Juan Williams: Bigot or Just Human?

In a little slice of Jungian synchronicity I was reading an article about why 'Islamophobia” is a reasonable and logical feeling  when I heard the news that Juan Williams, Senior News Editor for National Public Radio and Fox News Commentator had been fired for saying something Monday night on the Bill O'Rielly show.

If you don't know what he was fired about, here's what he said that so raised the NPR ire.

Some people say he was badly bigoted in his statement. I've been listening to Juan, both of Fox and NPR for years and at least in my book he's one of the most fair, call it like it is kinda guys. This was a statement of opinion, an honest feeling that I'm sure practically everyone can identify with.

I think he was being reasonable, candid, and truthful in what he said. He was exercising his first amendment rights and NPR, a government funded organization gave him the boot. I'm not so conspiratorial as to think he was fired because of a large donation made to NPR recently by George Sorros, but as Einstein said, or maybe it was Sherlock Holmes, there are no coincidences.

It's being reported that the Council on American Islamic Relations (CAIR) called attention to Williams' statement and demanded that action be taken against him. They're saying that Juan Williams was there to agree with Bill O'Rielly and support what they percieve as his anti-Muslim views. That tells me they've taking what he said out of context, and likely they've never watched Juan on Fox News. If they did they would know he's one of their handful of token liberals.

Now I feel really bad for all those normal, hardworking, American Muslims who are just like everyone else, trying to get along. Knowing that a large part of the population is afraid of you, not because of anything you've done, but because you happen to look and dress the same as someone bad, has got to be quite a burden. I imagine it feels a lot like being held accountable for 400 years of slavery because my ancestors were also white.

I don't like it but I have the same feeling Mr. Williams does.  I imagine a lot of people feel the same way about some group.  Is it fair to the subject of these feelings?  Not exactly.  But it is a human reaction, a natural feeling to an appearance which reminds us of somebody who wants to kill us.  Having these feelings doesn't make a person a bigot or racists.  It's the actions these feeling inspire that do.

What these normal, peace loving Muslims have to understand is that the obstacles along the path toward American/Islamic relations will take time, and cooperation on everyone's part to hurdle. CAIR making a big stink about Juan Williams just saying was almost all of us are thinking anyway only hinders any efforts to improve relations. Calling for the metaphorical head of Juan Williams on a stick for is the kind of PC feather ruffling that only serve to highlight our differences. Makes me wonder if they'd call for his death if he doodled a picture of Mohamed.

Do I get nervous when I see a Muslim on my plane? Do I get nervous when I see a shark fin in the water?

A Radical Conservative Idea

Marijuana legalization is, or should be, a Conservative concept.

I'll start my argument for the Conservative values inherent to Marijuana legalization with the beginning of Marijuana prohibition in the U.S. The effort to criminalize the largest domestic cash crop  in the United States began in the early 20^th century, with the Temperance Movement which brought us our shortest lived Constitutional Amendment, the 18^th. With the repeal of the 18^th Amendment there existed a new, massive government bureaucracy which found itself with little to do; a bureaucracy dedicated to keeping normally law abiding citizens from engaging in what had been an American Right since Independence was declared.

A handful of powerful men like Harry Anslinger, who had made a career of Prohibition, William Randolph Hearst, newspaper mogul and heavy timber investor, and DuPont which sought to supplant hemp as the fiber of choice with its new substance Nylon, used unscientific and wildly exaggerated anecdotes to sway the public and deceive legislators about the horrors of the “Devil Weed”. They exploited and emphasized a general distrust among the population toward the tide of immigrants flowing north out of Mexico. These powerful men, who had much to gain from Marijuana prohibition planted the seeds of legislation in the fetid soil of racial fears and class differences.  With arguments such as “Reefer makes darkies think they’re as good as white men.” the effort to prohibit Marijuana would not only fail in our current society, those making such claims would be tarred, feathered, then set on fire while being strung between two buses. Instead they were successful in establishing a massive, personally intrusive, expansion of the federal government which robbed otherwise law abiding citizens of a Creator-endowed inalienable right.

It is believed that the very first fabrics were made from Hemp nearly 8,000 years ago. Nearly 5,000 years ago the ancient Chinese used the plant for everything from food to clothing to paper. It's uses were praised in the Jewish Talmud and ancient Hindus considered it one of their five sacred plants. It was brought to the new world by Christopher Columbus. In 1619 farmers in the Jamestown Virginia colony were required by law to grow it. Thomas Jefferson and George Washington, two founding fathers so beloved by this country, their faces were carved into the side of a mountain, both owned plantations where Marijuana was a primary crop. The first production automobile not only ran on ethanol made from hemp, its body was constructed of resin reinforced with hemp fibers.  During the Second World War, farmers who would stay home and grow Marijuana for hemp could receive deferments from combat duty.

In times of war, in times of need, in times of great economic burden, America had a tradition of turning to Marijuana to see her through. It wasn't just a right, it was a patriotic duty.

It's only in the last century that we have turned our backs on the liberties and resources which help lay the foundation for America. The abject prohibition of Marijuana is so recent in the scope of human history that if Marijuana were legalized today, not even a hundred years after the first laws were passed, it would be like the Tea Party rising up and achieving the repeal of Obamacare less than a second after it were enacted.

Conservatives concerned about fiscal responsibility as well as those seeking freedom from foreign energy sources should embrace and encourage Marijuana legalization. According to a report by Harvard economist, Jeffery A. Miron, along with 530 other economists, legalizing, regulating and taxing marijuana alone, would return billions of dollars to the American economy, both from tax revenues and reduced spending within the legal system.

That's just the beginning, though. Hemp grows rapidly which makes it valuable as a renewable resource which would reduce the demand for other not-so-renewable resources such as wood, coal, or fossil fuels. Resins, plastics, oils and ethanol made from hemp, as an alternative energy source would help reduce America's dependence on foreign oil.

Many Conservatives who oppose Marijuana legalization point to the use of harder drugs such as heroin and cocaine by those who also smoke pot as one of the cornerstones of their argument. The so called “Gateway Drug” concept goes all the way back to the earliest days of the Temperance Movement. The “Gateway Drug” model makes several assumptions, which are rarely questioned in the analysis of the statistics. More complete study shows that there is no temporal correlation from “soft” to “hard” drugs. Often studies which do support the “Gateway” argument fail to examine many other factors such as tobacco and alcohol use, family, employment, or the level of parental supervision. By cherry-picking data which supports a theory, it's possible to show a correlation between practically any two statistics. For instance, who knew that the decline in piracy of the past few hundred years is the cause of global warming?

There are loud Conservative voices which rail against the dangers of Marijuana use. They wrap themselves in morality and oppose Marijuana use from the standpoint of defense of the innocent. These voices are only parroting the very propaganda which led to the disastrous prohibition in the first place. In the United States every year  nearly a half a million people die from Tobacco use. It's perfectly legal for me to go to the liquor store and buy enough alcohol to kill myself, and 85,000 people do that each year. 7,600 people per year go to the cabinet to get some aspirin for a headache and instead suffer a fatal overdose. The number of deaths attributed to Marijuana use annually tops out at a whopping zero. That's none. One less than one.

The United States Department of Justice estimates the LD-50 (the dosage required for 50% mortality) is in the neighborhood of 1:20,000. A person would have to smoke somewhere between 26 to 30 pounds in a single sitting to get a potentially lethal dose.

Unlike those other drugs, the many medical uses of Marijuana are widely documented. If there are dangers associated with Marijuana use they are the direct results of the prohibition of it not the drug itself. Where is the morality of denying normal, peace-loving and law abiding people a safe and legal avenue down which to pursue their happiness while at the same time legitimizing substances which each year kill the population of a medium sized city?

There have been fewer pieces of legislation which are so blatantly un-American, so clearly opposed to the spirit of our founding, as the prohibition of Marijuana. From the second paragraph of the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.” The racism and theft of our liberties by our own Government were a slap in the face of American Freedom and a rejection of the gifts of the Creator from whom our Rights come.

Reduce the size of government? Increase the funds available to reduce our national debt? Do it without raising taxes? Restore civil liberties, God-given rights, which were gobbled up by power-hungry expansionists within our own government? Those certainly sound strongly Conservative to me. I can't tell you for certain what the Tea Party has brewing in their kettles, but in the interest of American Conservative Values, I know what it should be.

What Obama Means (A Guide to Understanding Obamaish)

Rhonda calls me something of a word Nazi. There have been occasions when I've corrected her usage of words like “Exponential”, “Remoulade”, and “Congress”. I've had debates with several in the past with others on the proper usage of “Irony”. I suppose when confronted by such accusations I have little choice but to accept the charges. All this comes from my belief that words have meaning, and understanding the meaning of the words we hear and use is vital to a comprehensive language.

That's one of the things that frustrates me about our President.

Obama's language sounds a lot like English but the actual meaning of what he says is different from what the rest of us think they mean. That's why I decided to compose a simple guide that we can all use to understand what it is our President means when he speaks. Think of this as a “Obamaish to English” dictionary.

Obamaish: “Failed Policies of George Bush...”

English: “Any idea not my own.” – This comes from the idea that 'Progressive' ideas are actually progressing in a direction we need to go.

Obamaish: “Tax Cuts”

English: “The Current Tax Rate” – This concept extends to any number which might change from year to year, such as entitlements or wages, particularly when applied to unions.

Obamaish: “Progressive”

English: “Big Government” – When Obama uses the word 'progressive' it actually means forward movement or advancement. However, it only applies to the Government.

Obamaish: “Historic”

English: “Something we've wanted to do for decades” – English speaking people may take this to mean some piece of legislation is of value to them, when in reality it's only good for Government.

Obamaish: “Stimulus”

English: “Government Expansion” – As we've clearly seen, the Government of Obama doesn't spend a dime that doesn't come with an expanded, or even better, a totally new Washington bureaucracy.``

Obamaish: “Reform”

English: “Redistribution” – In Washington the only allowable reform involves taking from someone who has, giving it to someone who hasn't, and all they ask for in return is a few minutes of your time on the first Tuesday in November.  Solutions to issues which don't involve making government larger simply have no meaning in Obamaish.

Obamaish: “The Wealthiest Americans”

English: “Anyone Earning a Living” – The elites in Government believe that all wealth in the Country belongs to them, not those who work to earn it.

Obamaish: “Rich”

Engligh: “Not on Government Assistance” – If you aren't dependent on the government for survival then you're rich. See also “The Wealthiest Americans”.

Obamaish: “Comprehensive Reform”
English: “New Government Program” – The only reason Congress is moving so slowly on 'Comprehensive Immigration Reform' is that nobody has come up with a way to use it to expand Government.

Obamese: “Giving”

English: “Letting you keep” – Used most frequently in regard to taxes. When a politician talks about 'Giving' someone a tax cut, what they mean to say is 'Letting you keep what's yours'.

Obamaish: “Let me be perfectly clear...”

English: “Don't listen to what I'm about to say because I don't even believe it myself.” – Used as a preface to more rambling Obamaish.


Obamaish : "Expert"
English: "Someone who agrees with me" -- Also interchangable with "sycophant", "cronie" and "Anyone I owe a favor".

Obamaish: “Deficit Neutral”

English: “Your grand kids will be paying for this” – This is a descriptor often applied to 'Stimulus'. In Obamaish the obligation to pay for Government programs falls upon the current and future generations of Americans. Another English translation for 'Deficit Neutral' is 'Don't worry, we've added tons of new taxes to pay for this.”

Obamaish: “In Good Conscience”

English: “What my Party Demands” – As we can see, speakers of Obamaish equate their ideology and party platform with morality.

Obamaish: “Racist”

English: “Conservative” – Opposition to any Government expansion is an alien concept to many who speak Obamaish. The only motivation they can come up with is a deep seated hatred from those who would benefit from such. See “In Good Conscience”.

Obamaish: “Reduction of Benefits”

English: “Reduction of Spending” – Another phrase used most commonly in regard to entitlements and Government programs. People who speak Obamaish equate a reduction in budget with a reduction in government. All budget cuts, by definition, are passed down to the recipient. Government waste and bloat are sacred to speakers of Obamaish as their native language.

Obamaish: “Draft Memo”

English: “Executive Order” – This phrase is used most commonly in regard to something leaked from the White House.

Obamaish: “(Un)Employment Rate”

English: “Some Random Number” – Politicians like to spout numbers and take credit for those numbers, regardless of the hole from which those numbers are pulled.

Obamaish: “Shipping Jobs Overseas”

English: “Taxing Employers out of Business” – In the mind set of a speaker of Obamaish, the victim is often blamed for the crime. As the burden of new taxes, expanded regulation, and Government overhead drive business out of the country, the responsibility of outsourcing jobs falls on the employer and never on the toxic economic environment. This is something we'll see with greater frequncy as more and more 'reform' comes into effect.

Obamaish: “Recovery”

English: “Bigger Government” – In Obamaish the Government is not just an integral part of the economy, it is the largest and most important part. If the Government is growing, then everything's right in the country.

Obamaish: “Recession”

English: “Taxes are too low.” – When the economy is sluggish, speakers of Obamaish instinctively start writing checks drawn from the bank accounts of Americans. In Obamaish this is often coupled with 'deficit neutral' 'stimulus'.

So now you've got what you need to understand what Barry, the Most Holy, says when speaking. When you hear the phrase “Let me be perfectly clear; I cannot in good conscious return to the failed policies of George Bush by giving the wealthiest Americans a tax cut, many of whom have shipped jobs overseas, especially in these times of recession.” you know he means “Don't pay any attention to what I'm about to say. My own party would turn on me if I allowed anyone who does honest work, in spite of oppressive government regulation and taxes, to keep the money they earn, especially when the government isn't nearly big enough.”

It's of interest to note that there are many English words which have no meaning in Obamaish. Words like 'Efficiency', 'Liberty', 'Responsibility' and 'The Constitution of the United States' are little more than gibberish to these people. When these words are encountered by an Obamaish speaker, they make as much sense as baby coos and burbles.

2010 Hindsight

Today I’m telling a story. I cannot say that this is my story because I was not there. Though at times I do feel as though I was. The retelling was just that vivid and at it was told to me at a time in my life when I and things that happened around me seemed like the center of the universe. I got the idea of retelling this particular story here because recently I have been spending time with the man that was there and did lived it. I’ve ‘borrowed’ this tale more times than I care to mention but never for dishonorable ends. I told it from first person as though it happened to me not for any lasting personal glory, but because a story that begins with ‘Let me tell you what happened to this guy I know…’ does not have the same impact. When I sat down with the man to which this all happened to refresh the details I found out that the story I wanted to tell was just a core. There was a story within a story here. The first took place in the space of one night. The second took place over the following twenty odd years. I could tell the first story just the way I heard it and that would be worth a chuckle, but it would not at all be complete.

In the last few weeks I have been keeping a dear old friend company while he is convalescing. When I say dear old friend I mean that quite literally. We are in our forties now and I met Shawn when I was fourteen. In 1984 I spent most of my time doing what most fourteen year old boys do, and when I wasn’t doing that I was hanging around with friends like Shawn. Three years ahead of me in school Shawn and others seemed to really have their shit together. They were confident and sure of themselves and their place in the universe. I believed this in the way a kid does about anyone who older and more cocksure than they are. Much the same we believe such things now of anyone that displays more belief in themselves that we do in ourselves. Whatever the truth was Shawn and I took an instant liking to each other and for that brief span of two years I became a student to a master. Shawn was a funny guy. He was licensed to drive and had this beat up old van. It was a Ford Econoline I think, white with a brown stripe down the side. The words ‘Leisure Van’ inscribed on the upper back quarters next to a tiny Plexiglas portal.

An aside here. Shawn totaled that van in an asinine and legendary act of self-inflicted stupidity. At the intersection of Black Rock and Maisemoore in the neighborhood we grew up in there is a rise where the two streets intersect. It was thrilling to break the speed limit by fifteen miles or more per hour and ride over it to feel that familiar flying sensation you get like when going over a railroad crossing. Shawn, the aforementioned ‘master’ that seemed to ‘have his shit together’, took that hump at sixty-five miles per hour and like a pig sprouting wings that van took flight and hurdled through the air, steering wheel slack in Shawn’s hands. According to Shawn’s retelling his friends Albert and Bobby were in the van at the time. Albert in the front passenger seat. Bobby, unrestrained and in the middle of the vehicle. I heard tell that Bobby actually achieved zero G’s for less that a second and a half before the van, no longer a plodding earth bound thing but glorious in flight and akin to eagles, came crashing down on to the street as though the recipient of the god’s promethean judgment for daring to go where a van should not. A shower of sparks shot out from all sides of the thing as it’s suspension collapsed and it careened down the residential street scaring the concrete as it went. Thank God for oak trees. Incidentally, if you ever have the opportunity to place a bet on a conflict having to do with a Ford Econoline Leisure Van and a hundred year old oak tree, take the tree by knock-out in round one. No one was hurt no matter how deserving unless you count that van. And we did. It was sad to see it wrapped around that tree with it’s wheels splayed outward like some exhausted beast that was all in and couldn’t go another step. The radiator was of course destroyed and steamed furiously, the condensed rusty radiator fluid dripping off the mangled and twisted grill and headlights looking like tears. I just looked up the intersection on Google maps. The tree is not there anymore but never the less the van saw the worst of it. Alright then. Back to the main story.

Around the time I met Shawn he was running with a pretty eclectic crowd. We, he and I, were in the marching band and while the prevailing thought was that cliques formed around like social groups that rule did not see so important at our school. Shawn had friends from all over the school. The one common interest they all share for the most part was a love of fire arms.

Another aside here. This story takes place in Texas. Not quaint, liberal, fashionably-weird Texas, like Austin. This is gun-toting, beer-drinking, by-God, like-you-used-to-see-in-the-movies, Texas like everywhere else but Austin. In Texas we have a rich and glorious history with our guns. I do not personally own one, but I am grateful that I can. This story contains talk of guns and the discharge of guns, though at no time is anyone actually shot or even shot at. If you consider that gun violence then consider yourself warned. Another tradition in Texas, you only get one warning. Usually with a gun.

One weekend Shawn and his friends decide to go camping. At least that was the cover story. Though the plan, actually they referred to it as a ‘mission’, did include staying out overnight, the goal of the mission was to steal a boat and pilot it across Lake Houston just for the hell of it. This instance of freshwater piracy would never materialized. The group convened at Mike’s house near Intercontinental Airport, presently named George Bush Intercontinental Airport. Shawn’s friend Mike was a scary guy. Not big, tough, and mean, scary like a biker. More like genius, clockwork orange, no humility, scary like Hannibal Lecter. Mike was a few years older than the other guys and had already graduated. What he was doing hanging with a bunch of high school kids is likely a better question for a therapist than me. Mike had a brother named Chuck. Chuck might have been as bright as Mike but I did not know him and for the retelling of this adventure he was represented to me as a stoner moron. He and a couple of his friends went along for the ride. Shawn listed a few other names like Eddie, Caesar, and another Mike I think. Honestly at the time of my note taking Shawn was a little foggy and was prone to a lot of repetition. This seems to be a semi permanent condition. He is lucid of course but there is a prevailing weariness about him now. Likely a by-product of nearly dying from his diabetes. Shawn was found face down in his apartment in the Dallas Fort Worth area alive but non responsive to EMTs after missing three days of work without calling in. That is how he came to be in this nursing home in the first place. It is phenomenal what the human body can take by way of wear but it takes its toll and I was looking at the evidence of that right then.

Setting out from Mike’s place was as enthusiastic as you might think it would be. Young men fully armed and full of juice, heading out to do no good and to bring back some story of personal bravado. It sounds ridiculous to some but I’m smiling as I type this just thinking about it. Hell raising, not strictly a Texas tradition, is a universally understood concept to most guys. It is generally thought that a man without scars has not lived well. I am inclined to agree. The trip to the lake area was not a long one but to understand Shawn the party of young men did take a more rural route. They wanted to do a little shooting before the actual mission. The boys found themselves out near some rural road at a railroad crossing. There was one light for the surrounding area and it was hanging from a telephone pole that was next to the train tracks.

They shot at targets. They shot into the air. They shot just to here the report of the guns in the echoless flat wet environs that is the bulk of the Gulf Coast. I’ve done this kind of shooting and, while not wanting to make too much out of it, if you don’t do it often then being around freshly fired guns and indeed firing them yourself is somewhat cathartic. High velocity explosive contained in a simple machine, that has not changed in principal in hundreds of years, allowing you to have common sensation with people that have long since passed. Perhaps even treading the same ground they were on. The ground that was now a farm and held privately by citizens that did not care to have potential poachers shooting up their property. The first shots woke and alarmed the farmers in the surrounding area.

What happened next in all candor is a bit of an amalgamation. I know the way the story was told to me. I know the way I would retell it. And now I know what Shawn really thinks of the adventure through my talks with him. I’m going to piece this together so that it seems cohesive and gets the point across but I ask that if you are reading this that the over arching point is Shawn and his point of view on the matter.

Chuck and his stoner friend were not gun enthusiasts and were away from the group doing what ever the hell they were there to do when they were confronted and detained by the locals. I’m not clear on exactly what transpired there because Shawn was not clear on it either. No police had arrived, but his was Harris County. It would not be long. Wherever the Sheriff’s department was it had become clear to Shawn’s party that Chuck and his friend were done for the evening. The sensible mature thing to do would have been to lower weapons and wait.

“I don’t remember you telling it like that,” I said to Shawn as we sat in his shared room at the nursing home.
“Not our finest hour,” Shawn said.
“No, I mean what about the game wardens? I remember you said you were on the run from game wardens.”
“Not our finest hour. Game wardens. It was Harris County (the sheriff‘s department). I don’t… I don’t think there were game wardens,” Shawn replied wearily. “That dumb ass Chuck got a ride from the sheriff’s department. They didn’t even charge him. They took his stupid ass home and I had to trudge back on my own,” He said to me. “Not our finest hour. We were so stupid.”
I paused a moment to let his speak a bit longer. He had a tendency to ramble even when we were kids but now it was even worse.
“Do you remember the point at when you became separated from the group?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “We watched as those farmers took Chuck and we decided to get out of there.”
“I remembered you telling me you heard…”

“Game Wardens! Hands in the air!” The group heard as they looked around panicked. Mike, or the other Mike, yelled out, “You’ll never take us alive!” before he shot out the only visible light in the area. The one hanging from the telephone pole. The brief shower of sparks quickly faded as the light blink out. The area was shrouded in darkness and from in that dark a hand came and placed itself on Shawn’s collar pulling him along. “Come on!” heard Shawn and off he went running his ass off in the direction he thought his friends were in.

“Is that how you got separated?”
Shawn was looking out the window and took a moment to answer. “I couldn’t keep up. They left my fat ass behind. Their all running over this field like commandos and I had this fifty pound rucksack on my back. So stupid.”
“I remember you telling me about the sleeping bag.”
“Oh, my God. Yeah. That safety GD orange sleeping bag.”
“It came undone from your back pack?”

Shawn ran as fast as his legs could carry him under the strain of the back pack. He did not realize that as he jostled the load around that his bed roll, day-glo orange in color, had come unfurled from his pack and was presently trailing after him in the same bobbing pattern in which he ran. He likened himself to a Chinese dragon in a new year parade minus the music and fire crackers. He was that conspicuous anyway. After ten minutes of running Shawn realized that he could no longer hear his friends. Mike, Eddie, Caesar, and the other Mike were gone.

“What did you do? Were you scared?” I asked.
“Hell yeah I was scared. I’m out in the middle of GD nowhere and Chuck was picked up by now. My friends were gone. I was pretty sure I had Sheriff’s after me. I was pretty scared.”
“What did you do then?”
Shawn smiled. “I followed the planes.”

Shawn was alone in the dark with no light and no clear idea on how to go back or what the alternative was. At that moment a commercial airliner, one of a dozen he had not really paid attention to earlier, flew in over head in its final approach to Intercontinental Airport. Shawn remembered that Mike’s house was very near the airport and placed somewhere in between it and where he was at that moment. So Shawn rolled up his wayward sleeping bag, got the rest of his gear straight and followed the planes.

“Pretty smart.” I said.
“Not our finest hour,” he replied.

The phrase kept popping up in his speech. Shawn was one of those guys given to repetition. He often got hold of a phrase and used it until it was about to drive you crazy. But something about the way he was saying it now started to gnaw at me. My purpose in coming to visit him was to uplift his spirit’s a but in my asking about a retelling of this adventure the opposite seemed to be happing. I wasn’t sure. I thought perhaps this was just his current state of health. The fact that he was tired now all the time. The fact that for the most part he has nothing to do but watch TV all day. I thought about the nature of the story and what his retelling some twenty-five years later was stirring up in him. I had not counted on something that seemed so benign and humorous to me to be anything else to him. I had not counted on his hindsight. Shawn always had a way of taking the raw terror out of anything and finding something humorous in it. The story with the van from earlier. The story he used to tell about scary Mike’s outwitting of a prosecutor while on the stand avoiding prosecution for God knows what. The stories he would tell of his father, Kendall, from his three tours of duty in Viet Nam. He always had something that was funny to say. This had me wondering for the first time all the horrific shit he had to filter through in his mind to get these nuggets of hilarity.

Shawn followed the planes for a long while. He had no way of knowing the distance and when you are tired lost and think you are being pursued time has a way of slowing to the point of practical halt. It was midnight in the realm of forever and Shawn was going on pure adrenaline now. He saw the trees he was walking beside fall away against the contrast of the deep dark sky set semi-alight by the glow thrown off by the airport. Before him were grassy plains as far as the eye could see. He made for them with renewed vigor thinking that this meant his journey was almost over. He stepped on to the grass and found out how wrong he was when his foot sank to his knee in a fetid bog.

“I was soaked. Every bit. Eaten up by mosquitoes and now my ass was in a swamp. Not my finest hour.”
“I remember this bit. Were you worried about gators? Snakes?”

Alligators are common on the Gulf Coast but not in well populated areas. Because of urban sprawl the gators that did live near us were usually on the small side. Not much threat to the life of a grown man but you sure as hell don’t want to step on one in the dark. Water moccasins and cottonmouths, which may actually be the same animal, were far more common and more dangerous. If Shawn had been bitten by one of these he had better have hoped the sheriff’s were after him and that they were close. These snakes are venomous and slightly aggressive.

Shaw trudged on. He was already wet and reasoned that he did not have far to cross this swamp by the lights of the ever nearing airport. Twenty minutes walking through muddy grassy water takes a lot out of you and while it was not advisable to stop when Shawn spotted a fallen log he decided to take a breather. It was the only high dry patch of ground he saw and did not want to miss this chance to collect himself. He sat on the log and looked out at the lights of the airport wondering just how far he had come and where his friends were. After drinking a little water he was about to get back up when he felt a tiny burning sting on his hand. Then he felt another. As the stings started to multiply he thought he felt a similar sensation on his leg and hip. He shot up and realized the log was harboring a nest of fire ants. If you are not from the south then you may have limited exposure to these insects but they are vicious. One on his own is annoying enough but a nest full is a hazard. Ants do not bite as most commonly believed. They sting like bees and wasps. They inject a miniscule amount of formic acid into their victim and the result is a fire-like burning. A little formic acid goes a long way and soon Shawn was dancing out of his clothes and brushing himself off like a crazy person.

“God, that sucked,” Shawn said.
“But the rest of the way was clear?” I asked.
“Yes. I did not know it but I was like twenty feet from the edge of dry land. I thought I was home free then.”
“You thought?”
“Yeah. Not quite there. There was the incident with the deer.”
I smiled at this. “What do deer sound like when they are startled awake but a half naked man stumbling out of a swamp?”
“I don’t know what they sound like,” he replied. “But I sure know what they feel like as they trample you.”

Shawn had managed to clear most of his clothes of fire ants and had put on as many as much as he could. He was on dry footing now and no longer feared snakes and gators. Scratching from the ant bites and limping on sore wet feet he made for the cover of a copse of nearby trees. He stood breathing hard leaning on a tree and after gathering himself he ran into the lightly forested area. At first he was not aware of what hit him or why he was on his back but as soon as the first hooves hit him in the gut, groin, and chest he understood. Catching a hoof across the cheek Shawn scrambled to his feet screaming every swear word he knew. “S***! F***! G** D*****! SOB! M***** F*****! ARRRRGHHHHH!”

“And that was the last of the mishaps?” I asked. Shawn had that far away look again. “I mean the whole night was just one thing after another,” I went on. “But that was the last of the…”
“Yeah. That was all.”
“You found Mike’s house.”
“I found Mike’s house. The sun was coming up. They were all there. Chuck got home first courtesy of Harris County. The others that were with me got there after.”
“Were they concerned about you?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. They were really glad to see me. They were so worried they were about to go out for Denny’s.”
I laughed at this as Shawn smiled a little. He had managed to catch them literally as they were heading out the door to grab a bite.
“You went with them then?”
“Yeah. I went with them.”
“What did you have?”
Shawn laughed and smiled again. “Better food than they have here.”

In the end it was not likely that any game wardens were actually involved in this incident. It was really unlikely that someone shouted “You’ll never take us alive.” It was even more unlikely that my friend was ever directly pursued by sheriff’s deputies. Though it’s an near certainty that the light over the railroad tracks was shot out. All in all what we may have here is something that certainly happened but was also certainly embellished upon. But it was a good story. And there is no reason to abandon a good story just because it’s not all true. As far as this incident “Not being his finest hour”, I do not know that I would disagree. But twenty odd years ago in the days after the incident when he was telling us all this story he sure made it seem like it was. And that is what I took from it.

The word Cocksure was conspicuously place in this writing to honor Shawn’s juvenile penchant for giggling at such things.

Come As You Are...

I puzzled for a time to decide on the format this entry would be taking. By the time I post it no doubt it will be well after the 828 news cycle. I don’t care. It was more important for me to get my thoughts together and write things out as I remembered them. In my previous posts I have tried to be witty and light. I don’t avoid those traits here but this entry may read more like a travelogue than a story. I hope you find it interesting and informative. Enjoy.

When I set out on my trip to Washington D.C. to attend 828 restoring honor rally I had vision in my head of milling about a festival like venue chatting with friends I had never met gathering their stories and learning about what motivated them to make the trip like I did. I pictured marches like the ones we see on TV; Steadfast and determined angry talking people walking arm and arm and facing down their dire opposition come what may. I thought, even though they were specifically discouraged, I would see a sea of politically oriented signage decrying this particular issue or castigating that particular political party. This is what I have expected from all public rallies since this was all I ever saw not having participated in any myself. I have to confess to a vague disappointment, at first, when none of that materialized. My imagination had run amok hand in hand with my vanity and convinced me of the romantic heroic opportunity of the moment. I wanted these things for the same reason that most want them. I wanted to feel like what I was doing mattered. I wanted to feel like I had not just bought a plane ticket, rented a car, drove 148 miles, climbed onto a crowded subway, walked through a milling crowd, and sat on the hard ground of an open field for hours just to hear more talk. But that is exactly what I had done. By the time the program started I was more sure than ever that in attending the 828 Rally I had done a right and good thing.

08.27.10, 4:00 am: I woke to the sound of the alarm I had set the night previous. I grabbed my phone and silenced the sound of the electronic rooster and sat upright on the couch. The lights had stayed on all night and I had only gone to sleep three hours before so my eyes adjusted quickly. My wife came down stairs a few minutes later as I was making a final check of my bag. I was taking three days of clothes, no fluids because of the TSA flight restrictions, my phone, and a Sung Ka board. Sung Ka is a simple game played with seashells. It is a Filipino version of a game called Mancala. You may know it. I was bringing this for my host’s daughters as a way of saying thank you for letting me stay with them over the weekend though I knew no thanks would be expected. My friend is more like my brother and by extension I regard his family as my own.

My wife asked blearily if I had everything I needed for the trip and I replied that I thought I did. I’m between jobs at this time and while I set my course on attending 828 six months ago it was still a bit of a strain to put this together. She was not entirely supportive of my attendance on that basis but it was settled now and she was accepting. Her main concern now was to see me off as best she knew how. She is one of the most hard working dedicated people I know. When my ride arrived and it was time to go I told her good bye and that I loved her. She kissed me and told me the same. I wish she could have gone with me.

08.27.10, 4:40 am: My mother volunteered to drive me to Hobby Airport for my 6:25 am flight. ‘Volunteered’ was a nice way of saying ‘insisted’. Once my mother gets going on something it is best to let her have her way. She had dearly wanted to attend herself but she and my father had local issues of their own and could not make it. This made me sad for a couple of reasons. I knew this would be a historic event and that anyone in attendance would be glad of it for the rest of their lives. The second reason was that I would have liked the personal support. I don’t mind traveling alone I just don’t prefer it. As soon as I had gotten into her jeep she handed me a small envelope of cash. She knew I had the trip covered but she insisted that I take this for emergencies. I did not fight this. It never hurts to have a little extra and she really wanted to help me a long. She did everything but pin it to my collar and tell me to look out for bullies. I’m going to be forty-two in a week but moms are moms. We don’t do sloppy good byes in my family but my mom did tell me she was proud of me for going and that she wished like anything she were getting on that plane with me. She told me she loved me and I smiled and hugged her. I told her I loved her too. I know this reads a little dry, but I meant it.

08.27.10, 11:45 am: I had successfully made my connecting flight from Chicago and could feel the decent as we approached Philadelphia. I was sandwiched between my seat mates and had made no contact with them for the trip so far. I’m not the most well traveled person in the world but I do understand that a plane trip is like an elevator trip that lasts for hours. The same rules usually apply. Most people, especially the veteran travelers, are not terribly interested in making conversation with these strangers that they are now sharing space with. The closer in proximity you are to a stranger seems to have an inverse relation to how emotionally distant they behave.

The gentleman on the window was heavy set and perhaps ten years my senior. Like me he was fully invested in the elevator rules and had not said a word or made eye contact for the whole flight. He wore golfing attire and carried a Bose headphone case. He was presently listening to said headphones and seemed quite content right up until the call came to turn off all electronic devices. The flight crew list as many as they could but in this age where devices are so many and varied I noted that they end their announcement with the catch-all ‘If it has an on/off switch make sure it is turned off’. The sun was bright coming through the window and I was squinting without my knowledge. The man noticed this and asked if I’d rather the shade were drawn. I told him I was fine and he left it. This broke the ice between us and we began talking. He was a local to Philadelphia and a frequent flyer through this airport. Since he was a local I asked him about the drive between Philly and DC. What it was like? Was it an easy trip? That sort of thing. He in turn asked if I were going on this road trip tomorrow. I replied with a wary yes. He grinned at me and asked’ ‘Glenn Beck?’. I smiled back at him and nodded. We spend the next few minutes talking about the rally, Beck’s show. Turns out he was a fan just like I was and we had much common ground to speak on. He said that he wished he were gong to the rally himself but commitments kept him at home. This would be a recurring theme for many I would meet. We deplaned in Philadelphia and this new friend, Dean was his name, directed me to the shuttle to my car rental agency. He wished me luck and told me to be there in his stead. I would be, and not just for him.

08.27.10, 1:15 pm: Enterprise Rent-a-Car. Not much to say here but ‘customer service that bordered on the obsequious’, and ‘Dodge Charger’. That’s right. A Charger. I had arranged for a mid-sized car for both rental price and fuel economy but ‘tragically’ they ran out of mid-sized cars by the time I arrived. I was forced to accept an upgrade at no further cost. And the only car available was a 3.7 liter Hemi V-6. Boo-yah.

08.27.10, 2:30 pm: My arrival and reception at my friend’s house, where I would be staying, was nothing short of familial. This was not unexpected. I’ve known Danny since we were kids. We’ve been best friends since high school and speak with each other three to four times a week. What did surprise me was the greeting I got from his daughters. They are the same age as mine so I expected a certain amount of kid shyness when I arrived. Quite the opposite was true. I felt like a rock star with these kids. I was greeted with chants. I was not quite embarrassed by the attention but close. That more than anything else made me feel warmly received in that house. The family was just going out for some coffee and had waited on me so I could come along. The afternoon out with them was very pleasant. Cherry Hill is a nice enough place but Moorsetown Township was downright quaint with its old brick buildings and antiquated store fronts. They showed me the girls school. Fed me dinner. Gave me a glass of scotch. I could make this whole post about my visit with them but for entry’s initial focus. I tried once more to convince my friends to go with me, but their oldest daughter had a can’t miss doctor’s appointment the next day and there were other considerations besides. I did not want to come off as pushy, an I didn’t, but I just had to make sure they understood how important I thought the event was and how great it would be to share it with them. The matter was settled and dropped. We do all we can and then the rest gets handled. I went to bed fairly early due to my plan of getting up and leaving before light.

08.28.10, 4:10 am: It was t-minus five hours and fifty minutes until show time when I turned the key of the Charger waking it from it’s hours long slumber. An apprehension had been building in me that I only now recognized. I had the same sensation when I pulled up in the parking lot of the Beaumont Municipal Airport twenty years ago to go sky diving and when I spoke to my wife’s parents just before I proposed to her. Granted this event was not as momentous and the latter, nor as intense as the former, but it was the sense of commission one gets when a goal in squarely in sight. When a moment is about to be seized. I put the Charger in gear and idled forward. I know after describing my emotional state at that moment it may seem an appropriate time to floor the steel beast and rush head long into destiny or some such, but this is a residential neighborhood where my friends live. People are trying to sleep. I saved my headlong destiny rushing for I-95. Except for a fifteen minute breakfast break somewhere in Delaware the Charger’s speedometer never saw the south side of ninety.

08.28.10, 6:55 am: The Washington D.C. train system was clean and well run. I have to say if I had a system like it in Houston I’d be on it all the time. I took the Blue line from Largo Town Center on Washington’s East side. It was the furthest station out. After the rumors of road closings and heavy traffic I wanted to take no chances that I would be able to get to the rally in plenty of time to find a prime seat. A good seat I would find. Prime seating, that is to say within view of the actual stage and podium, had been gobbled up two day before. Now three-ish hours before show time and I was ‘late’. The train was populated at this hour mostly by my fellow rally goers. You can pick the locals on the train by the fact that they weren’t smiling at everyone and weren’t wearing a collapsible lawn chair as a fashion accessory.

I was standing holding on to a support rail next to a bearded older man named Steve from Fort Worth, and his friend whose name I did not catch from Alaska. Steve had grown up in Grapevine, Texas and lived and worked in the are for his whole life. I asked him why he was going to the rally and he looked at me like I dense. I explained to him that I was gauging peoples reasons for this writing and once clarified he replied that it was time for the country to get set back on the path that made it great. He quickly added that he was doing it for his grandkids too. He returned the question to me but I could not improve on the answer.

08.28.10, 7:30 am: T-minus two and a half hours to show time. Coming up out of the subway station we were greeted by the cool overcast skies of early morning. The weather had been promised to be 82 and dry, unheard of for Washington in August apparently. The overcast did not bother me. Even if it rained what would that really matter? I had never been to Washington before and hence never seen the Mall. It’s huge. Everywhere you looked there was history. The Smithsonian, the Capital Building, The Washington Monument which pointed to the sky in brilliant white against the gray and dour sky. To say this array of landmarks was impressive is to devalue the experience, but I don’t have another word for it. Oh, wait… Magnificent? Arresting? Majestic? Grandiose? You pick one. I can’t. Fun fact reported by Beck at the Rally and his show: The bricks of The Washington Monument change color one third the way up the structure. Know why? That is where they halted the construction when the civil war broke out. A telling mark. A scar you could say. A scar, Beck did say. This would be central to his presentation.

08.28.10, 8:00 am: I wandered to the Lincoln Memorial over the next half hour. As I progressed the grounds became thicker with rally goers. There were no less than six jumbo-trons set up so that those without direct view of the stage could still see it. People were already setting up in front of them. I knew I had no hope of getting a prime seat now but I did want to get a look at the stage proper before the rally started. As I went the density of the gathering became near 100% people saturated. You could not stand in a position where you were not practically contacting another person. I saw the stage and was thus satisfied somehow and decided to turn and find the best place I could. As I was backing out I noted that everyone was smiling at one another despite these cramped conditions. Hell, I was smiling despite the cramp conditions. Everyone was being so pleasant to each other. Laughing. Playing. Having a great time. I really don’t know what the source of my surprise was. In Houston under similar conditions, an immanent hurricane say, this attitude is prevalent.

As I was leaving the area I looked down at two ladies in collapsible lawn chairs. They smiled at me seeing that I was turning back. I told them that I was ‘smart’ and had left New Jersey at four in the morning so I could get her early and grab a stage side seat. They both laughed at my intonation and one said that I should have been ‘smart’ two days ago.

One thing that gives me real hope for the country is not just the amount of people at this rally or how nice they were but how prepared they were. I was a wise-ass and decided to travel light; camera, phone, notepad. But it seemed everyone else brought enough provisions to weather a hurricane. Lawn chairs, coolers, blankets. Woodstock this was not. Something told me that in the event of a natural disaster these people could be called in to rescue the National Guard.

08.28.10, 8:15 am: I went out back where I had been along the tree lined trail beside the reflecting pool. From there I broke across the field the right of the Lincoln Memorial where one of the further jumbo-trons had been set up. I found a nice patch of ground in the center of the screen. There was an older woman next to the patch in a wheel chair. I’d come to find out later that she was not paralyzed or even infirmed, but that being older it was easier for her to travel to that point in the mall in that chair. I asked her if I could sit on the ground beside her. Of course she said that I could. And gaining her permission that is what I did. I looked around then to gauge just how full this field was going to get. A man next to me said that the subway stations are packed with rally goers and if you weren’t on a train by now you’d likely miss part of the event. I did not doubt him. The field we were in was the widest view for one of the jumbo-trons and it was already twice as peopled as it had been when I sat down.

I chit chatted with a few people around me. I took some more pictures. There was a fellow sitting very near me wearing a baseball cap. I happen to have eyes on him when he took it off. He had apparently decided to get his hair cut for the event. I should say perhaps that HE decided to cut his hair for the event, personally. Without the use of a mirror or any training from an accredited barber college. He could have done a finer job with a weed wacker.

As the hours drifted by and the rally time drew nigh I became aware, with the help of the now fully exposed sun, of a certain dryness in my mouth. There were water distribution stations and coolness tents made available to us but they were a good distance away and I did not want to jeopardize my seat. Referring back to my previous wise-assness I had decided to travel light. If it did not fit in my pockets I did not bring it. I had not counted on sitting in direct sunlight though and it was beginning to take it’s toll. As is generally good advice I should have listened to my mother when she told me to take a back pack with water and snacks in it. Just then I heard the woman in the wheel chair ask me if I’d like a drink. I looked at her and said that I would not like to impose but she insisted that she had brought enough for her an her husband Jim with enough to spare. I accepted and smiled. I thanked her for her kindness and generosity while castigating myself and confessing to her that my mom had told me to bring water for myself. I realized at that moment that I did not know her name. I asked for it and she replied ‘Beverly’. I stopped short then. This is embarrassing for me but I was flummoxed. And I did not have a chance to recover before I started misting up.

Beverly is my mom’s name.

I did not set out to write about some road to Damascus moment here but I find that I can not talk about this event and its nature without talking about this personal moment for me. Beck in all his sincere bluster said to expect miracles. I believed him I suppose. Check that. I find Beck very sincere. I know I believed him. But I had not counted on seeing any miracles myself on such a personal level. I was moved. You can be heartened by this. You can call me a superstitious idiot. You can regard the matter with indifference. I don’t care. I know what I felt. And now I’ve committed this moment to the modern Rosetta Stone and offer it to you for your consideration.

An aside on miracles here. I’m an open hearted person. Not cynical to any meaningful degree. I don’t consider myself a fool either. I am Catholic though and one thing about Catholics is that miracles happen literally every day. When the priest says Mass and consecrates the host we believe it literally becomes the Body of Jesus Christ. You cannot be a Catholic and believe otherwise. Personally, celestial mechanics aside, I believe anything sufficiently complex like the sun rising everyday to be miraculous as well. It’s really all in how you choose to look at the world. So, while we are hardly talking about lottery winning odds here, when choosing to sit next to one of half a million people in the Mall and having that one person have the same name as my mom and offer me water just when I needed it most? I’ll be a superstitious idiot, thanks very much.

08.28.10, 9:59 am: At this moment the introduction video is playing on the giant screens everywhere. What happened next is a moment that was well publicized on the Internet and on Beck’s TV show as well but what they did not show you and what is impossible to get from the video was the on the ground perspective from one who was there. At 9:59 am seconds before Pat Gray would introduce Glenn Beck to the Rally a flock of geese, Canadian I think, chose that moment to fly in ’V’ formation from the end of the reflecting pool toward the Lincoln Memorial. It was right up the middle until they got to within a few yards of the stage and then they veered to the right. At first I was unaware of what was happening. I was sitting there watching the screen like everyone else when we heard from behind us a dull roar. I realized it was applause coming from the far side of the reflecting pool. The wave of applause moved toward us. It was like a living thing no one could see or touch but you felt it none the less. Then I saw what they were clapping it at and it was those geese. Suddenly people in my area started clapping because they saw it too. You couldn’t help but be caught up in it. I heard someone say ‘God’s fly over’. They weren’t wrong. But what really struck me was the energy I felt move through me when the applause wave hit. It was funny but you were confused and connected to all those other people at once. Unity in its purest form.

08.28.10, 10:00 am: Glenn Beck was introduced by his good friend Pat Gray. Gray was doing morning drive time in Houston while Beck was in his national ascendancy. I’m not sure what event brought them back to partnership but I’m glad of it. Beck came out with and energetic stride and immediately started with a joke. He said that the mainstream media was reporting that over one thousand people were in attendance at the 828 Rally. This was greeted with laughs and applause. That estimate as it turned out was being generous. According to one reporter on NBC no one showed up for the rally. The 500,000 that were there were normal tourist traffic that just happened to stop by. For those of you that might be reading this and also watch NBC news. Are you ever going to get tired of them peeing in your ear and being told that it’s raining? Beck went on to make his remarks about our nation having scars and doing bad things. True. He went further and said that what good the nation has done outweighs that bad a hundred times. Also true. He proceeded with the benediction by a collection of descendants from the progenitors of the nation, both Pilgrim and Indian.

You may note that my descriptions of the event will only skirt what happened. I have no interest in playing court reporter here. I’m here to give a perspective on what I experienced. I’ll hit highlights but for the play by play of the event I’d recommend a DVD when it comes out.

08.28.10, Not sure of time: Sarah Palin was introduced to speak not as a politician but as a mother with a son fighting in Afghanistan. She is a lightening rod to be sure. But I admire her capacity to take what she is dished out. She did indeed speak of the central theme of the day: Honor. She spoke of pride and her undying love for a son that she is separated fro under the worst of circumstance. I was with her the whole time she spoke, but as a red meat republican she took two shots at President Obama. She never mentioned him by name but everyone there knew who she meant. And regardless of my personal opinion of our president, and I do have some opinions, I wish she had not skirted that territory. It’s just not what the day was about. In the end it diminished nothing for me or anyone else that I could tell.

Governor Palin introduced three military heroes in her presentation. I stopped taking any notes so the only one I know by name is Texan Marcus Lutrell, Navy Seal and medal of Honor recipient.

08.28.10, Not sure of time: Beck crafted merit awards after ones that had been passed out by George Washington himself. History only tells of three that were ever given so in following that tradition Beck presented three that day. One each for the three key words of his philosophy: Faith, Hope and Charity.

The recipient of the first award for Faith was Pastor C.L Jackson, a preacher from Houston, Texas. Pastor Jackson, who I was not previously aware of stood with Martin Luther King Jr. on 8/28 47 years ago and personally witness the ‘I Have a Dream‘ speech. He has done tremendous work with in his church and has been indefatigable in bringing the gospel to the people. At the time of this writing I know little else of the man but since he is local I think I’ll look him up soon.

The second recipient for Hope was Albert Pujols. I don’t follow Baseball. Apparently he is an athlete. What he was being honored for today though had nothing to do with his career other than he never put it before God. It had to do with the work he does with the handicapped. Again, I need to be more knowledgeable about this before I write anything else. His acceptance speech was stirring and humble though.

The third recipient for Charity was John Huntsman Sr. Mr. Huntsman is a very wealthy philanthropist who has the Carnegie-like ambition of dying broke. He was not able to attend the Rally to accept due to his grand daughter getting married at the same time so he sent a proxy. The woman he sent, who’s name eludes me, was a stage three breast cancer survivor that found treatment at the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Utah.

08.28.10, Not sure of time: What a privilege to be at this place on this day to hear the niece of Dr. King speak. This above all things made this history for me. Alveda King is a tireless woman of great faith who not only lost her uncle to the civil rights struggle but her father as well. Her speech was eloquent, passionate, and above all unifying. Unity was her central theme and no one in this country could have driven home the point better.

08.28.10, 1:00 pm: The close of the Rally had the return of Beck to the stage along with what he termed ‘The New Black Robed Regiment’. Along with all the speakers and VIPs came two hundred and forty men of the cloth from all faiths. Beck said that these few represented a network of thousands that have made a commitment to counter act the slide into godlessness our country is woefully suffering from and communicate the concept that our right come from God and not from man or any institution man can contrive. They are going out to their churches to counter the idea of ‘collective salvation’ and ‘social justice’, and that we must go with them and support their grand effort. Beck paraphrased the Gettysburg address when he said that not long will people remember what was said here today. It is what we do that matters. This effort will be for naught if the people that believe in it do not get behind it.


In the end it was not about me or any other individual or some group and their particular ideology. It was not about divisiveness or politics. It wasn’t about a loud mouthed radio talk show host, or lightening rod political figures. It was about exactly what was promoted; a return to the values that made this nation great and changed the world. Revisiting my first impressions of the event I have to say that Glenn Beck, Alveda King and others were the friends I had not met yet. We did lock arms, if only figuratively, with nearly half a million people. And we did face down dire opposition for is that does not aptly describe the relationship between light and darkness I do not know what does.

There is a lot more to the tale after the Rally but I’m going to stop telling it here. The rally was the point regardless of how much pre-rally chatter I engaged in. You see, I know there will be tons of weighty analysis on the Rally, Beck, King, Palin, and all the other people that attended and things that happened so I figure all that is covered. This was my story and getting to the rally was part of that. Oh, I will tell you one thing. On my way back to the subway to get out of town I happened across the IRS building. I took a moment to spit on the sidewalk here. It was not a very Christian thing to do. I’m flawed that way.

Credit Where Credit's Due

This might not make me very popular among my fellow conservatives, but I have to call things like I see them. Whether you think of Obama as the most radical tax-and-spend liberal to hold the office since WWII (and he is) or if you think he's the weakest leader in times of crisis that we've had since Jimmie Carter (and he is) or if you think he's the antichrist (he might be) or if you think he's a Muslim (he's not) you, or at least I, have to give him credit where it's due.

Under the list called “Things Obama's Done Right” pretty much the only thing I have listed is the War in Iraq. I know, I know. That's a crazy thing to say. I mean how can I say that I think this bleeding heart, academia manufactured, personal liberty hating leftist did a good job handling a WAR? Didn't I know that when he was running for Senate he was an outspoken opponent of the War? Didn't I know that he didn't support the very surge he now credits for the success (for lack of a better word) in Iraq?

Sure I did. Obama wasn't president then. Senators and Presidents are completely different branches of government and the things they say, and the things they do, about any given situation reflect the differences in their responsibilities and roles in government.

If we're going to place ownership of the economy on Obama after 18 months in office, then we have to give him ownership of Operation Iraqi Freedom as well. Obama might have in his heart of hearts a disdain for the Military but once he took the reigns of the war he did the only thing really reasonable, which was nothing fundamentally different from his predecessor. He left Bush's generals and Secretary of Defense in place, kept up the funding for the war and maintained the troop surge. To my observations he's never done anything at all that I perceive as being less than honorable toward the troops who have sacrificed, served, and died for their country. His handling of the war in Afghanistan to me is no different. He's announced a similar troop surge in Afghanistan for the purposes of giving the Afghan government the room they need to get established. Who did he appoint to replace General McChrystal? The guy that Bush had running the war in Iraq, General Petraeus, whom Obama actually demoted from CENTCOM commander for that move. He'd done nothing to deserve a demotion, but clearly, and Obama understood this, he is the man for the job.

Afghanistan is going to be no easier than Iraq. Our expressed enemy there is the Taliban, which isn't a political party. It's not a group of terrorists, or a rag-tag group of insurgents upset at the forces occupying their country. Taliban is a sect of Muslims; a philosophy and teaching. To truly defeat them we'd have to kill them all and anyone they might have influenced, destroy all their literature and teachings, obliterate every recording they'd made. It'd be like declaring war on the Pentecostals. Then we'd have to rebuild the Afghan society in such a way that their extremist message is no longer appealing to those who live there. Obama's words and his actions (two things often at odds when it comes to politicians) indicate that his Afghanistan strategy will be no different from Iraq.

Obama's actions and rhetoric as a Senator and candidate may have bellied a typically anti-military liberal, but his actions as Commander-in-Chief have shown that he recognizes that Bush was doing the best that he could. For not pulling the plug on Iraq, and not departing radically from the doctrine established by the Bush administration, I have to give President Obama his props. Score one for Barry.

That makes the score 1 point for Obama and about a 147 against. This will in no way change my opinion of Obama as one of the worst presidents we've ever had. If he's not the Antichrist, he's certainly the Anti-Reagan. But in this one instance he's done OK.

Haters Gonna Hate

The morning of Aug 30^th, the first real news day following the 'Restoring Honor' rally in Washington, organized by broadcaster and pundit Glenn Beck, the discussion on MSNBC's Morning Joe was more about the man Beck, and the numbers of people who turned up. There's the occasional reference to Beck's message but little actual discussion of it. Howard Dean was there to call Beck a racist  and a hate monger. I wonder how often Howard Dean actually listens to the Glenn Beck show? Like many of Beck's detractors, Dean's venom and ire is directed at the man. To some this hatred extends to his fans, as well. Rarely is there a discussion about his ideas or the message itself. I didn't really expect anything else though. Most of these people are haters and haters gonna hate.

Perhaps the most outspoken opponent of Glenn Beck's Restoring Honor rally in DC is Al Sharpton who has repeatedly accused Beck of trying to hijack the civil rights movement, calling Beck's rally a 'disgrace to the message' of Dr. Martin Luther King. This video shows the differences between Beck's message and the messages of Al Sharpton and his own own followers. In the segment where Sharpton is being interviewed by Kieth Olbermanm the reverend Al is offered two options to describe Beck's rally. “Is this an attempt in here to desecrate Dr. King's memory and what everybody stood for then, or is this just a publicity stunt by some sort of megalomaniac?” Neither of these people have bothered to listen to Beck's message, and neither address the substance of Beck's message. Sharpton himself seems to think that he is the exclusive inheritor of King's dream, and it's exclusively black. If Sharpton ever expects to live in a world where people are judged, not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character then he should stop using skin color to invalidate people himself. Oh, but if racism were to truly end in this country he, and others like him would be out of a livelihood, so anything he says to preserve the racial divide is understandable.

There has been very little actual coverage of Beck's rally that doesn't in some way try to discredit either the man or the success of the rally. Most all of the coverage on the web news outlets for the major broadcast networks is punditry and opinion, with the exception of a couple of AP reprints.  Of these opinion pieces it's hard to find the ones which aren't hate-filled attacks on Beck and his fans. This should come as little surprise though, considering that 88% of broadcast network executives, writers, and reporters, contributed to Obama.

These people are haters. Haters are unimpressed by reason or the value of ideas. Haters gonna hate.

Here. have a picture of a cat.