen the TV production "Antique Roadshow" may be impressed by the estimates given by experts on the value of certain items. But, remember that the estimates are just that and owners are told that it is a guess at what it might bring at auction. They are not offering to buy it. And the chance of you finding an old Picasso painting in a yard sale is close to non existent. Your chances of finding something of real value will increase if you become knowledgeable in the field of your interest. It's fun to collect and it's O.K. to invest. Be careful and remember - - - - if it sounds too good to be true - - - - then it probably is.

Just sayin'

I Promise You - - -

The approach of an inauguration of a new president started me thinking about presidents past and the promises they have made. Some were kept and some not. This brought me to the consideration of the promises they made of a more personal nature: the ones made at their weddings. Reflecting on the presidents that held office in my own lifetime I could only remember three that I believe were faithful to their wives; and, of course, one can never be really certain. The three are Herbert Hoover, Harry Truman and Richard Nixon. Since we have had many presidents who have served us well it is obvious to me that marital fidelity is not among the criteria that should be used in judging one's attributes in office. In other words it has nothing to do with whether a president was good or bad as a national leader.

From what we read in presidential history we quickly find that George Washington was not only our first president he was also the first to stray from home. In recent times much has been written about Thomas Jefferson and his descendants, many of whom were from the illegitimate children of his slaves. Abraham Lincoln also managed to slip away from home often. Franklin Roosevelt, our most popular president, was known to share his winter quarters with another instead of his wife Eleanor. Dwight Eisenhower had a publicised affair with his lady military driver. John Kennedy was said to have used the secret service to help conceal his dalliances with women, which included Marilyn Monroe. Lyndon Johnson was oblivious to the criticism aroused in the press by his notorious parties at his ranch which featured nude swimming and plenty of liquor. Jimmy Carter, when asked in an interview, stated "I have committed adultery in my heart." What are we to make of this confession? Is this a sly way of avoiding the subject. Sort of like saying "I did not have sex with that woman," as pronounced by Bill Clinton in congressional hearings. A professional biography and other writings have indicated that Ronald Reagan was sharing a hotel room with a woman other than his wife, who was giving birth to a daughter at the time. I don't even want to think about George Bush and his possible behavior considering his military record and his bouts with alcohol. All this could be very depressing if we dwell on it. Politicians have become the targets and the focal point of writers looking for such scandal in office. Governors, mayors, councilmen and even minor government workers have been denounced or accused in the press and media of sexual misbehavior. Many have resigned office while others fight to overcome the accusations. I am not trying to make any point here - - it really is none of my business - - -

Just sayin'

Celebrity Watch

The morning news brought information that movie/stage actor Pat Hingle had died. He was one of my favorite character actors, noticed by me early on because of his resemblance to a family member. He was versatile as an actor, playing villains or heroic good-guy parts. You may have seen him in "The Grifters," where he put out his cigarette on the hand of Angelica Huston.

I have been fascinated by movie stars and celebrities in general since childhood; awed by their presence. This is not an inherited trait as my mother once, when leaving a drugstore lunchroom, was bumped into by an entering James Stewart, superstar, and said "Watch where you are going!" And, my elder sister, while standing in the foyer of the Memorial Auditorium in Sacramento, was smiled at by a passing Bob Crosby, big band leader and brother of crooner/star Bing Crosby. She said "What are you looking at?" and made a face.

I did share mother's bumping into trait, however. At the old Alhambra theater in my city I started to enter the seating area and crashed into the largest man I ever encountered, Buddy Baer, the brother of heavyweight boxing champion Max Baer and a professional boxer himself. He often played "giant" parts in the movies. I later seemed to be courting his disfavor when at a baseball game in old Edmond Field, Sacramento, I was sitting in a second level row and the entire field dissapeared as a large gentleman blocked my view while pausing on the walkway in front of me. I said "Excuse me, but could you move on? You're blocking the whole field." The man turned towards me and it was Buddy Baer. I quickly followed with "But, that's O.K. because I am tired of watching anyway!" He smiled - - then laughed and moved on.

I also bumped smack into the great boxing champ Joe Louis. I was in an army military base in Brooklyn, N.Y. awaiting assignment to Great Britain. While in line to wash my mess kit after breakfast I rinsed the equipment and turned abruptly into the champ. I stood there aghast and then the original Sugar Ray Robinson, a boxing champ also, stepped forward and said to Joe "Is everything O.K.?" Joe smiled and tapped me on the shoulder as I apologized. Why do I pick boxers to blunder into? Other boxers I met in a more casual way are Max Baer, whom I frequently met and Sacramento champ Jim Marshall. Max always called everyone he met "Champ." I first saw him in person when I was a pre-teen. I was riding with my uncle in a big-rig Peterbilt truck and trailor when we were pulled over by a traffic cop. He was writing a ticket because uncle's truck had flickering running lights. A car opposite us pulled over and the driver yelled "Hey! Leave that poor guy alone." It was Max and the cop crossed to greet him - - then turned and waved my uncle on."

I have seen or met in person several U.S. Presidents, movie stars, politicians, Mafia godfathers, sports stars and various other celebrities as I meandered around the U.S. and Europe. It is always a thrill for me. I will tell of other encounters later on. I don't know what this facination means but I get a kick out of it - -

Just sayin'

Not a Drop to Spare

This entry may be considered one of my rantings. It is about the water situation in California's central valley and particularly about the city of Sacramento. However, it is relative to every one's interest in how the media and/or local politicians twist the facts to suit their own interests in power control and money.

The morning news has two items that are pertinent to my comments. One states that it appears there will be an El Ninã effect on our winter's weather. This effect brings cooler water to the North Pacific ocean which can change the jet streams that cross the U.S. The article further states that this means we can expect a drought. Less snow in our mountains; less water available. Now, without going into the shaky record of our local weatherman predictions, let me point out that even if there is an El Ninã effect, in the past this has also produced the greatest floods in our history. So, what have we here? A toss-up? But let's get to my belief that the media either has a stake in these dire predictions, loves to publish "fear" stories or is influenced by their contacts with the politicians and power grabbers who are interested in the money involved. Water is 'money' in California. Vast sums are spent to acquire or control it. Its price is affected by its projected availability. Less water - - more money. A forecasted drought will boost the price dramatically. And the local media has always favored the stories about drought.

A second story in this morning's paper stated that leaders in our community are pushing forward on a plan to build a canal that will divert Sacramento River water away from its delta, the area where the river meets the sea. They state we must protect our water from the invasion of sea water from floods, storms or other natural disasters that may taint our drinking supply. The cost of the canal to the citizens? 15 billion dollars.

I was born about 15 miles outside of Sacramento so many years ago that I am a little older than its dirt. I have lived here almost all of that time. Our city is divided by two rivers, the American River and the Sacramento river. I have never seen these rivers stop flowing. I grew up swimming in both. I have never tasted salt water while doing so. Both harbor fresh water fish and always have. The American River supplied drinking water to North Sacramento along with 5 wells nourished by its adjacent presence. A political push many years ago forced two ballot measures to make our village a part of Sacramento city. The first effort failed so they tried again and succeeded. Sacramento wanted our water. They promised to keep us water-meter free. In other words: we will take your water and then let you waste it as you choose. Clever, and it worked. Incidentally, the city government recently pushed to install meters throughout the city. So much for promises. The discovery that they could not account for the disappearance of hundreds of stored meters has dampened the fervor somewhat. The Sacramento River is the focus in recent efforts to build new or repair old levees to keep us safe from the threat of river flooding. The powers that be want us protected from that infamous 100 yr. massive flood. One can see the controversy here. Abundant water is a threat, it can be wasted, it needs control - - - and yet every year we are told that it is scarce, there will be a drought, the Sierra snow pack will be limited.
Here is what I know will be said. When snowfall is light in the winter the media is delighted to propose water rationing. One year they managed to get local laws passed that let you water your lawn only on alternate days. Water police would patrol the neighborhoods to pass out tickets to offenders. When snowfall is heavy and the mountains are burdened with its weight the media dutifully report that "samples taken show that there is less water content in the snow." How convenient. One year there was a drive urging people to conserve by using 'grey' water such as dish water to water their plants. While walking through the plush Land Park area I spotted a woman doing just that. I asked what was going on and she stated she was doing her part to conserve water. I had to point out that I had just passed through the city's large William Land Park and the water sprinklers were going full blast and had been on since early morn, flooding the area so that any potential visitors could not reach the picnic tables without wading boots. The point of all this is that our rivers are still flowing and that for many years we have the added Folsom Lake, created by a dam on the American River. Media usually points out in dryer years that the water level is low and boaters can't launch their craft. Water will be in short supply. Well, when I was young I used to walk across that area past the houses that are now buried under the water. The rivers weren't any higher or lower than they are now. Of course there are more people, the community has grown hugely and the resultant demand for water is increased. But, people, the rivers are still running high, the possibility of floods are even real and the city is still flooding Land Park. Aren't the filtration plants functioning? There is no water shortage.

Just sayin'

Ken at 1943 Kentucky Derby

http://www.newsflashr.com/feeds/business.htmlhttp://www.newsflashr.com/feeds/business.html

Little Italy

In a recent comment about my blog postings my daughter Andrea mentioned writing about my encounter with a young Italian girl during my war-time training at Fort Knox, Ky. She said she probably didn't get it all down correctly. Well, for the record the following is an excerpt about that meeting from my book of WWII correspondence that I published in 1995. My comments in that book were given in the 3rd person as I wanted to tell my story from the perspective of the present day some 50 years after the events.
I had received a 5 day pass which enabled me to travel to Cincinnati, Ohio. At the time I was a very shy youth who had never been farther from Sacramento than Nevada, so every thing around me was a new adventure. Bashful by nature I had great difficulty in approaching any young lady to even say "hello." But on the 2nd day of my pass I ventured across the old bridge that separated Dayton, Ky. from the big city. I attended a dance in two storey building that was completely open (without side walls) to the outside and provided a large dance floor on the top floor. The famous Glen Miller band was providing the music for the night. After awhile I decided to leave as I was not a confidant dancer. As I reached the ground floor I saw that it was empty except for a young lady sitting by a juke box. Curious, I approached and asked her why she wasn't enjoying the music upstairs. She responded that she couldn't dance and had to go home soon anyway. We chatted for a moment and as she started to leave I asked if I could walk her home as it was late in the eve and she should not be walking alone. She accepted my offer and we continued our conversation along the way. When we reached her home I had the temerity to ask her for a date when I next got a pass to Cincy. She agreed and said she had never dated before and I would have to ask her father's permition. Thus the introduction to the following story. It might be added that I found out only a few years ago in an article in the Alantic Monthly that Emelia's home was in the center of a Mafia controlled area at that time, 1940s & 1950s, whose main interest was in the gambling casinos that were operating in Kentucky and the collateral businesses that attend such enterprises. Into the lion's den!
I begin with a typical letter I received from Emilia. From my book:

August 4, 1943
Dearest Ken:
Here I am again, and see that you answer soon. Well, Ken, when you get your leave I will go out with you, and that's a promise, if you come to the house and meet Dad and Mother, because they want to meet you very much.
I hope you didn't get mad 'cause I didn't go out with you that Sunday. But, now I wish I did go with you instead of my cousin. Ken, I didn't even go out with my cousin, believe [me]. I miss you very much, but wish you were here. Gee, Ken, I hope you received my letter.
Oh, by the way, my cousin says hello. Ken, just the other day she said you were a nice boy and meant it. I told her I was proud of you and always will be, Darling. Ken, when I told you I didn't go with boys, I meant every word of it, honest. I’ll be thinking of you always. Don't forget to send me a picture of yourself in your uniform.
All My Love and Kisses,
Emilia S.W.A.K.

Before offering the next letter, the editor feels compelled to comment on all those sent to Ken by Miss Emilia Manocchi. This is so there may be a fair picture presented of both the girl herself, and the relationship between her and Ken that really existed. It is apparent that she was not comfortable in expressing herself in writing. This is a drawback for most persons. She was repetitious and excessive in her choice of language. There were often gaps in what she put on paper and what she actually intended to say. When there are such problems for one in reading or writing, it is often because of Dyslexia, a handicap that should be treated and approached sympathetically. I am sure there are many forms and levels of severity to this disability, and that it is quite common.
Emilia did not speak or behave in a manner that might be indicated by her letters. She was, on the contrary, a very shy and demure young lady when with Ken. She spoke intelligently and knowingly about a wide variety of subjects. Her home was in a very close-knit community, where everyone knew the other's affairs. Her family was the archetypical European Italian family. The parents were extremely protective of their daughter, and eager to see that she married a decent man. And, in true "old country" fashion, they hoped that would happen sooner rather than later. Ken's letters impressed them mightily. Compared to the local youths, he came out far ahead. The environment of Cincy's "little Italy," across the river, did not provide a fertile ground for scholars or professional men. Fishermen, dock workers, laborers, and poor tradesmen were the common positions of endeavor awaiting the youngsters. The girls looked ahead only to find a good marriage. Competition for the eligible male was keen and strong. In this atmosphere, Emilia found a possible answer to her childlike dreams. A young and acceptably handsome soldier, who spoke with a different, educated voice, had taken a fancy to her. He told her, in passing, of his family, his hopes for his future, his interests. These things were far different from anything she had heard of before. He was from the enchanted land of California, as well. She could not believe that this meeting had happened to her. She was overwhelmed by her emotions and determined to make certain that this man would be hers. She fought with the only weapon she had at hand, the repeated declaration of her love.
At the date of the following letter, Ken had only seen her once. However, he had written her regularly. With what must have seemed great eloquence, he had stated that he found her beautiful and liked her very much. He wanted to see her again and proposed a date. This young lady of only sixteen had never had a proper date. Her father would not permit it. Eventually, Ken's offer to take her to a dance or movie was found acceptable by her parents, with the provision that he personally ask permission from her father. Ken had no idea or conception of the protocol that was involved in the courtship practiced by these people. The fact that he was permitted to speak to the father about escorting Emilia out for an evening's entertainment held no special significance for Ken. He was nervous about such a meeting, but unaware that it meant much more to the family. In effect, he was asking permission to court Emilia with the eventual idea of marriage, if all went well. Completely oblivious of all this, Ken walked jauntily into the web of local custom, and soon found himself entangled in a situation he could not understand.
The meeting with Papa was scary at first. Like a Mafia chief, Papa sat behind a table in the kitchen, alone, and bade Ken to stand before him while he asked him some questions. He sternly inquired as to Ken's upbringing, and his plans to make a living after the war. He warned the young man that he knew about soldiers, as he had been in the Italian Army, himself. He stated that he expected his daughter to be delivered safely home before midnight, without fail, and that he would be waiting up for her return. Then he proffered his hand and expressed the wish that they would have a good time!
Somewhat baffled by the formality of all this, Ken was relieved that he had been granted permission to take Emilia to a nearby dance. They proceeded to that affair, and happened to meet Emilia's older brother with his own date. Bored with the dance, the brother asked Emilia and Ken to go with them to a movie and a treat at the local ice-cream parlour afterwards. Ken then explained that he felt he would face execution if he did not take Emilia home by midnight. The brother laughed and said that, as long as the two were with him, everything was O.K.
Following the movie, the ice cream, and a cruise through "little Italy" in the brother's car, Ken and Emilia were returned to her home. And it was with some trepidation that Ken found the entire house lit up like a Christmas tree. There was no doubt that Papa was up, and expecting an explanation for the tardy return. However, the brother shouted from the street for his father, who soon appeared at the second storey window, and told him that Emilia and Ken had been chaperoned by him, personally. He pulled his own date from the car and yelled: "What do you think of this, Pop?" After exchanging a few pleasantries, big brother drove off and Ken was invited in. In spite of the lateness of the hour, Papa brought forth picture albums and scrapbooks and insisted that the young man enjoy a glass of wine, while listening to a short history of the family and of Papa's service in the Army.
Mr. Manocchi owned a green grocery and was able to provide a good middle class living for his family. He now decided that, since big brother liked Ken, Mama liked him, and the lad had made a favorable impression upon his own mind, he would approve of the possibility of adding him to the family. It was also nice that Emilia seemed taken with the boy. He thereupon hinted that it would be nice for a young fellow to think of the rewards to be made in the grocery business. After further pleasant conversation, Ken was embraced by all and permitted to leave.
Ken saw Emilia once more, and perhaps twice. Each time it became more obvious to him that his dating this young lady was a family affair of much greater significance than he would have imagined. He was incredulous that this was so. However, he deemed it prudent to announce that he had received his shipping orders and would now be sent overseas. He said his final goodbyes at a bus stop one evening, amid the crying and wailing (yes, wailing!) of Mama, and the tears of Emilia. It was a wrenching experience for Ken, as he really did care for Emilia. But he had no idea how to extricate himself from the situation without causing terrible hurt. So he just ran. In retrospect, he should and could have done many things; however, he was naive, inexperienced, and confused. But for the pressure of family and the desperate letters of Emilia, there might have been a different ending to this story. He found Emilia enchantingly beautiful, quiet and appealing. He would have happily spent many hours with her had he not been pursued so strongly by the family, and disturbed by the intensity of her letters. Emilia tried so hard, in fact too hard, to secure her position permanently in Ken's heart. The result was a "turn-off." He had never mentioned marriage, taken a liberty, or indicated a serious love for the girl. Now he was frightened to let his affection grow. He had blundered into a culture that made no allowances for strangers. He may have been the right boy, but he was there at the wrong time in his life.
The very redundancy and childish simplicity of Emilia's letters speak with a great eloquence of their own. It is hoped that the reader can, somehow, see beyond the words and feel the anxiety and emotion that gripped her; and, most of all, withhold a too critical judgment. Later Ken had time to reflect on his own part in this event; he found that he did not come out with honor. They say that "Ignorance of the law is no excuse." In this case, it was ignorance of the custom. He cannot be excused for not seeking out the "what fors?, whys?, and how comes?" staring him in the face. In his desire to date a beautiful young lady, he had acted in a cavalier manner.


Given the circumstances of that time and the place I have often wondered if interested family members of the Mafia had ever thought of seeking my whereabouts? Just sayin'.

New Years Days - Good and Bad

Today is the first day of the new year; and, guess what? We get an extra second. Yes, the nation's atomic clock has determined that we need to have an extra second today to keep in tune with the earth's rotation which is slowing down. So, enjoy, make that extra second count in happiness and love.

As I recall the many (too many) New Years days that I have observed I can tell you what was probably my worst one and the best. Both were when I was in the military. The worst one was spent in the village of Stavelot, Belgium. It was during the "Battle of the Bulge." Most of you were not yet born. During the closing days of World War II in Europe the German leaders decided to make a desperate attack across Belgium and use their armored divisions to reach the sea coast in the Netherlands, splitting the American forces. This major attack was blunted and contained by our troops but took some time to drive the enemy forces back to former battle lines, leaving a 'bulge' on military maps. The attack began during our holiday season when our lines were thinned by holiday leave granted to many. The German leaders believed it was the ideal time to gain advantage by surprise.

My unit, the 526th Armored Infantry Bn. was in special forces training near Liege, Belgium. My own Co. A, some 200 plus men, was occupying the country estate of a Belgian nobleman near the village of Rouge Menier. Our Christmas packages from home had arrived and we were opening the gifts and stowing them in our duffel bags for later pleasure. Before dawn we were aroused by our officers and told to prepare for instant departure, leaving all but our battle gear behind. The information was that German paratroopers had been dropped behind our battle lines and that we were to proceed to the area quickly to eliminate the threat. We drove north in our half-track armored vehicles in the darkness until we reached Stavelot. The encounter was not what we expected. Our lead half-track was brought to a halt by shells from a Tiger tank and machine gun fire. It backed away as one part was on fire. My own vehicle, I was the half-track commander, found escape off the street into a vacant lot and we dismounted for a street fight. As dawn approached we found that instead of paratroopers we were facing a full German Panzer division, some thousands of armored and infantry forces that had crossed the river that divided the village. To make a long story short, we were slowly driven back out of town and up the road leading to a hillside forest. There my company commander decided we had to make a stand. Out of our 200 or so troops that entered Stavelot we now had only 27 left. He ordered us to split up with half on either side of the road and to dig our foxholes. To relieve the stress I asked the buddy next to me if we should hang our Christmas stockings on the foxhole walls. A short time later - the 30th Infantry division arrived to give us salvation; they had traveled all night. I wanted to kiss the bearded tank drivers that pulled up beside us. In ensuing days we were able to drive the enemy back across the river, blow up the bridge and contain the attack. I spent Christmas day and New Years manning a hidden machine gun in an upper storey room of an apartment house overlooking the bridge area. Surely my worst New Year day.

My best New Year's eve was the following year. The war was over and I was flying home for military discharge in Marysville, Calif. Actually it was two New Years eves. I flew out of Newark, New Jersey and celebrated the event in the air. A few minutes later we crossed the time zone line heading west and could celebrate the New Year again. What could be better than that?

This year I watched the New York celebrations on TV. In Sacramento they began what may become a tradition by dropping a "cube inside a ball" (what is this? See above photo) in a joyous celebration.

Here is some wisdom from a book I am still waiting to hand to my daughter Meaghan, "Plato and a Platypus."

Dimitri: "Something's been bothering me lately, Tasso."

Tasso: "What's that?"

Dimitri: "What is the meaning of it all?"

Tasso: "All what?"

Dimitri: "You know, life, death, love - - - the whole stuffed grape leaf."

Tasso: "What makes you think any of it has any meaning?"

Dimitri: "Because it has to. Otherwise life would just be - - - - - - -"

Tasso: "What?"

Dimitri: "I need an ouzo."

Just sayin'