Sunrise With Schubert: March 7, 2018

The Dow is set for a 300-400 point drop today. Let’s hope it doesn’t occur. But, Hoover, Reagan, G.W. Bush, and now Trump. A pattern?

I continue to wonder why so many dear friends, whom I consider to be honest, sincere advocates of a small government and fiscal responsibility, have chosen Donald Trump to lead their party. Their political beliefs, after all, are much more in line with those of the men who drew up the original design of our country. There are some exceptions, the fear of a standing army being one, and the need for religion to remain in one’s “church of choice,” another.

I differ somewhat in my views, but I hope in an equally honest and sincere manner. I appreciate this constitutionally structured country of ours, now that we’ve had the good sense to value all men at 100 percent and women as equal beneficiaries of our abundances. I add to the teachings of the United States Constitution those of the Christian icon whom I call The Galilean. I find few incompatibilities, none fatal, between the Beatitudes and the Bill of Rights.

But differences of opinion, honestly argued within the Rule of Law, do, I believe lead ultimately to a sound government. Academics have found this true by studying the interactions of so-called “Guardians,” and “Advocates.”

Guardians, those prone to sacrifice progress for the sake of fiduciary conservatism, will, if granted too much power, lead to a rusting state and moribund economy. Advocates, those prone to chase every innovation and new idea, can, with that same unlimited power, lead us into bankruptcy.

It seems that in times when many considered America great, those two forces, in constant struggle, produced an economically sound country, for many. Minorities and women didn’t share the greatness, but no matter, it seemed. We would let them catch up on another day.

Anyway, we’ve lost that healthy “stability through diverse motivation” attitude that made us great. Trump’s party ignores laws and constitutional safeguards whenever convenient. His party members follow him and govern as it they will never be out of power again.

Do they know something the rest of us don’t?

Let all who love their country hope not.

Growing Up Southern: March 6, 2018

Must go earn today. Will be fun to see my friends and associates in Searcy Arkansas. Not much time, but here's my favorite joke ever. It was told to me by my late Uncle Joe Henderson, who used more earthy language in the telling, so use your own imagination.

A guy walks into state headquarters in Alaska and says he wants to become a citizen.

Clerk sends him to the right place, a small cabin outdoors. He repeats his wish.

"Ain't that easy, another man says. You have to pass a test."

"I can pass any test you have," the applicant says."I'm from Texas. What must I do?"

"First, down a quart of Alaskan home brew."

"No problem. I'm from Texas, raised on it."

"Then  you must wrestle a grizzly bear."

"No problem. We grow 'em big down in Texas."

"Then make love to an Eskimo woman." (Here Uncle Joe told it better).

"No problem. I'm from Texas. You ever seen one of our homecoming queens?"

"Are you sure?"

"Let's get started. I'm from Texas and this won't cause me a sweat."

So he drinks a quart of Alaskan home brew. He wobbles a bit, but manages, "Next?"

The clerk points toward the woods and the man stumbles out. Soon, there is the awfullest commotion you ever heard. There were sounds of screams, thrashing about, trees breaking, and dirt flying. After awhile, the man emerges all scratched and bruised, with his clothes in tatters.

"Now," he says, "Where's that Eskimo woman you wanted me to wrestle?"

Well, when you're fourteen and on your first fishing trip with the grownups, that's funny. I don't care who you are.

Sunrise With Schubert: March 5, 2018

Let’s see, the last time they presented the Oscars, and I had seen all the movies nominated was April 10, 1972, a long time ago.

I remember it because I was dating my future wife at the time. In fact, I think we were engaged. I had proposed to her atop a mountain in West Little Rock at sunset, a romantic setting if I do say so myself. My memory of the event was that she said. “I don’t know. Let me think about it.” Her memory is that she said, “I don’t even have to think about it. Yes.”

Those who know us well can pick their own version.

Anyway, the fact that we were dating isn’t the only reason that I had seen all the films. I was working, at the time, at Fifth (Capitol Ave.) and Louisiana in downtown Little Rock. I lived at Fifth and State streets, so I walked to work. I can still see the astonished look on the faces of my co-workers when I told them this. None had ever heard of a person “walking to work.” Was it even legal? Was I a hippie, or a drug-crazed sociopathic Vietnam Veteran? Those were the only ones who walked the streets by choice and not necessity. I declined to enlighten them. That reduced the amount of talking I had to do.

At that time there were three movie houses within a few blocks from where I worked: the Arkansas, Capitol, and Center. Those showed all the first runs except those fit for the big screen cinema out at Asher and University. The downtown ones had a “Happy Hour” movie at around 5:30 each day. Admission was a dollar. Since the firm was busy and most all workers went home for dinner and came back at 7:00 p.m. to work a few more hours, I often opted to go to movies and have popcorn and a coke for dinner, with entertainment.

So, I had seen all the movies that year, except for The Last Picture Show. I took my girlfriend to see that one. She was underwhelmed.

I liked it. I had, upon separation from my beloved U.S. Navy, decided to on a private study of literature. (On a salary of $400.00 a month, reading, dollar movies, Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, and chasing women on an empty pocketbook, constituted the bulk of my entertainment). A detailed study of Eliot’s The Waste Land led me into so-called “Grail Literature,” so I understood the classical themes within a simple film about a dying Texas land that was losing its king (Sam the Lion played by Ben Johnson), and how the health of a land was tied to the health of the king in classic “Wasteland Literature.”

Bored yet? Okay. I’ll quit.

Let me just say something about the “chasing women” part. I quit that. As Rick Bragg put it, “I found me one.”

So we watched the 44^th presentation of the Academy Awards together. A most interesting thing happened when Johnson won the award for Best Supporting Actor. Controversy had invaded the Oscars (both George C. Scott, for Patton, and Marlon Brando, for something, had refused to accept theirs). So when Ben Johnson held his award to his chest and announced that he was about to “say something controversial,” Hollywood, braced itself.

In the some deadpan but meaning-filled manner in which his characters had followed so many commands by John “I’m no hero but I played a bunch in the movies” Wayne, Ben Johnson looked out at America, held his Oscar for us to see, and said, “It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

True that, a nice guy, great actor, and someone who "marched to the beat of a different drummer."

It was a nice evening except that my girlfriend threw a fit when The French Connection barely beat out her favorite movie of all time—A Clockwork Orange.

After that, I always knew she also marched to a different beat.

Nice Guy, we need a few more
 of those in America now.

Morning Thoughts: March 4, 2018

It is a sad thing when a relationship with a dear friend becomes endangered. I’ve had that happen recently. It’s sad. We’ve been pals for a long time.

We have been through some similar trials in our life. We’ve had some similar successes. We’ve always enjoyed one another’s company and shared memories and ideas unceasingly.

We either agreed on political views or didn’t discuss them.

We’ve taken trips together, all of which have been a blessing to me, and I think to him.

He was born “up-north” and I was born “down-south” but we’ve never let that affect our relationship.

If either of us ever needed help, the other was there, no questions asked.

How could the foundations of such a friendship begin to weaken? You might ask that, and it would be a fair question.

It was like this.

I made the mistake of mentioning to him, on our last face-to-face visit, that I had been guilty of “wasting some time,” recently. It shouldn’t have mattered, for we are both in the retirement stage of our lives, and any work we do is for enjoyment, professional pleasure, or marital harmony.

“Oh,” he said, and I thought I felt the earth tremble beneath me. “I’ve discovered a new way to waste time.” With that, he jabbed his keyboard. Instantly, the screen filled with a partially completed jigsaw puzzle. “Check this out,” he said.

I did. It was an interesting, uh, what do they call it these days, … app? He moved the pieces around with his mouse and there was an audible “click” when matching ones met.

“Cute,” I said to myself.

“Addictive,” he said aloud as he moved a “border” piece into position and smiled at the soothing sounds the pleasant pairing made.

I left thinking what a strange pastime for one of the broadest, deepest, and most insightful minds I have ever known. On a number of occasions over the next two weeks, I recalled how a bizarre seduction had trapped such a beautiful mind.

Then, yesterday I was temporarily constrained from applying myself to useful endeavors, so I decided to see if I could locate the “puzzle-app” as I call it. I simply wanted to see what evil demon had possessed such a dear companion.

My question now is, can you still call a person “friend” who has led you onto a path of seduction so fierce that it alienates you from even your beloved spouse?

Think on it and send me your opinion. In the meantime, there is this “Venetian Scene” which I must finish. Oh, and did you ever happen to see the Big Bang episode where Penny started playing video games?

But, as the Carol Lynley character
in Blue Denim said, "they don't
tell you how to stop it."

Sunrise With Schubert: March 3, 2018

Ever notice how your perspective on things changes as the years go by? Well trust me, it will, unless you are Keith Richardson. Age provides us different sets of eyes.

Take stage plays for example. When I was a teenager and read, then saw performed for the first time, Romeo and Juliet, I went along with the conventional wisdom that it was a love-based tragedy of almost cosmic proportions, a real weeper.

Decades later, after multiple readings and viewings, including a film version with some steamy sex scenes, my perspective has changed. I now go along with the opinion I once read that Shakespeare, himself unlucky in love, had something else in mind when he wrote the play. He apparently, to me at least, intended it as a dark, dark, comedy featuring the two stupidest teenagers ever to prance and bumble their way through the annals of dramatic history.

Read it again for yourself.

“Perspective paradigm,” as I call this phenomenon, is also true in the reading of novels, but more so in films. As I viewed The Big Chill over the years, I identified first with one, then another, of the former college roommates depicted. Now, though, I’m beginning to find more empathy with the husband who tagged along and was intended to portray a despicable character. Go figure, but he now seems to me to be the only admirable character in the film.

And of course, on first viewing The Graduate, I, like many of my generation, viewed the Dustin Hoffman character as cool beyond words, a sophisticated and cinematic version of Holden Caufield (with whom I once felt a strong affinity but now view as the character in American literature most likely to open fire on a crowd using an assault rifle).

On my last viewing of The Graduate, as I watched the iconic final scene, my thought was “That gal just ran off with the sorriest summbitch in California. She’s gonna rue this day like Custer rued chasing Crazy Horse.”

Lately though, I’ve had a film on my mind by a man who, although now fallen into disgrace for his personal habits, still produced some interesting work. I’m thinking of the film Bananas, by Woody, “I like ‘em young” Allen.

If you remember, the film features a neurotic spurned lover named Fielding Mellish who leaves Manhattan and involves himself in a revolution in a fictional Latin American country. When the revolution is successful, the Castro-style leader goes mad. Oh, I actually wouldn’t call it mad, more like bat-shit crazy. For example, one of his first orders is, “All citizens will be required to change their underwear every half-hour. Underwear will be worn on the outside so we can check. Furthermore, all children under 16 years old are now 16.”

Sound familiar? I’m not talking about the underwear, I’m talking about a national leader wielding almost unlimited power who, by any standard that might be applied, now gone "to live among the Little People.” And such a premise is getting un-funnier with every day that passes, at least from my perspective.

Even the children
are starting to notice.

Morning Thoughts: March 2, 2018

Believe it or not, I was once interviewed by the FBI. I had only peripheral knowledge of the matter, but it scared me sh …, pretty bad. So naturally I sought the advice of my dear friend and legal consultant Argumento de Minimus, the Harvard-Bred Lawyer. We often jogged together and had time available to jabber.

I love attorneys ‘cause they pay you well if you testify as an “expert” for them and they see that you get paid. They’ve also kept me from saying a lot of stupid things over the years—not all, but a lot.  If you haven’t noticed, though, attorneys aren’t exactly generous about giving away secrets of their profession. My friend’s advice, therefore was limited.

“Don’t lie,” he said. “It’s five years in prison if you lie to them.”

He elaborated a bit more on lies in general and the Feds’ lack of gradation, moderation, or humor concerning them. The thing I remember is that the only time he used the word “white” was when he assured me they would prosecute men of my race as quickly as they would those of others. "Don't fib, ad lib, or mess in your crib," he said, using one of the bedrock legal principles he had learned at Cambridge.

Of course I followed his advice. Argumento wasn’t only an attorney, he was a reserve Major in Military Intelligence. He even drew summer duty at the Pentagon. If he said “Don’t lie,” as numb as it may have made my tongue to comply, I told the truth.

Turned out, the agent was a super-nice chap. I told the truth. He thanked me and confirmed that I only reinforced what they already knew. We gossiped a bit, and he was about to leave without learning much.

Except for one little thing, and he perked up when I “dropped a dime” with that tidbit. Oh dear, was he happy. And, I found that Pierre Choderlos de Laclos was correct when he wrote, "La vengeance est un plat qui se mange froide." In fact, I served mine with a frigid glass of Chardonnay and some chilled wedges of “Bite-me Brie.” I still smile at the memory.

But that was a long time ago, in a paradigm far away.

I have to assume that Argumento was correct, and the five-year standard still applies.

If it does, the term “March Madness,” is going to take on a whole new meaning. My fellow Americans, what say, let’s put the wine in the fridge?

It just says, "From H."
Quick, before it gets warm.

Growing Up Southern: March 1, 2018

This ain’t exactly my area of expertise, but when has that ever stopped me? There’s been a lot of talk lately about top secret security clearances. No wonder. Some guy who didn’t rate one had access to all kinds of sensitive, potentially world-changing, info. It was a case of nepotism run amok. Oh well. Putin and “Nutty-Yahoo” both had bad days this week because of it. Tough noogies.

Anyway, here’s what I know, and it goes back a few years. Seems back when I actually knew people in military security, it worked this way: the easiest people to clear for a top-secret rating were young, straight, middle-class kids from “Andy Hardy America.”

They had likely never been in more trouble than getting caught sneaking cigarettes.

They didn’t allow kids to disrupt school classes back in those days, so classroom violence in one's past.

BB guns and single-shot 22s didn’t exactly invite mass shootings.

Temptations were limited, for boys, to girls like Beatrice Lundsford who wore her blouses a little low and showed too much of “Bouncin’ Betty” and “Jigglin’ Jenny.”

Temptations were limited, for girls, to “Elvis the Pelvis,” shakin’ that thang like ringing a bell.

Kids had no money, so there were no financial under-dealings to uncover.

You had to work if you weren’t in school, so truancy was unheard of, plus … there was always Beatrice Lundsford.

Imaginations were limited to mundane dreams like being able to whip Milton Walker or take a girl away from the captain of the football team.

There were no homosexuals—at least that’s what Franklin Graham says (because of all the thoughts and prayers being offered up in school)—so no likelihood of blackmail.

Aspirations were limited to a good job with the Highway Department.

“Bogartin’ a joint” meant being able to hold an unfiltered Lucky in your mouth with no hands and not slobber all over it.

“Hookin’ up” meant getting ready to go fishing.

“Coppin’ a joint,” was when the police officers drove through the “Wagon-Wheel” to make sure the kids were okay and not gathering around outside their cars planning mischief of some sort.

“Tonight’s the night” meant that there was a revival in town and Lennie Anne Colclasure was going to get “saved” again, a free show that was worth much more than a 50-cent movie. As they say these days, “If it gets the kids in church, nothing is off-limits.” There is a longstanding rumor that her “Faint and Fall” was nominated for an Academy Award once, but I don’t think that is true. It was true that every traveling evangelist in America knew her mailing address and sent her personal invitations to their services. It may also be true about that being the origination of “the backstage pass.” I don’t know.

Anyway. “Gimme your lunch money,” meant that it wasn’t your day to walk to “The Little Chef” to get the hamburgers.

“Drive-by shooting was what you and your buddies did back of O.T. Bennett’s daddy’s place with your BB-guns and bicycles.

It was a less tempting place. So those kids made the “top-secret” cut while their more sophisticated cousins, who benefitted from many more opportunities for nefarious behavior, didn’t.

It was said that Great Britain often suffered from internal espionage because of primogenitor. That’s where the eldest son inherited everything in the family. Second sons, and beyond, faced the military or civil service. Since the Brits naturally assume that the higher classes inherently possess a higher-level moral structure, they don’t bother the rich or elite with any sort of thorough examination for security clearances, or anything else.

We all know, now, how well that works out.

Back when juvenile crime was
tormenting the farmer's piglets.