EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 ENTERTAINMENT

A particularly pertinent quote I saw yesterday involved the interview on CNN with Vice-President Harris and Time Walz. A commentator with AZCentral.com – a news site in the key swing state of Arizona – called the performance “too sane to be great TV”, an implicit comparison with Trump’s frequently ostentatious media appearances.

It reminded me of a phenomenon from 2016. So many people had become engrossed in so-called "Reality TV" and professional wrestling that they viewed the presidential election as a form of entertainment. What would happen in the White House would only hold value as entertainment. The results should have been predictable. The winner was the most engaging as a performer.

They loved it until over 400,000 people died of Covid-19.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

SACREDNESS

Well do I remember my visit to Arlington National Cemetery and associated spots. I always found it a bit historically delicious that we took the grounds from a slave owner and the bride of America's most beloved insurrectionist.

The tour even allowed me to look into the room where Robert E. Lee made the historic decision to turn his back on the country that bred him, nourished him, employed him, and rewarded him. In a few weeks, I'll once again stand on the spot where he once ordered over 13,000 men to make an uphill assault against the United States Army in an effort to preserve slavery.

Back to Arlington and the cemetery. To stand before the burial site of John F. Kenned was moving. My most vivid memory, however, was when, while waiting for the tour to continue, I turned and saw the tombstone of Audie Murphy.

If you are under the age of 40, you may not recognize the name. He was just an ordinary man from an ordinary place in the state of Texas. When World War Two broke out, he sought to join the military and was denied admittance by some branches due to his size and age. The United States Army took him. The sent him to Europe where he became America's most decorated soldier of the war.

The medals he earned included the Congressional Medal of Honor. Yes, that's the one Donald Trump said wasn't as worthy as the civilian one he gave to a big political donor.

Yesterday, Donald J. Trump desecrated this consecrated spot for political purposes. His backers now defend the desecration.

On the day of my visit, the tour ended with a visit to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, perhaps the most sacred spot in America. The slightest indication of disrespect at this spot draws unimaginable castigation.

Does it bother me to think that Donald J. Trump is not above invading this holy place for a political op?

Yes, it bothers me a great deal, but it would not surprise me at all. I can seem him in my mind stopping the marching guard and turning him toward the cameras, a fake smile covering his orange face.

What bothers me more is that I know a score of people whom I once considered caring, respectful, and patriotic who would still vote for him if he did.

RESULTS

 EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

Dawned on me today while walking that we seem to have lost interest in making things work. Instead, these days making things happen seems to occupy our interest.

Take Donald Trump. His record doesn't indicate that he has always had a winning record on making things work out successfully.

But none can deny that he has the ability to make things happen. Unfortunately, this happens more often for the worse rather than the better.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 SACRIFICE

 Folks, I am a veteran of the United States Navy. I served one year in Vietnam and the rest on a Navy vessel. I didn’t join the Navy because I sought adventure. I joined because the Draft Board told me that one more address change and they would send a squad for me. I picked the Navy because I loved it more than the others.

I entered a bitter enlistee and emerged one who loved both America and the Navy, despite the fact that many Americans didn’t love me. I know how it feels to be despised for your service.

I entered a profession and immediately became aware of the sacrifices I had made. Peers who never served had good jobs and let me know about it. My own brother-in-law told me that secretaries at the paper mill where he worked made more money than I.

But I progressed. So did my country. So did the attitude toward me and my brother and sister veterans.

Then.

I was disappointed when a major political party dishonored the service of Max Cleland who went to Vietnam with four limbs and returned with one.

I was dismayed when a major political party dishonored the service of John Kerry who drove river boats in the treacherous waters of Vietnam.

I was disgusted when a major political party dishonored the service of John McCain who spent six years in a brutal prison as a result of serving his country.

I was despondent when a major political party deemed me a “sucker-loser” and dishonored veterans who wore their country’s highest honor for bravery and sacrifice.

Now, I live in a state where not a single constitutional office holder deems my service honorable. This includes the service of those who served before, after, and with me, including those more than 50,000 whose names fill the most famous wall in Washington.

Does it make me want to give up?

Nah, it’s just, as someone once quipped, “Déjà vu all over again.”

It makes me want to serve. The old uniform wouldn’t fit, but this old Bosun’s Mate can still tie a clove hitch. It was once called the king of knots for its ability to hold when needed in a tight spot and released when needed elsewhere. In fact, a high accolade for a sailor ran, “He’s all in a clove hitch.”

I’m going to whip a hitch and join the ride. Come on along. I’ll tie one for you too. They deserve it.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 COACHES

 Thinking about football coaches. Never sell one short.

Some years ago, I was sitting in the lobby of a real estate office in a mid-sized Arkansas town waiting to see the owner about his current development plans. A man entered and walked through the lobby and the sight shocked me. Later I told the owner, “That man looked like our old football coach Marcus Kaufman.”

“Yep.”

“Really?”

“Our top salesperson.”

“He was our football coach and math teacher for years.”

“Sells real estate now. And does he ever."

It was true that he had been a coach. Legendary ain’t the word. Rumors abounded. A prevalent one had him flying a fighter plane in WWII. An adjunct rumor had him shot down, an incident that left him with an uncontrollable tick when he got excited. He had two modes: telling you to do it and telling you how you did. He once gave my sister an A+ on her report card and scribbled a note to my parents saying he was sorry it couldn't have been higher. How would you like to carry that on your shoulders through High School?

“Your top salesperson?”

“He is great with young folks. He shows them several houses and when they opt to see another, he stops the car and tells them they have seen enough and they need to pick one so they can get settled in and start their family. Works every time.”

Never sell a teacher short. I think Coach Walz said that.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 THE SOUTH

Novels and films set in the American South, take lower Arkansas (LA) for example, love to picture southern neighborhoods as containing one eccentric but colorful character. It adds color and commands attention to the dull parts. Those who have lived in such places know better but take it in stride.

It’s better to laugh with than acknowledge being laughed at.

If I, though, were to be able to write a novel about such places, I’d try to include at least one person partially based on reality.

Take “Turnrow Thompson” for example. I’d say of him that he was known for his concentration. His acquired middle name honored, as Jimmie Buffet said of a character, his ability to "stick right to the task." It made him popular with football coaches, young women, sergeants, and bosses.

Folks claimed that the attention to duty was inherited, even resulting in the name Turnrow carried through life. Rumor had it that his mama was so dedicated to helping produce a bale of picked cotton a day that she had delivered him on a turnrow, deposited him under a cotton trailer and had gone right back to picking. No one had ever gotten her to verify the rumor. She would just answer inquiries with, “He never was no troublesome baby.”

A child with a reputation like that never found himself destined for greatness.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

TET

A Public Institution Graduate (PIG) Looks at History: The Tet Offensive began January 30, 1968 when some units in the South got confused by time-observance differential between North and South Vietnam and kicked it off. The full-scale offensive began 24-hours later. Now here’s the thing: everyone knew all hell might break loose then. I was there, the lowest of the low, barely a month in-country, still in the demeaning “stateside chow” category (Ask a vet), toting an M-14 because M-16s were in short supply and Colt Industries insisted on being the sole supplier. We had already doubled our watches to six hours on and six hours off. We weren’t prepared but we were ready. Despite this, General William Westmoreland, HMFIC, was so sure that the offensive was simply a part of feint to distract him from the battle at Khe Sahn that he took in a round of tennis that first day. It gets worse. Just ask the Marines (150 killed) and ARVN (400 killed) units that were left stranded at Hue because General (Body Count) Westmoreland felt they were overreacting.

Lesson:

Be careful to whom you trust your children.

Additional lesson. Those who are denouncing modern Americans as "Communists" should stop to read an account of the Battle of Hue. They might be astounded to learn how real Communists behave when fate removes the restraints.

Sources:

Bowden, Mark, Hue 1968: A Turning Point of the American War in Vietnam. , 2017

Sorley, L. (2011). Westmoreland: the general who lost Vietnam. Boston, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 DEBATES

There are things about the telecasting, nationally, of so-called presidential "debates" that bother me. Yes, first and foremost is the fact that they aren't debates at all. They don't even resemble the classic confrontations of Lincoln and Douglas. In fact, it is hard to say of what they actually do remind one.

Best analogy I can think of is a verbal confrontation between Hulk Hogan and Jake "the Snake" Roberts.

Then there is the fact that some people simply appear more likeable on TV. Back during the start of modern debates, people hearing "Kennedy v. Nixon" on the radio tended to grant Richard Nixon the nod of success. Those watching on TV picked the young and vibrant John Kennedy over the sweating and unshaven Nixon.

Then there is the lack of discipline imposed by the producers. This is, after all TV. These events are not designed for information, much less for decision-making. They are designed for ratings-making. Producers jump for joy when an unmanageable bully like Donald Trump treads all over the time allotted to a policy-wonk, and female, like Hillary Clinton. "Eye-God, he showed her" or something like that dominated the headlines.

Then there is the fact that the aftermath, the denouement, the score in effect, is managed by the pundits. Say two debaters perform miserably. Reports of that won't sell. Pick one as "the loser" and let the public decide through some form of mental subtraction, that the other was "the winner."

Above all, though, is the issue of expectations. Take the Bush Jr. v Gore debates. All the former had to do was not say "I haven't a clue" and remember who the president of Mexico was, and he achieved Mt. Everest-sized accolades. Oh, and poor Al Gore sniffed more than once. When one has the Supreme Court of the United States in his corner, the achievement of expectations falls in importance.

Now we have an upcoming debate in which the following standards exist. Achieving them all will gain a resounding worldwide claim of victory for one of the contestants:

CONTESTANT ONE:

Outline a clear plan for world peace. Outline a clear plan for establishing an economic system that is equally fair and equitable for all, Outline a clear plan for solutions to nagging problems such as supply-chain delays. Solve a major immigrant problem caused in great part by Americans' penchant for illegal drugs from South America. Reduce grocery prices while on stage. Appear like the kindly neighbor down the street. Convince all under 40 years of age that this is the contestant with whom one would most like to share a beer or two.

CONTESTANT TWO:

Make it to the podium without wetting himself on national TV.

One suspects that the pundits have already written their reviews. 

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 

TRUTH

The Alien C.W came by earlier this morning in a state of great confusion, or at least as he appeared to be in the shape of a modern Walter Cronkite.

"Woe be unto me," he said. He sometimes talks that way on Sunday.

"What's up?"

"Troubles."

"Troubles?"

"I've been accused of ballinkoutrazz."

"Say what?"

"Making things up. Lying, Submitting a false report to the Faloonian Elders."

"Say what?"

"You know I transmit a report to them each what you call, 'Saturday' on the goings on here."

"Yes. What happened?"

"You know they have a pretty good understanding of things here."

"Yes. I've seen some of your reports. Quite well done, as I recall, except for the time you referred to me as a 'kept pet.'"

"Not anymore. I'm accused of sluth."

"You mean sloth?"

"That's what I said."

"Why?"

"They say the last report cannot be accepted as the work of a true observer."

"Why?"

"No clue have I. Here. Read it for yourself." He handed me a sheet of writing.

It began, "As of today, Donald J. Trump appears tied for election of President of the country to which I am assigned with a fair chance of winning."

I looked at him. "So?"

"They say there is no country on no planet in any galaxy where this could be true."

"You've got a problem," I said.

"If you think that's a problem. Read the next line."

I looked. It read, "And his running mate seems destined for a fair chance also of being elected."

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 CONSPIRACIES

 When I came to the state on leave from Navy Boot Camp, I encountered the first major conspiracy theory I can recall. Yes, of course, it was that “new information” was telling us that the assassination of John F. Kennedy was a staged affair. Jack Ruby had been involved in the assignment to murder Lee Harvey Oswald and then he was somehow injected with drugs that would end his life soon from a pulmonary embolism.

It was a fairly simple conspiracy theory. Somehow “the mob” had orchestrated it by selecting the most unlikely hit man in mob history, the befuddled Oswald to carry out the complicated assignment.

Conspiracy theories evolve. From this simple offering, we now face a theory requiring more complicated interactions than nuclear physics. The array of conspirators grew from the mob to practically everyone occupying a high national government post since the act, all orchestrated by Lyndon Johnson who was a member of the motorcade himself. Oh, we must also include practically the entire public administration of Dallas, Texas along with a substantial portion of state officials. Oh, and the owners of the building from where the shots were fired. Some of shots that is. Another barrage erupted from the crowd on a nearby hill. Or so they say.

In all this time there has not appeared one verifiable—verifiable—tidbit of proof that the affair was anything more than the unfortunate act of a lunatic.

In all this time, there has not been one deathbed confession underlying the myriad theories.

In all this time there has, in fact, been no evidence to support this “Great Mother” of conspiracy theories.

That period of time is now approaching 60 years.

Putting that in perspective, let us consider a real conspiracy. Let’s take, say, the Iran-Contra Caper, a political scandal in the United States that occurred during the second term of the Reagan administration.

It consisted of a secret U.S. arms deal that traded missiles and other arms to free some Americans held hostage by terrorists in Lebanon, but also used funds from the arms deal to support armed conflict in Nicaragua.

In short, the administration was secretly selling arms to Iran (yes Iran) in order secretly finance an illegal funding of a war in Nicaragua.

The caper fell apart in less than a year. Some of its participants suffered. Some didn't. One main actor, Oliver North (of whom one writer once said that "there is a faint smell of sulfur about him") Oliver North received a lifetime sentence requiring him to be a spokesperson for the Republican Party.

In her book, The Age of Magical of Overthinking, author Amand Montell calls conspiracy theories “sense-making narratives. This is consistent with historian William Manchester’s opinion not long after the JFK conspiracy began to sprout wings. The author of “The Death of a President, once said:

“ …, in a curious way, there is an esthetic principle involved. If you take the murder of six million Jews in Europe and you put that at one end of a scale, at the other end you can put the Nazis, the greatest gang of criminals ever to seize control of a modern government. So there is a rough balance. Greatest crime, greatest criminals.

''But if you put the murder of the President of the United States at one end of the scale, and you put that waif Oswald on the other end, it just doesn't balance. And you want to put something on Oswald's side to make it balance. A conspiracy would do that beautifully.

“Unfortunately, there is no evidence whatever of that.''

But still we believe on.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 LIES

 David Letterman once commented that, in a professional wrestling match in New York City, one participant beaned another with a metal chair, creating all sorts of blood, and requiring officials to rush the recipient to the hospital.

“And there wasn’t one word about it in the New York Times this morning.”

It is that way with election news these days. One candidate simply stands before a microphone and spouts lies.

And more lies.

And more lies.

And more lies, each easily disclosed with a few computer strokes.

Over time, they become more bizarre and, well, weird. They tell of crowds that don’t exist, or do, of economies that were the greatest in the history of the world, of imaginary crime rates, of dangers far from imminent, and mostly just plain, unadulterated, out-of-this-world bullshit.

And the press treats them like the rantings of a Hulk Hogan or Jake the Snake.

“It’s just him,” the say. Whatcha gonna do?”

For one, we might remind ourselves that this is the person who seeks the most powerful job on the planet, one that makes Oprah Winfrey sound like a street corner preacher.

In other words, it is a serious matter. That red phone sits on the desk in the office he seeks.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 WORDS

 When our plane landed at the San Bernadino airport upon returning from that “conflict overseas” they held us on board for a briefing. The gate leading out to transportation was a short walking distance away. There we could start our journey home.

A crowd of war protesters stood just outside, and we were to ignore them. There had been violence on occasion. "Don’t return from a war zone to die in America."

They just yelled at us. I remember “warmonger” and, most of all “baby killer.” Know what? Didn’t bother me. I was so glad to feel the soil of my native country under my fee that they could have called me Nazi (maybe they did) and I would have walked on by. I did.

Know what really bothers me, though? What makes my heart ache and my soul cry?

It’s not when I hear the words “sucker-loser.” I’m beyond caring.

It’s when I realize that those calling me a sucker-loser include some whom I thought, ten years ago, were decent, caring, compassionate friends. People whom I would have trusted to care for an aging parent. People who believed in America. People who supported the rule of law. People who revered the U.S. Constitution. People who respected a peaceful transfer of government. People who didn’t think that making America great would necessitate the overthrowing of every great attribute she had ever shown. People who cared about the “least of those among us.”

Somewhere and somehow they turned. They now hate everything I’ve learned to love since that plane touched down so many years ago.

That’s what made me take my Honorable Discharge from the wall and hide it away.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 CHANGE

We hear old sailors speak of a sea change. We hear philosophers talk about paradigm shifts. We hear the malevolent talk of alternate facts. Old folks on the porch simply say, “Things aren’t like they used to be.”

People in their senior years have seen a lot of change. I only know about America. And here:

Time was a man could murder his wife for supposed infidelity and have a fair hope of acquittal.

Time was an African American family couldn’t enter a fine restaurant or sit in the main lobby of a movie theater.

Time was a judge, always a male, would award a man who had kicked a wife and child out to make room for a younger woman would set the child support payment at less than the cost of daycare.

Time was one could only marry the person they loved if that person was of the opposite sex.

Time was a company could work men in unsafe conditions for less than sustenance pay and have parks named after them for the profits they earned.

Time was we felt that bedrock slums were fine for families simply labelled as "those people."

Time was prominent pastors encouraged parents to beat their children in order to maintain discipline.

Ooops. That time is still with us.

Anyway … the point is this. When I hear someone say, “Let’s make America Great Again,” I want to know what America they are talking about.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 CRITICISM

Truth is, for any veteran who served honorably, a misanthrope can find a moment in the veteran’s career to criticize. It doesn’t even require a venom-dripping cult member as the purveyor of negativity. It could be a decent person.

For example, take my distinguished career in the United States Navy. A much as I was beloved and honored, enough that they allowed me to transport an Admiral around in his boat, called “The Barge,” one might find a glitch.

My Admiral mostly had good things to say, even awarded me a letter of commendation for my service.

But, however, were he to be whisked from his heavenly “whiskey and poker” game with Jones, Halsey, and Nimitz, I’m sure he might offer, with his sternest admiral’s face, a mild censure for one incident.

That was the time I transported him and an Assistant Secretary of the Navy to some function. While executing a port moor, while followed by a raging ebb tide, on Charleston’s Cooper River, I almost tumped said Secretary into said river.

My Admiral was not amused. He continued his trust, though, even to the point of allowing my crew and me to transport his wife and her friends, on occasion, for a “wine and chilled chicken excursion” to Fort Sumter. (I loved those trips, and her, for she would always say, "Boats, you know how to properly dispose of this leftover wine and food, don't you?")

"Aye, aye, Ma'am."

So there, next time you see a criticism of a veteran, especially if you are in the 99+ percent of Americans who will never don one of her military uniforms, please do us all a favor.

Mind your own damned business.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 BOLDNESS

A popular sci-fi series in America included, in its introduction, “…to boldly go where no one has gone before.” That serves us well, we think, as a guiding principle.

Sometimes it doesn’t work out so well.

Two United States generals during the Battle of Gettysburg, Sickles and Barlow, didn’t like where their units were deployed so they moved boldly into new positions they liked better.

Both created havoc that decimated their commands and almost cost the Union the battle.

One of Ernest Hemingway’s most popular novels, “The Old Man and the Sea,” features a man who ventured too far out to overcome disappointment.

The magnificent edifice of Mount Everest is littered with the frozen bodies of those who wanted to boldly go where few had gone before.

Custer certainly learned a lesson.

And then there was the time America told France, “Don’t worry, step aside and we’ll settle these pesky Vietnamese down in a few months.”

On the other hand, we could list countless examples where boldness carried the day, the spirits of those still haunting the beaches of Normandy would demand it of us as would those who stormed Missionary Ridge under the leadership of the man who boldly led America into passage of the Emancipation Proclamation. But his life ended at the hands of one who no doubt saw himself as the boldest person who ever lived.

Where does boldness end and idiocy begin?

We must decide, each for ourselves. In the meantime, does compromise work?

It gave us Medicare.

It saved our economy several times over the last few administrations.

It gave us the United States Constitution. Yes, a flawed document, but one that has gained strength over the years, and is held in awe throughout the world.

Public administration examples suggest that too much boldness can result in bankruptcy. To little boldness can result in a rusted polis.

Things seem to work best with healthy doses of each.

Just some thoughts.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

DUTY

 In high school I was taught that the most famous general of the American army in our Civil War, the army that fought to end slavery, owned slaves. I was taught that the most famous general in the insurrectionist army, the army that fought to preserve slavery, never owned slaves.

That was partly true and partly false.

General Ulysses S. Grant was given a slave by his father-in-law. He freed him before the Civil War.

Robert E. Lee actually did own slaves. Most famously though, he managed over 200 that his wife inherited from her father. His “management” included the whipping of recalcitrant humans under his care.

One can research all of this further if one chooses. My state doesn’t allow it to be taught.

For today, let us consider a comment I read once. Lee confided to someone that slaves would encounter no problems if they simply did their duty.

Their duty.

Now what exactly was the duty of a person who was worked, for minimal sustenance, often less, from when “it was light enough to see until it was too dark to see?”

What was the duty of a person who was not allowed to learn to read or write for fear by the owner that the slave might “become like one of us?”

What was the duty of the person whose children were torn away, sold to strangers, and carried to a faraway place by the omnipotent owner?

I would say that the duty of that person would be to take every opportunity, despite every danger, and despite the myth of “The Lost Cause” to run as far away from that evil owner as possible.

Duty.

Bullshit.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 SERVICE

Best I can remember, it was in late summer of 1973. The crime? We both skipped work to stay home and watch a full day of the Senate Watergate hearings on television. Former Richard Nixon aide John Ehrlichman was testifying. The terms riveting and spell binding don’t even begin to describe the effect. The future of our country stood on one of those dangerous precipices of history. You know the feeling—where we are now.

The high point of the day was when the late Senator Daniel Ken "Dan" Inouye, one of the committee members forgot that his microphone was live after Ehrlichman finished his testimony. As people began stirring, Senator Inouye, a decorated World War Two veteran of the famed Japanese American 442nd Regimental Combat Team, leaned back and said, “What a liar.”

As an aside, having lost an arm in combat, Senator Inouye was a perfect example of the kind of hero that modern conservatives and evangelicals would demean and denigrate for his service, a clear sign of our sailing into the abyss.

Just ask Max Cleland, John Kerry, or John McCain. Or, we can check yesterday's headlines.

Now, as they say, “It’s déjà vu all over again.” We can almost see the venom dripping from the fangs of those who would disparage a man’s 24 years of service in uniform for political gain.

As one who grew up not long after World War Two ended, it is difficult, very difficult, for me to accept a veteran’s service to America as a negative wedge issue.

In the springtime of my adulthood, after the winter of my own military service, I often wondered how some people could hate a veteran. I suppose it is easier if your cult tells you to.

The lure of the Kool-Aide is strong with these people.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 WORDS

My friend from another galaxy, the Alien C. W. still drops by to see me from time to time. Here is what happened today as I was trying to understand our modern times.

C.W. often becomes confused by our language so so I was scarcely surprised when he showed up at my door dressed as a monk. He smiled and raised his hand in a gesture of forgiveness as I opened the door.

“Sed do absolutionem, fili mi,” he said.

“Get the hell out of the hall before someone sees you,” I said.

He looked confused.

“What is this ‘hell’ that I can remove from your corridor?” he said.

“Give me a break,” I said as I ushered him in.

“How does one ‘give’ an act of forcing a division?”

I grimaced. He sat and arranged his monk’s robe carefully before speaking.

“I have been learning Latin,” he said.

“Marvelous.”

“Your modern English derives largely from that forgotten language, I understand.”

“Quite so.”

“So why all the confusion about word order?”

“Confusion?”

“Yes. In Latin, if one combines the words ‘house’ and ‘cat’ the order would make no difference.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “You have a point there.”

“And the combining of two innocent words for off-pigment purposes is beyond my understanding.”

“How so?”

“For example, you take a valid term used to describe a prolonged period of high winds.”

“You mean ‘a blow’”?

“Yes, my son.”

I ignored him.

“And then you attach to it the term used to describe what one does for a living …”

“That’s quite enough,” I said. “My wife is sleeping in the back room.”

“Speaking of your wife,” he said. “I have heard her on occasion use a term that I find particularly baffling.”

“And that is?”

“She refers periodically to a “Sin Erase Date.”

“Yes.”

“And that means?”

“That refers to the date that a politician with a checkered personal life uses to pinpoint the exact moment when he or she embraced a religious dogma.”

“I don’t understand.”

I explained. “That is the date before which one cannot question the politician’s past since, at that time, he or she ‘found religion’ and was absolved of all previous bad behavior.”

“Sort of a ‘Get out of Hell Free’ card?”

I smiled. “Sort of.”

“Does your so-called ‘news media’ fall for it?”

“Ask George W. Bush.”

He sighed. “I see.”

“Has this been any help?”

He went into repose as I continued with the headlines.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

BELIEFS

My parents had their own view towards religion. They claimed it and defended it when pressed, but in popular parlance, “took it with a grain of salt.”

One, Sainted Mother, grew up in a strict Baptist environment. Father attended a rural Methodist church but back in those days there wasn’t a lot of difference.

As I say, they supported religion but didn’t let it dominate their existence. They dragged us to church each Sunday morning and, on rare occasion, Sunday night. They didn't go in revivals and other extracurricular activities. They ran our little grocery store six days a week.

They were honest and caring to those in need, but this evolved more from the cultural surroundings than from the religious banter of a Sunday morning. In fact, of the few types of people on earth my mother despised, one of the most prominent was what she called “religious fanatics.”

These days, that would apply to most evangelicals and they would not be offended, if fact would be pleased, with what they felt was an honorific.

Religious fanatic.

That included about anyone who brought up the subject in ordinary conversation without being prompted.

That included those who would “stick their nose into someone else’s business.”

That included those who denied their children the fun of—because the Devil lurked there—going to a swimming pool or movie theater.

That included people who funded a church while their children went hungry.

Were my parents perfect? No, far from it. They would never have countenanced an African American as president and would probably have gone to voting for the dark side of America.

The lure of bigotry was a failure, one that was supported by their religion.

They weren’t averse to corporal and abusive punishment.

The appeal of physical abuse was a failure, one that was supported by their religion.

On the other hand, they never failed to provide help and comfort to the least of those among us.

The appeal of kindness was a blessing, not one universally supported by their religion.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 HYMNS

 Still thinking about the little white church as I remember as child. Actually I don’t remember much about it. When I was just getting old enough to remember things, all the young adults who had grown up with the church, and moved to the city, started their own church. It will warrant its own time later.

What I do remember, and treasure to this day, is the music.

There is something unexplainable about those songs that leapt from the pages of the Baptist Hymnal.

Something so primal and emotional they seem to me more spiritual that many of the passages in the Bible.

There was so much joy unbridled in the likes of I’ll Fly Away that it makes a mockery of the hateful, venom-spewing tirades of modern TV evangelists. No matter if one has suffered greatly in life, or has enjoyed its many blessings, “Like a bird from prison bars has flown, I’ll fly away” can, depending upon the singer, voice freedom from an unkind world or the promise of continued happiness in another.

Among the hymns was one written by an African American after he learned that he just lost his wife and unborn child, who met the tragedy with Precious Lord take my hand.

They don’t write them like that anymore. As a speaker whose name I can’t remember once said, the likes of “Just as I am without one plea” type offerings has given way to “Jesus is my boyfriend” babblings. Another said that “Comparing the old hymns to the modern ‘praise music’ is like comparing a Shakespearean sonnet to a Halmark greeting card.”

I’ve made a long journey intellectually from that little white church to a life of secular humanism. I deplore the hatred and divisiveness that erupt from so many modern evangelical meetings. I can’t reconcile the screeching of a Kenneth Copeland with the Sermon on the Mount. I’ve lost friends over the misanthropic shrieks of so-called Christian Nationalism.

I still like those old hymns, though.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 THE MARKET

Woe be unto the one who attempts to predict the stock market. I’m not aware of anyone who has done that persistently and successfully. A woman did predict the market fall in 1987. She promptly rose to prominence and more quickly fell into obscurity.

Truth is, the stock market can’t really be predicted on any form of reality. It is gambling. Gambling. Big players simply play the hand that is dealt them. Those big players include people who manage mutual funds. They rarely beat the market.

Ironically, there is even an approach called “contra-investing.” It simply bets against the congregate opinion of market gurus.

One who watches the market can easily become confused.

One day, an increase in employment “scares the market” because of inflation fears.

One day, an increase in employment leads to a market rise based on a stronger economy.

One day, an increase in treasury rates “scares the market” because of reduced corporate productivity.

One day, an increase in treasury rates leads to market increases based on more discretionary spending based on higher earnings for fixed-income investors.

Fact is, they don’t know. But “lemming-like” behavior is what truly influences the market. This is behavior more pertinent to gambling than reality.

Couple this with the fact that too many corporations place making their executives and stockholders rich as more important than providing a product designed to make things better. That leads to the most common ploy involved in seeking economic health: Tax cuts for the wealthy. The same basic thought process leads to cities allowing the rich to wall off their subdivisions, while receiving full municipal benefits, as the ultimate method of handling crime.

For the average American, history suggests that stability is the most important force in a healthy economy.

That is the last thing the gamblers want.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

FELLOWSHIP 

My earliest memory of religion involves a small Baptist church in a rural county of southern Arkansas. The congregation met in a small white building, but not every Sunday. Preachers were scarce so the roving evangelist only appeared on certain weeks. The seats were hard, and the sermons were long the old folks always said. They also said the Klu Klux Klan would make an appearance if the teenaged boys became obstreperous. (There weren't enough African Americans around to keep them busy, so they reverted to maintainers of discipline.)

My great-grandfather had once preached at that church when called. He was a charter member, a veteran of the Confederate Army, a father of eight, and a part-time minister. My Sainted Mother never knew him so his life remains obscure. His obituary only stated that "he never participated in any of the neighborhood brawls."

Good for him.

My memories of the religious activity of that church limit themselves to a rather pleasant experience as I recall. They involved "All day singing with dinner on the ground." Dinner, of course meant the midday meal at that place in those times.

People from near and far would come to sing from the Baptist Hymnal. Women would spread some of the finest meals on the planet. Kids would play, often with others they had never met. The air throbbed with love and harmony. It must have been a grand experience in order to implant its memory on a toddler's brain.

I took my sister and a great-nephew (who was graduating from medical school) there recently. The old building is gone except for the slab, a slab that looks pitifully small. A larger white building houses the congregation now. Looking at the grounds, I felt pleasant memories, despite having attended there the funerals of loved ones. For a second or two, I heard voices singing, friends greeting friends, and children shouting with the joy of playing games.

I think America could benefit from a return to the days when religion sometimes made people happy.

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 FACTS

This week, we learned that Russia had released American hostages not through negotiations with the current administration, but because of fears that Donald Trump might be elected and negotiations would get tougher. Was this a case of “anticipatory conciliation?”

Might we then say that the economy is doing well for the same reason? As the Alien C.W. once pointed out, “In the new conservative paradigm, “Facts are of no use until one fits them to a pre-arranged set of claims, beliefs, myths, viewpoints, or religious dogma.”

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 THE LAW

There is a legal defense of sorts that used to be taught in the law schools of my state. It may still be. I don’t know. I’m not an attorney, not a law school student.

Anyway, the defense was named after a prominent attorney and state legislator from Arkansas in a case some years ago. Accused of some malfeasance or other rising to the level of potential illegality, he formed a remarkable line of reasoning. The logic employed was so remarkable that its use was taught to future attorneys at one time. It was something along the lines of:

“I’m accused of doing something that, on analysis, is very stupid. Am I stupid? No. I graduated from college and law school, and passed the bar exam. I’m savvy enough to be elected to our state legislature, perhaps no great, but certainly no mean feat. I have a successful law practice. So, I’m not stupid. When one considers that what I’m accused of would be a stupid act, and one sees that I am obviously not stupid then, ipso facto, (a legal term meaning: darn tootin’) the chances of my guilt are zero.”

I seem to remember that it worked but I’m not sure.

So now we have what I propose to label the “Donald Trump Defense.” It would run, in contra-conception to one mentioned above, along the lines of:

“I’m accused of doing wrong. I’m new at this. But I was once President and there is no way a president can be held to the standard of what is right or wrong. My Supreme Court said so. Therefore, libet dicere (rough translation: bite me) my innocence is assured beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

A few words of caution bear consideration. As I mentioned earlier, wise men will avoid this defense with spouses. Also, members of progressive political parties should eschew its use as they labor under the legal assumptions of intelligentes estis and  competentsus est assurdant. (legal terms meaning: don’t try this crap with us).

There exist many examples where the efficacy of the “Donald Trump” defense would not prove appropriate, getting caught parked in Mike Tyson’s spot for example. And, in the event of accidently initiating a nuclear war, don’t bother. We’ll be operating under another legal principle, id est moot, (a legal term meaning alle ist kaput).

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

EDUCATION

 It always amazes me when a cult member in one breath denounces education and in the next claims various politicians warrant emulation and support because they graduated from Ivy League law schools. It is as if the ability to hold and act upon diametrically opposing thoughts is a prerequisite for cult membership.

Further observation leads to some assumptions. For the cult member:

-          Education that leads to social acceptance is bad.

-          Education that builds or upholds power is good.

-          Education that improves life is a blessing bestowed by a deity.

-          Education that explains the universe is evil when not in strict compliance with holy books.

We are left with the necessity to form our own decisions regarding our feelings toward education. This leads to some troublesome crossroads:

-          Educated research and analysis may conflict with long held beliefs.

-          Education may teach us to be more adept at doing evil.

-          Picking and choosing the results of education can bolster our reverence for the ridiculous.

-          Stated by the powerful and respected, with enough repetition, education can be twisted to induce regrettable results in a populace moved by fear, not logic.

When used intelligently, education can be good:

-          People in America live free from many historic diseases because of education.

-          We understand so much of our world, from geology to evolution, because of education.

-          We understand the confounding complexities of trying to understand history because of education.

-          Education can help free us from primal fears, many caused by being raised in a cult.

-          And so forth.

The trick is not to conflate education and the wisdom that guides our lives. Two of the wisest, and most competent men who have guided my life each garnered an eighth-grade education. One carried the mental scars of being called “A dirty Hun” in his youth. The other carried physical scars that justified his Purple Heart Medal.

Each could have built a complete house without resorting to a single written note.

Education comes from many sources, some good, some bad. Intelligence growing from education can be used, as can a surgeons’ scalpel, for good or evil. Wisdom born of learning and doing, and dedicated to the common good is, as Shakespeare once wrote, “a consummation devoutly to be wished.”

EPIPHANY OF THE DAY

 SCIENCE

My life has turned out to be an interesting one. I’ve seen things my great-grandparents couldn’t have imagined. One example comes to mind.

A particular horror of my youth was polio. According to theMayo Clinic, “Polio is an illness caused by a virus that mainly affects nerves in the spinal cord or brain stem. In its most severe form, polio can lead to a person being unable to move certain limbs, also called paralysis. It can also lead to trouble breathing and sometimes death. The disease also is called poliomyelitis.”

In school, we suffered through films featuring youngsters like us confined to “iron lungs” that allowed them to breath despite the ravages of polio. Epidemics would spread through our world on occasion and the fear would come home, even into our kitchens. Someone told mothers that a test for early stages of polio would be to place the child face up on the kitchen table, the head hanging down over the edge. When instructed to raise the head to be even with the body, failure to do so was a sure sign of polio.

It's impossible to explain the terror that accompanied that simple command, “Now raise your head.”

Let us give thanks to science. Again, from the Mayo Clinic “A vaccination effort throughout the world has led to only a small number of cases to occur around the world in recent years. But poliovirus still spreads within areas with low vaccination rates.”

Science also gave us penicillin, antibiotics, x-rays, plastic surgeries, clean water, weather reporting and countless other benefits of modern life.

Sadly, in my state, we have applied the brakes to such progress. As I said, I’ve led an interesting life. Two college degrees, four years of military duty, a marriage in its 53^rd year, and a long career as a fairly well-respected professional brought me to a comfortable retirement, well … a comfortable semi-retirement. I still putter.

After all this, my family’s tax dollars go to schools that teach young Americans that science is not only suspect, but also false, and even evil in the sight of imaginary deities.

A White House spokesperson even coined the term “alternative facts” to justify lying to the American public and threatened loss of access to reporters who didn’t accept them.

Powerful groups, aided by media nonchalance are undermining the use of vaccines such as the ones that have diminished the horrors of smallpox and polio.

It is possible now for a child to complete college believing that the universe is no more than 6,000 years old and science that eliminated polio is the work of some imaginary demonic force.

I've lived and interesting life but not always one that made a lot of sense.

The Evangelical's Dream