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:More @ Red State
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.
Twenty six days before the accident
I’m so much better a man for having known her.
I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU!
(Truly, I cannot believe it’s been Twenty Years!)
There are things that are good to remember; things bad to remember; and things important to remember.
The crummy part of all this is sometimes my brain is not too good at discerning which is which, or what goes with what.
My character (being flawed and neurotic as it is) has a tendency to default to the bad.
A shrink, I’m certain, would say it’s all about low self esteem, negative messages from childhood, etc. The reasons don’t matter.
Twenty years ago, today was the accident in which our daughter Molly was killed.
I was driving – this makes me ultimately responsible, as I was The Dad. The Protector. The fact the other driver ran the red light while speeding is of no consequence.
I carry a sidearm. I’ve done so for 41 years. Long before I even met Molly’s mother, I chose to do whatever I could to protect myself and my family and friends. It’s a roll I haven’t taken lightly.
And I took my assignment as Protector even more seriously when I became a father. It’s what father’s are supposed to do!
We were making a left turn from 44th Street, East onto Thomas Road. A little after 1 PM. Going to Monkey Wards after an earlier visit to Famous Footwear @ 20th St. and Camelback. Saturday’s with 12 year old daughters meant shopping! The signal didn’t have a left turn arrow back then. It was just like in the movies – in the midst of completing the turn, I sensed something was wrong. Based on the estimated speed of the other car, we were pushed across the intersection in about one-tenth of a second.
And many lives changed forever.
I’ve no memory regarding what happened next. Nothing to recall on the witness stand months later. I was told I regained consciousness enough to give my estranged wife’s phone number to the ambulance guy, when I was asked if there was anyone he could call.
I had early drugged hospital memories of being on board a ship(!) Not enough consciousness to ask why I was on a ship. Turned out, with one (now re-inflated) collapsed lung and the other half filled with fluid, County Hospital had me on a pneumatic bed which kept hissing and rolling, to keep fluids from settling in my damaged lungs. Ribs pushed into a lung. Broken collar bone. Broken arm. Tube up the nose, and IV morphine/ativan drip.
My sister, wife and friends were there, being supportive and keeping loving watch as much as they could. Not wanting to answer the obvious question: Where was Molly?
In my few awake moments, I remember asking about the funeral, desperately wanting to be well enough to attend.
My wife was told Sunday morning there had not been any brain activity, and had the courage to disconnect life support. Had our roles been reversed, I don’t think I would have had the bravery. I am forever grateful to her for this. A number of folks benefited from her decision.
The funeral was that following Tuesday. I was largely unconscious in ICU at County for another two weeks.
Ultimately, after being moved to Good Sam, being given Tylenol in lieu of the morphine/ativan drip (!) and weeks in the regular hospital and rehab, I was able to walk and breathe again.
I was deeply depressed and pretty much just counting the days.
Until I could pay my respects.
That came weeks later.
I’ll say it again, as long as I take breath – Tell your family and friends you love them, right now!
Because you may never get another chance.
AND be an organ donor.
I try to remember the good times. The IMPORTANT ONES. It’s what has kept me alive for the past twenty years.
My thanks to all of you, family and friends, for holding me up, until I could stand on my own.
(Commentary has been turned off – I know how you all feel. Thanks, again.)
I remember as a child, the whole fam damly (as it was sometimes described) being shuffled into the station wagon, and off to the movies! Usually, a drive in theater. They were ubiquitous, and readily available in the Arizona weather. Much of the time, they were an extension of the TV-as-babysitter, translation: put the boy in from of a moving picture and he’ll go out like a light!
Then later in my youth, being dropped off at a Saturday afternoon matinee, with a friend or two, and funds for goodies – what a way to get them out of the house and from under foot. The only rule was call when the movie let out (translation: make certain you had a dime left from that fiver!)
Being a self-described child of TV, when gadget-addict friend Bob P. (one of the many Bobs) announced he had a videotape player/recorder, I knew something was beginning to change. This Magnavox machine took VHS tapes, but no standard had yet to be decided upon, and tapes made upon it wouldn’t play on later standardized VHS machines! It also had vacuum tubes as part of it’s construction, weighed a ton, and cost about $1000 (in 1975 dollars)!
Thus began the slow decline as technology continued to develop, and people began renting Beta and VHS tapes, (remember Laserdiscs?) then DIVX, then DVD, and now can see many movies/TV shows via the Internet and BlueRay.
And the audience figured out that while the kids used to hang out in the back of the Vista Cruiser in their jammies, and the adults dressed up to go to the theater, it was just more convenient for all to stay in the living room in their jammies. (Or boxer shorts, in the case of my Dad.)
And you didn’t have to trudge across a gravel-laden parking lot in the dark to a grimy snack bar restroom, either.
And while the drive ins have mostly faded away, now the indoor theaters are as well. Few want to pay $15+ each for a seat, plus another $20 for drinks and snacks, when they can watch Netflix or Amazon at home in their skivvies.
Another childhood dream of a secret agent meeting place in an nearly empty theater is going away.
And teenaged fantasies of making out (or more) in Dad’s station wagon now have to be redirected.
(FTC – Magnavox, Amazon and Netflix have given me nothing!)
ProudHillbilly won the Internets with this!
So what’s the difference between these two photos, outside of the obvious that they were taken 50 years apart?
It’s what’s missing. Compare the number of American flags in photos from the two events.
A loyal and (sometimes) vocal follower of this tiny blog pointed me in a direction I’d somehow overlooked, in local history:
I’d not heard or thought of his name in many years. Thirty-five years ago, I was still living in this town, before I got married and a year later bought a house with the wife and moved to ‘the big city’.
(excerpted from the above link)
Ed was the only firefighter to die in the line of duty in this town’s firefighting service in it’s history.
…As they arrived, smoke was rising from the roof of the Jumbo Bagel Deli, at the end of the strip center.
Within five minutes of the call, Gaicki and eight other firefighters would go into building to search for people and the source of the smoke. Within 15 minutes, the roof collapsed, flaming wood pancaking down onto the nine firefighters.
Deputy Chief Gary Ells, the only remaining active firefighter who was there that night, was one of those trapped. Four of the men got out quickly. News reports at the time describe how four others, including then-Capt. Ells, had to crawl through the building, beneath the remnants of the flaming roof, eventually having to share an air tank before they were rescued.
One man didn’t make it out alive. (January 15, 1980)
He was 27 years old.
A memorial service on the anniversary of his death will be held at 11:30 a.m. Thursday at Gaicki Park, 5616 South McClintock Drive. (January 15, 2015)
“… I think it’s also important to keep the story alive as a reminder to the rest of us, of the men and women who serve us every day and sometimes pay dearly for it.” – Deputy Chief Gary Els
Since that time, much personal history has passed. We had a daughter, got divorced, lost the house, and our daughter passed away. And I never got to go into ‘public service’, as I had wanted. I probably didn’t remember, as I’d been just married two weeks before (January 1).
Regardless, we should always remember those who gave their all, whether in the armed services, police or the fire departments. We owe them that measure, minimally.
h/t The Arizona Republic, KM
If you haven’t already heard, two pig-humping Paleoswine walked into a synagogue in Jerusalem, Israel today (posted November 18) and proceeded to murder five innocent people, including three U.S.-born rabbis. The sons of sows used meat cleavers, an ax, and a gun in their attacks in the Har Nof neighborhood of Jerusalem.
That’s right. They hacked innocent worshipers to death with meat cleavers. By the time police arrived and shot the two savages, several people had been hacked and/or shot to death.
Meanwhile, it was a rude awakening for Israel. As Y.B. ben Avraham explains at Zelman Partisans, it is an error to cite Israel as some sort of bastion of firearms freedoms. It isn’t.
While it is true that one sees young people, fresh from graduating high school, with select-fire rifles slung on their backs, and in Judea and Samaria it is a bit easier to obtain a community weapon or permit, in reality, the “freedoms” look much more like Chicago or NYC than say, Arizona. Everything is by permission, and licensure, and the restrictions have been getting much more restrictive and onerous, in practice, especially in the large metropolitan areas.
It took a massacre for Public Security Minister Yitzhak Aharonovitch to announce an easing of restrictions on carrying weapons. Unfortunately, the epiphany is insufficient. The moderation in policy only applies to those who currently hold licenses, such as security guards and off-duty military officers. What about the rest of the defenseless would-be victims whose only recourse against ax- and meat cleaver-wielding sociopaths is to wait for a police officer to arrive? What about the innocent faithful, praying in a synagogue whose only hope is to wait for help to arrive?
The homicidal butchers gave Israel a wake-up call when they walked into that synagogue wielding implements of murder and proceeded to shed innocent blood. The massacre prompted the Public Security Minister to loosen gun regulations for license holders.
What will it take for the Israeli government to realize that their infringement on the natural rights of the people can end up in nothing but slaughter?
Have they forgotten?
Or are they channeling their rights-controlling brethren in Chicago and NYC?
It’s better to ask forgiveness than to get permission! MAROONS ALL!
(Disclaimer: I-in no way-endorse illegal activities of any kind. If you are reading this in a correctional facility (and are not staff) you should probably disconnect before the guards are alerted to your activities! They generally have no sense of humor! – Guffaw)
Why You Should Learn How to Pick Locks (Even If You’re Not a Criminal)
Some of you might be thinking, “Brett, why should I learn how to pick a lock if I don’t plan on breaking into people’s homes?”
There are a few good reasons why law-abiding citizens should learn how to pick a lock:
Lock picking opens your eyes to the “illusion of security.”
It makes you handy.
It’s cool and fun!
When I was a private investigator/security supervisor for P**M**, my boss and I decided it would be appropriate (cool) for each of us to obtain a set of commercial lock picks. Pretty much for the reasons listed above. We went to a commercial lock supply store, presented our P.I. credentials and each bought a set. Then, we returned to the office and spent the rest of the afternoon locking and unlocking the exterior door of the office.
YES, we were both ‘adults’ at the time.
Of course, just like the PIs of yore, we had guns, binoculars and tape recorders, and thought this would be another (cool) tool for our arsenal.
IN THE REAL WORLD, I only used them once. At my own home. Because burglary IS a felony!
I still have them, tucked away somewhere.
But, in my mind, I have the voice of Thomas Magnum, “Work the lock, don’t look behind you! Work the lock, don’t look behind you!”
They really do open one’s eyes to the “illusion of security”, though. Not all burglars are opportunistic, door-shaking street kids – some actually have skills! If you have something worth protecting, make certain you’ve enough good obstacles ( e.g. quality locks) to make the criminal go somewhere else!
Most holidays for me traditionally meant either two things: I had to work or I had the day off. Of course, Christmas was big when I was a kid, but other adult holidays had no meaning. Veteran’s Day used to be one of those.
The Vietnam War brought the sacrifices of veterans to my attention, largely because I wanted to be in the military but was denied membership due to my physical disability. Friends left, some didn’t return.
And I always tried to make it a practice at TMCCC to stop by the desks of veterans with whom I worked and thank them for their service.
Lonnie, Glenn, Glenn, Mark, John, Stan, Jim, Jodie, Ardith, John, Gloria and Clive (who had served in the U.K. Armed Services – with a name like Clive, how could he not have? We miss you.)
To all my military friends on Facebook and WordPress, Thank You for your Service.