JDZ (of Never Yet Melted), tells us the following tale…
Statue of Cecil Rhodes at Oriel College, Oxford, where he was a student for one term in 1873. Rhodes left a portion of his estate to the college.
Last April, a statue of Imperialist hero Cecil Rhodes erected in 1934 was removed from the campus of the University of Cape Town. The statue had been previously desecrated with paint and excrement. When a crane lifted the statue away, celebrating students climbed up and danced on its plinth. Rhodes had to be removed, you see, because the 19th century figure was guilty of believing in African Inequality and was a renowned champion of British Colonialism.
The insistence upon the removal of prominent historical figures guilty by the present standards of the extremist left of politically incorrect behavior and opinions is not merely restricted to Third World countries where revolutionary regimes have succeeded to power.
In Oxford, in the heart of England itself, the campus left is following the South African example and demanding the removal of a statue of Rhodes from a niche on the facade of his own college. Newsweek
The Left’s war on history, as you see below, at Yale, has been underway for decades.
What could possibly demonstrate the intellectual and moral fatuity of today’s academic establishment than this kind of abject surrender to the worst kinds of left-wing extremism in response to emotionalist blackmail?
If the study of History produces any kind of wisdom at all, the most basic component of that enlightened understanding would have to be the apprehension that it is impossible to pass judgement on the beliefs and actions of people living in the past by the standard of conventional opinions of the present.
The stained glass picture of Vice President, Secretary of State, and political philosopher John C. Calhoun, Yale Class of 1804, ornamenting the Common Room of the Yale residential college named for the great man was deliberately broken by left-wing students during the 1970s. The window was restored, but portions of the window depicting a black slave in chains kneeling at Calhoun’s feet were removed officially in 1993, after a black student complained that he was personally offended.
I’m reminded of the recent kerfuffle regarding removal of flags of the Confederacy, and desecration of other historical items.
And, of this…
This is not to equate the teachings of the Buddha with those of the Confederacy, but to show that we need to remember history in it’s entirety to obtain the full message.
The First Amendment to The Constitution (at least in the United States) may apply, also.
Doppelganger (n.) a duplicate person, as in someone who looks exactly like __________.
I never used to believe in such a thing. I mean, each human being is an individual, there is no one else like them, right?
I have seen three in the past 20 years(!)
About two months ago, I was grocery shopping at the closest market to home. Not because it was my favorite, but because it was close. (Laziness? Heat?)
I’m standing in the checkout line, and five or six folk ahead of me was a familiar guy. Tall. Large. Built familiarly (if that’s even a word?) He turned to push out his cart of groceries, and I almost yelled out his name! He resembled strikingly BOB, my former PI and gun store boss! Except the previous week I was informed by the original Bob that he just has had the lower part of his left leg amputated. And I knew there was no way he would have been across the Valley, 30 miles from his home, and so ambulatory right away. And this guy had more hair, a goatee and a pony tail! Nope – not Bob!
But certainly closer looking to him than his brother!!
Another time, we were in a Mexican restaurant. Because it was cheap, not because it was good. And we were seated by the back door, and could see folks seated outside on the patio. And there was Marla, a former girlfriend. Same figure, same face, same laugh and mannerisms. Except Marla passed away in 2004 – I have a copy of the obituary!
And there was my first observance with a doppelganger. In 1995, about 4 months after the accident. You know where I’m going with this…
The ex and I were window shopping at a large mall, largely because it was late Summer and air conditioned. And a couple walks by with three children. And number-two child looked exactly like Molly, except with blond hair!!!
I’m not normally the kind of man who faints, but I leaned up against the wall and closed my eyes to keep from losing consciousness. And to keep from screaming and crying. And my ex (who obviously had not seen her) asked me what was wrong.
And I nervously pointed. At air.
There was a couple with children. TWO children! And neither resembled our daughter.
To only be able to see her again…
Famous (or perhaps infamous) deaths, that is.
(Of course, this all depends on how one defines fame or the starting point! And this is MY blog.)
Macnee, with Rigg
I am sad to report on the passing of Patrick Macnee, most famously known as John Steed of the British TV series The Avengers. At age 93.
The series ran in three permutations – the original British-only version (co-starring Honor Blackman), the import (with the most-lusted-after Diana Rigg), and a third version with Tara Thorson (later of Absolutely Fabulous).
Of course, most of us loved the series co-starring Ms. Rigg. Leather cat suits and all.
And how dapper was Patrick Macnee with his Edwardian clothes, bowler hat and lethal umbrella?
I remember an interview after the series, wherein Mr. MacNee quipped he had been approached about yet another remake. He responded, “What would they call it, The Geriatric Avengers?”
Retired, Mr. MacNee spent much of his time in his Rancho Mirage, California home, wearing Aloha shirts and shorts. He claimed doing so allowed him his privacy, as no one recognized him without his bowler and umbrella!
You will be missed, good sir!
the reaper the mechanic, NPR
Except it wasn’t.
After I shot Bob’s (the former PI, gun store manager) Heckler & Koch 91, I knew I had to have one!
It took me over 10 years to acquire one. And it definitely wasn’t a G3 (the select-fire version). It wasn’t even really a Heckler & Koch 91 (the semiautomatic version).
She was a PTR91 (H&K parts, except a domestically-produced receiver, to comply with the spurious, unconstitutional and misnamed Assault Weapons Ban).
The good news is she shot similarly. Functioned exactly the same. And took same foreign parts. Expensive German-made H&K parts.
(Wait a minute – maybe this was the BAD news?)
I remember purchasing some different furniture and a sling for her at a gun show. At premium, President Clinton inspired prices! Fortunately, there were bazillions of cheap magazines.
The bad news was I could never afford the case lot prices for ammunition.
Which meant she was never shot very much.
AND, she was a PITA to clean and re-lube, for a neophyte like me.
Of course, she was stolen in the safe with the others. That’s what I get for deciding I liked rifles, too!
So, it’s another Father’s Day.
This is my twentieth without Molly around.
My own father lost a son (my twin brother – name unknown to me), and a daughter, through a previous divorce. He was not around to suffer the loss of Molly. If he had been, I could have asked him how he dealt with such ephemeral matters.
I guess I know, at least in part, how he dealt – he drank and he overate.
Traits familiar to me.
Fortunately, I’m not an alcoholic and am dealing with my food issues.
If only I knew how to deal with the issue of loss.
Guess I am, in reality. I’m still here. And I have the love of my friends and family.
And that, my friends, is everything.
Go and hug your children and tell them you love them! Because you never know.
The man who stood at the forefront to prosecute (and obtained convictions) against Charles Manson and his co-conspirators had died.
Mr. Bugliosi was 80.
Personally, he and I held some differing, and alike opinions.
He sided with the Warren Commission, even participating in a television drama ‘prosecuting’ Lee Harvey Oswald. (Gerry Spence was the defense attorney).
But he desperately wanted to reopen the RFK murder investigation, as there were so many unanswered questions.
But, he did ‘get’ Manson and company.
I always wanted a Rolex™.
When I was newly married (and quite cash poor) I used to moon at the jeweler’s window in the Christown Mall, eying the Oyster Perpetual (in stainless or course, the lowest rung). I think they wanted $350 for it!
Might as well have been 10 million!
Of course, this lust was because of my following of the tales of James Bond. Since the 7th Grade. Both the films and the books. (Hint – the books are superior!)
When I became an adult, the lust continued. And I never cobbled together enough funds to acquire one.
(I toyed with buying a knock-off on the Internet once, but it was Chinese, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it!)
Then I read a story.
Some guy was flying first class, and happened to be seated next to a well-appointed businessman. They got to talking, and it turned out the business guy was the president of Rolex!
So, in the name of polite conversation, the other guy asked, “How’s the watch business?”
The response? “I’ve no idea – I’m in the luxury business!”
And, as a (somewhat) responsible adult, I always chuckled at the idea of a British intelligence agent either buying or being issued such an expensive timepiece. Certainly not to keep undercover?
Then, Stormbringer gave me the answer!
(You have to click on the watch to see it!)
I’m old enough to remember the Watts riots in L.A., Detroit. Rodney King? And a multitude of others. And something has always bothered me:
WHY do these folks feel the need to violently destroy THEIR OWN NEIGHBORHOODS to make a point?
In days of yore, I participated in protests. I remember one at the State Capitol, wherein we stood in the Summer heat (all 250 or so of us) to protest The Clinton so-called ‘Assault Weapons Ban’, and our own State legislature considering similar legislation. This was in the 90’s – the temperature was around 100°.
And not one of us engaged in violence, criminal looting or destruction. We had been advised not to come armed, and we didn’t. We carried signs (and American flags), signed petitions, talked amongst ourselves and drank lots of water. And listened politely to speakers like Sheriff Mack. And watched media trucks circle us deciding whether or not we were worth a spot on the 10 o’clock news.
Apparently we weren’t.
Here’s one opinion as to why they foul their own nests:
The borderline-Jacobins at Slate, who believe spanking is child abuse, and personal responsibility is out of fashion, try to explain looting away as a social phenomenon: “Why would anyone burn down the only CVS in their neighborhood?”
The reason, I think, is likely the same reason that poor black Americans in cities across the country burned “their own” neighborhoods in the late 1960s:
They did not experience those places as their own. Then, like now, police brutality was a precipitating cause of the violence, but it was the long-term experience of the indignities of the ghetto that gave shape to the riots. Then, like now, commentators compared the rioters to animals who had run wild and needed discipline. Rioting, to these bystanders, was not proper political protest but the criminal actions of poor people who merely wanted to grab what they could for free. This narrative, which I heard throughout my childhood growing up in Baltimore in the 1980s, put the blame not on the depredations of the ghetto, but on the character of its residents. It completely misapprehends the political economy of our poorest neighborhoods.
In other words: they riot because society has ignored them. Not only is that a specious argument, but it also highlights the fact that Baltimore hasn’t had a Republican mayor since 1968. So which party is responsible for ignoring the downtrodden social class?
Told another way, Abraham Miller at National Review wrote:
Of course, the writer above seems to think the only answer lies with which flavor of government.
What do YOU think?
h/t Brock Townsend
Life doesn’t always go as we plan or desire. We certainly cannot control others in their personal plans or desires.
Especially, in matters of the heart.
Sometimes, we must let them go…
When love is good, it’s very, very good.
And when it goes away, it sucks.
Our daughter Molly, at her 12th Birthday Party
Twenty six days before the accident
I’m so much better a man for having known her.
I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU!