Nukes

The Badlands National Park area contains more than the incredible views dating back millennia. 

 

I often visited the area while working at Wall Drug, the summer tourist trap. My job was to sell toys. It was a lot of fun as most of the sales were from the sale of toy cap pistols and rifles. As a kid in the 1950s, I constantly wanted these toys a I watched Hoppy, Roy and Gene as well as the Lone Ranger and the Cisco Kid. 

 

Part of the area includes a now-decommissioned control station for a number of Minuteman nuclear missiles.

 

Open to the public, I was able to view a bunker where the orders to launch the missiles was executed. The top floor was the living quarters for the men who manned the station when they were off duty. But downstairs was the control room. It was configured like a bank vault that was mounted on heavy duty springs, which were designed to handle the impact of a nearby enemy nuclear explosion. It would not survive a direct hit.

 

The officers who ran the vault, and actually controlled the launch of roughly 25 missiles, were all single men who were childless. While they had to pass strict psychological standards, the thinking was the single men would have less reluctance to launch. There was an interesting touch of dark humor painted on the door. Taken from a delivery company, there was a pizza box showing a missile heading to the Soviet Union. Painted on the box was “When it absolutely, positively has to be delivered in 20 minutes or the next one is free.”

 

About two miles away, there is a decommissioned missile silo containing an unarmed, unfueled missile which is completely covered and includes a glass viewing area. I visited this area several times as I remembered the Cuban missile crisis as a high school freshman. I had a deal with my girlfriend that if missiles were launched as we ducked and covered in the hallway that we would kiss each other’s ass goodbye.

 

Anyhow, I ran a cash register and one day I had a customer who handed me their credit card. Per our rules, I also asked for a photo ID. I was handed a military ID and was stunned to read the name Paul Tibbitt’s.

 

Never heard of him? Then you’re probably under 60 years of age. We Baby Boomers knew the name quite well. He was the bomber pilot who dropped the first atom bomb over Hiroshima during the second world war.  He was also the commander of the air wing and supervised the follow-up bombing of Nagasaki. 

 

Well I knew the man standing before me wasn’t the same person. That pilot had to be well over 120 years old. It turned out he was the grandson, an Air Force general.

 

In another life I majored in history and was a licensed high school social studies teacher. I had my students do an extra-credit essay, imagining they were the ones to drop the bomb. How would they feel about it? 

 

Well, I knew for sure who my next ghost would be and after work, I visited the missile silo around twilight.

 

He appeared to me dressed in an. Army Class B uniform. It had many, many medals on the shirt, but full bird coronel’s insignia.

 

“I met your grandson today. You must be very proud of him.” 

 

“I certainly am,” he replied. “His duties are far more complicated. We dealt with one bomb at a time. If there is a war, we would be launching hundreds of them.”

 

As an eighth grader, I read “Hiroshima,” the definitive account of the bombing written by John Hershey. Other books included “Fail Safe.” “Alas Babylon,” and “A canticle for Leibowitz,” three classic fictional accounts about nuclear destruction written in the 1950s. I asked him about the mission.

 

He told me that preparation for the mission was classified until the very end. Keeping the secret was difficult over several years of training. He said there were two very scary parts of the actual mission. First was the bomb was actually armed during the flight. Among other things, there was some air turbulence and inserting the nuclear matter and its trigger was very exacting. He also said that the moment the bomb was dropped, the plane had to execute a 180 degree turn to avoid the blast. Surviving the shock wave proved to be very exciting as the plane rocked and vibrated as it moved away from the blast at top speed. 

 

Prior to the bombing, he had gone to Nevada to observe the first test. “I was amazed,” he said. “I was looking for a huge conventional explosion and the flash, shockwave and the mushroom cloud were unexpected by me. The colors were incredible.”

 

I told him about the essays I had assigned in school and asked him how it felt. 

 

“I was glad to see the test so I had an idea about what to expect,” he said. “I knew thousands would instantly die and many thousands more would die from radiation poisoning.”

He said he had to realize that there was a choice to either drop the bombs or invade Japan with troops, which would result in tens of thousands of deaths and wounds by American soldiers. He pointed out that the Japanese military would fight to the last man as had happened during the fighting at various Pacific islands. He also noted the desperation of Kamikaze pilots who would crash their fighter-bombers into American naval ships while sacrificing their own lives.

 

I noted that the plot in “Fail Safe,” revolved around a single nuke bombing Moscow. In order to stop an all-out war, we had to bomb New York City. The pilot committed suicide after dropping the bomb. 

 

“I did not feel suicidal. We had to end the war. My biggest regret was learning that a hundred American prisoners of war also died in the blast.”

 

I thanked him for taking the time to talk to me. As he started to fade, I saluted him and he returned it. 

 

 Just a pair of geezers

 

This is a story about a couple of old geezers but it needs something of an introduction. It’s not my story really. 

It’s 1:30 in the morning on a Thursday and I really don’t feel like writing. But for the past nine hours, my brain has been telling me this must be written. Two days ago, I was up all night without sleeping. This happens sometimes, usually when I am reading a book. This time was different as I was mourning yet another death of a friend. His name is Mike Woods and a couple of years ago he sent me a message asking me if I was In Army Basic Training with him. It turned out he was and we developed a relationship. I quickly learned he was dying and urged him to remember he was a warrior and to fight the cancer that was ravaging his body. I learned of his death on Tuesday morning and couldn’t sleep.

So anyhow on Wednesday, I didn’t wake up until about 1 p.m. And I had an appointment with my doctor in an hour. Grabbing a peanut butter sandwich and a carton of milk, I got an Uber to the doctor and got there on time. 

The appointment went fine but I was having a problem getting a ride back. 

It took nearly an hour for the Uber app to find me a ride and I would have to wait about 55 minutes. The driver then cancelled and almost immediately I got another ride from Francis, who was ten minutes away. He was on his way back to Sarasota from St. Pete and was just as happy to get a rider as I was to be one.

 

Anyhow, we both were in the Army. I was in the infantry and he spent his time shooting mortars. I learned he was in his mid-80s and told him how much I was encouraged by that. Anyhow this is a tale of how much different a decade can be. He was in the Army in the 1950s–too late for Korea and too early for Vietnam. I told him the story about how I was number two in the draft lottery and he laughed like crazy. Time had turned a disaster into a funny memory. I also told him how I became a drill sergeant instead and there was more laughter. 

 

So we spent the 45 minutes talking. It turns out he lived about 25 miles south of Gettysburg and I shared some of my experiences when visiting there. I told him how a visit to Dwight Eisenhower’s nearby farm had been a real treat. And Francis told me about the time he had met Ike. 

 

He went home on a weekend pass and was dropped off at Gettysburg. He then hitched a ride home. 

 

Now it’s important to understand two things about that time. First, military people were expected to wear their uniforms when on leave. And second, this was after the second world war and Korea. And soldiers hitch hiking usually got rides rather quickly by people who showed their appreciation. On his way back, Francis’ father gave him a ride to Gettysburg, where it was fairly easy to hitch a ride. These were the days before tubeless and radial tires and getting a flat on a long road trip was almost expected.

 

Anyhow Francis is standing on the road in front of a farm and suddenly he is surrounded by armed guards. It turned out they were Secret Service people and Ike was out for a walk. 

Now understand this: Ike was the President at that time (1953-1961) He was, in fact, Francis’ COMMANDER IN CHIEF. And Francis was nervous as hell. Now I’m the one who is laughing.

 

Seeing his uniform, Ike came over and emphatically shook his hand. Francis said it was the most memorable moment of his life. We arrived at my place and I told him ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t know weather to salute or shit.”

 

We both laughed as he left for home. 

 

There were some lessons to be learned here. Here’s what I felt was important.

 

Laughter is indeed a great medicine. The time together took me over the hump morning my buddy.

 

While we both were close in age, there was a huge difference in America’s culture during our service. Soldiers simply didn’t wear uniforms while hitching for fear of being spit on, given the finger or even attacked. The counterculture and opposition to the war made a huge social difference.

 

All it was a couple of old folks sharing a bit of their lives, but the genuine friendship we had was a good thing for two lonely old people who lived alone. 

 

Thank you for making my day so much better Francis.

***

How Richard Nixon screwed up my life.

 

When I was a high school senior, I worked as a lifeguard at the best hotel in the area. It was the venue for our senior prom and many other activities. More than 50 years later, It’s still very nice.

 

Anyhow, I was really hungry and I went to the kitchen to get a sandwich for dinner. I spotted Nixon in the kitchen talking to some other people dressed in suits. Nixon was glaring at me and I was asked what I was doing there and then told to leave. That was probably the night I became a Democrat that night and I voted against him on my first time voting in 1968. But he beat Hubert Humphrey, who was incredibly gracious to me when, as a reporter, I covered his campaign several years later.

 

Now a missed sandwich isn’t the end of the world, but two things he did screwed up my life. First, he tried to reform the draft by having a lottery. I was number two. Fortunately, I was able to join the Reserves where, in their infinite display of military intelligence, they made me a drill sergeant.

 

Then Nixon was attacked for not calling up the reserves. And so I was a member of one of two units he did activate. It was a pleasure to watch him be forced to resign. 

Free advice

A few years ago, I wrote a blog for aspiring journalists. I said that the prospects for earning a living as a journalist are not nearly as good as prior to Internet news sites.

But the idea of writing a book is booming thanks to Amazon. I have about 600 books on my Kindle, all of which I’ve purchased from Amazon. I get three e-mails per day from Amazon, BookBub and ManyBooks, all of which offer free or reduced price books. Most of the ones I buy are around $1.99 and until recently, when I became overwhelmed with books I have yet to read, I was buying around 10 per week. 

As a writer, I enjoy decent writing that will take me to a place I might be interested in. Places like the future and worlds of fantasy are among my prime reads. Many of the books I read are in the “young adult” category, and they contain many sequels. Amanda Lee wrote a fabulous five-book series about a college girl involved with the supernatural. She did six follow-up books about life after graduation and she’s done at least a dozen books involving a midwest witch coven with many comedic aspects, which led to at least a dozen  books about supernatural hunters under the guise of a traveling carnival. 

And that’s just the beginning. There’s also what I call the “duds.” They’re books that I don’t care to finish and others which I will finish but won’t re-read. 

Anyhow, I am a published author, but that is from journalism and trade magazine articles. I estimate that I have well over a thousand bylines, very few of which were in wide circulation magazines.

But I keep plugging away, writing whatever I damn well please in this blog and perhaps finally pulling together enough articles to do a book. Think about a travelogue with a twist. I’ve been all over the country and I keep running into ghosts. Sometimes they are personal and others are historical. For example, I encounter the ghosts of Custer and Sitting Bull at the Little Big Horn. They’re still arguing about how white people took over Indian lands. 

But the book, which had a strong start, has slowed down due to many distractions. One would think the the Covid Stay-at-Home confinement would give me every opportunity to write. It hasn’t. I was recently asked by a high school classmate for advice on writing a memoir. So here’s some advice, but remember that it’s free. 

Have you viewed “A Christmas Story?” It’s a tale about a kid named Ralph who lived in the Depression. More than anything, he wants a genuine Red Ryder BB gun. And it seems his entire world is against him saying “You’ll shoot your eyes out kid.” Jean Shepherd wrote the script and nattarate’s it. 

Shep’s far more than a one-shot deal. He hosted a PBS series called “Jean Shepherd’s America.” But long before that, he was a secret for my high school persona. Every night, he would host a radio show for an hour that was frequently ad-libbed. Out of it came many fabulous stories which wend into half a dozen books. 

And these are the stories that create great memoirs. Most of the time, it was what Shep experienced as he viewed his world. A New York resident and erstwhile Broadway actor, he loved the city, but teased the suburbs, especially New Jersey, as places of “avarage,” and little more. He would hold lawn decorations in special scorn, calling it “slob art” and on one hot, humid night, he urged his radio listeners to just leave their cars and go home , creating one of the worst traffic jams in the history of New York City.

Most of his stories had much in common. His youth and early adulthood were a main source. He would talk about his childhood and some of the crazy things he experienced. He also loved to talk about his adventures in the signal corps during the Second World War. Another thing was working in a steel mill.

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

As I age, I tend to speculate on how much decisions I have made, which seemed small at the time, affect the person I am today, Like it or not, it was what it is. 

For example, I blew my knee when playing freshman baseball. Along with most of the other sports, I couldn’t play any more. I tried to play football as a sophomore and junior, but the knee just didn’t hold up. I was on the swim team and for two years my knee rattled while I was swimming, but it got better in my senior year.

We had a mediocre freshman baseball team. Sometimes we were stomped by scores of 17-3. I was a catcher. I had never pitched in my life. But the coach had me warm up to mop up a few innings. After watching me, he didn’t put me in the game.

But two years later, the school’s baseball program got an incredible boost as we got players from the township surrounding our town. One of them was named Chip and he was an incredible pitcher. When I was a senior he led us to the state Group IV championship. The next year, the team won the Greater Newark Championship, which combined all the groups in the state and was the ‘real’ champion. 

Due to my swimming, I became involved with many YMCA activities. The athletic director recommended me for the Y’s Springfield College. I was accepted, but couldn’t afford to go there. In the meantime, Chip went there and has the school record for most shutouts. 

Two years after I graduated, my knee was somewhat better and I tried out for the County College baseball team. I played in a couple of games, but my knee didn’t hold up.

Although I saw Chip hurl a 1-hitter against Wayne H.S., I never really knew him until recently. We get into deep political discussions on Facebook and while I’m on the other side of the political spectrum, we are one of the few who respect one another’s views. And as we came to know one another a little bit, we realized that I might have caught him had I decided to go to Springfield. 

At the same time, it was at CCM that I began my career as a journalist. 

***

Which brings me to another topic. I was somewhat of a loner in high school. But one night, our chorus did a show for a local civic club at a large hotel. On the bus back to the school,  I was sitting next to a girl and we began to talk and wound up holding hands. It turned out that she lived around the corner and we agreed I would pick her up and walk with her to school. 

The next morning, I met her father when I picked her up. He wasn’t very pleasant to me. I personally thought he was drunk. And there occurred a decision that changed my life. Prior to meeting her father, I had thought about skipping school and taking her to my mother’s apartment while she was working. I was thinking about a necking session and I think she was thinking the same. But I was also thinking beyond my hormones. She was kind, sweet, caring and unassuming. In those days, it wasn't unusual to get married in our late teens after high school. And if she became pregnant, I would have missed the draft. 

But both my parents were alcoholics and I decided I couldn’t handle another one in my life. Hindsight is sometimes too sharp. I had come to realize that I never gave the girl, who obviously was attracted to me, a chance. I ignored her the rest of the year. It wasn’t hard as we shared no classes. At the end of the school year, we exchanged yearbooks to sign and she wrote about the romantic night on the bus. It was the last day of school and as I read it, felt like the asshole I truly was.  She was pretty, but she was also kind and caring. I wanted to be with her, but did not have the wisdom or courage to face her father again. 

A couple of years later, I was in a corporate bowling league.  Early in the season, I discovered her working the snack counter at the ally. We talked a small bit about nothing of substance and I had to return to my team. That night, I scored the highest game I ever had, a 216. And it held up throughout the year to win me a trophy,

As I went home that night, I thought about her and wondered if there was still a chance for romance. I spent the entire week trying to figure out what to say to her. But she wasn’t there. She had quit her job. 

The night in the bus happened in January.  Had I not acted like a jerk, I might have taken her to prom. 

But here’s the thing: I’ve been living with the girl I did go to the prom with for five years, and we had been dating for another five years on and off while I travelled around the country.    

And so, like I said, the decisions we make can dramatically change our lives. . . .or not!

More geezer gripes

Being old sucks. I hate the pain and sometimes confused mind. But what I rally despise is being out of touch with many things that have apparently passed me by. So I once again take to keyboard to share some of the things I believe.

The Statue of Liberty has a poem that begins “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses wearing to breathe free.”

My Irish grandmother came to these shores, arriving in Philadelphia, and wound up marrying a man who was one of Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. After the Spanish-American war, the couple produced three kids. One was my mother, another my Aunt and a third who passed away at the age of 12 or so after the First World War when there was a world-wide pandemic. My Grandfather never made it back from that war, dying in the French combat trenches, about a month before the war would end. Left to make some sort of living, she cooked for Orthodox Jews on Saturdays, and cleaned houses and took in laundry. My aunt, the oldest, dressed up like a woman (she was 13) and became a telephone operator. My six year old mother began working Vaudeville as “Baby Peggy,” who sung and danced and mostly tried to look cute. She then learned typing and shorthand spending her career as a legal secretary. 

I don’t know too much about my father’s side other than I’m a fifth-generation American. They were all working class people, landing in New York and doing blue collar work delivering beer to bars, and getting into the building trades. They came from a German background. 

In other words, I am a product of American Labor. 

So I believe that all immigrants should be given a chance to make something of themselves and help their families. But there is a huge difference between my ancestors and today’s immigrants. The culture at their time demanded that they learn to speak, read and write English. I don’t like having to put bi-lingual language on products. The print is too small and my old eyes frequently can’t read the packing. 

I also think that people speaking in another language in public is impolite, and it is often in places where I’m the customer and being ignored. 

• * *

I’m peeved that I can’t send certain things to school for lunch with my kids. I am especially angry about peanut butter. I, and most of my friends grew up on PB&J. As lunch, it is cheap, filling and tastes great. Combine it with a carton of milk and it’s great.

But a very few children have allergies to peanuts. So what many want is being denied for the sake of a few. It’s political correctness taken to an extreme. 

• * *

Speaking of political correctness, I’m an American. I might be German-Irish, but I have no need to identify like that. Native Americans were called Indians. I don’t know how this came about.

Speaking of that, I grew up describing African Americans as either Negros or Colored People. After a decade of these people identifying themselves as “Black,” they are now insisting on being called African Americans. Over a lifetime it’s confusing. Though I was raised to never use the “N” word. And I watched “Amos and Andy” on TV every afternoon until my father sat me down and explained stereotypes to me. 

Anyhow, I think that while people try to do what’s right, when they are met with anger for using a term that people object to, a discussion about what was said can do more than anger and screaming. 

I recently got into an argument with a childhood friend who is African American. He continued to attack me for my opinion about history. I have repeatedly told him I will never understand his experience. I stated what I saw as factual history and his view was the opposite. We went from a discussion of what we believed into constant bickering and it got so ugly, I had to unfriend him – something I deeply regret but can’t figure out how to remove the unfriend command on Facebook.

But the intolerance to viewpoints that don’t match your own is causing great harm to us as a people. 

For the record, I spent many years living at a farm for boys that was about 40 percent black. I never heard one racist remark. I attended a high school that was about 80 percent white and our senior year class officers. When a reporter once asked me why, I told her that the white officers we had for three years did virtually nothing and it was time for a change. I thought my best friend in high school was a black man who was a co-manager for the track team. The next year I learned he was married and had a pregnant teen wife after he killed himself driving a Corvette when working at a hotel. Obviously I didn’t know very much about what I thought was our relationship. 

• * *

I can’t stand helicopter parents. I came home from school, changed into my play clothes and went out with everyone else in the neighborhood to play, usually baseball without any supervision. We settled our own disagreements. We didn’t have portable phones. We knew when it was time to come home when it got dark. We walked or rode our bikes to school or took a school bus. After the first day of school, when our parents took us to the bus stop, we were on our own. We went to the stop as a group. We also took public transportation unescorted. I sometimes went into New York with a friend. Sometimes my mom didn’t even know. Yet I was safe. 

But if we got into some real trouble, the whole neighborhood would be calling home. When I was in second grade, we lived at a lake. My buddy Bruce and I decided to walk home on the thin ice. The thunder of ice cracking was heard all over the lake and mothers started calling my mother and kept their eyes on us as we walked home. There was hell to pay for both of us when we finally reached the dock at my house. 

A call from the teacher had better be about schoolwork. And a call from the principal equalled “Wait till your father gets home!” Which was a month’s grounding and/or a very red butt. 

• * *

When Personal Computers came out, I was scared of them. I didn’t know how to operate one. I bought a Mac when I was interested in getting a computer simply because it worked. Working with DOS and Windows was nearly impossible. I had no clue what the Internet was but eventually I learned. In college, I got a Mac with some great software that would permit tons of apps like PhotoShop, Illustrator, Quark and Avid. Since then, all of them have become obsolete. It is incompatible with my present Mac because of a different type of chip. 

Why the hell can’t you use software once worth thousands of dollars today? Because the computer industry wants you to replace software. 

The advent of smart phones is also a problem. I can send pix, text and actually make calls with my old flip phone. But I found myself staying for a couple of months in a campground without internet. Now, I have hundreds of books, shopping with Amazon for anything but fresh and frozen food. I am able to listen to songs dating back to the depression, I have television and movies, news sites, the ability to take notes, have a compass, do banking, get a taxi, get a date, text with friends and more. I used to wear a watch. But it’s built into the phone and almost all of these apps can now be put on a watch.

Guess what? I haven’t seen most of my friends in years, and at night, the girlfriend and I sit next to each other not talking while on our phones and Kindles.

I yearn for the days when there was a phone mounted to the wall and am becoming convinced that I could live without cell phones. But I’m just too addicted.

• * *

As I get older, I don’t drive anymore and my phone is my lifeline to the world. Though I must admit that Uber and mass transit is far cheaper than car payments, insurance, fuel and maintenance. 

• * *

Once upon a time, I wore a tee shirt bragging “Yea though I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no evil, ‘cause I’m the meanest S.O.B. in the valley.”

These days the tees I wear say ‘I’ve been through hell, but I’m still standing.’

But now I’m thinking of buying a shirt that says ‘life sucks and then you die.’ 

Or perhaps, “If I knew what was going to happen, I never would have come out of the womb.”

So anyhow, dear reader, “live long and prosper.”

Send in the clowns.

I am writing this as I am trying to comprehend all that has come about in the impeachment actions to date. Even though the Democrats contend the phone call is a clear path to impeachment, the devil is in the details and there are many, many details.  

I have opposed Donald Trump since the day he came down the escalator at Trump Tower announcing his candidacy to the cheers of hundreds. On that day, he ranted about Mexican immigrants being criminals and rapists, beginning his ongoing ego-driven, obsessive actions in an attempt to build a wall. 

But his irrational behavior wasn’t the cause for my opposition to him. It was the fact that he hired out-of-work Broadway actors to cheer for him that day. He was a fraud. 

But his irrational behavior wasn’t the cause for my opposition to him. It was the fact that he hired out-of-work Broadway actors to cheer for him that day. He was a fraud.

Over the time of the campaign, the many things he did as a businessman, especially stiffing tradespeople such as carpenters and electricians, offended me. The fact that he hired illegal immigrants at his resorts, made me think of him as a Hypocrite. 

Yet there were enough people who supported him to elect him. I am sure that many of those votes were anti-Hillary compared to pro-Donald. But the emergence of so many Trump supporters, mostly angry white men, has created a climate of artificial division that has led to mob mentality and school shootings. 

But I don’t understand the blind support of everything Trump. I think the words of one of my Facebook friends is probably the key to all this. He said he is disgusted with  Trump’s personal faults. But he supports the executive actions he has taken. 

I am sure that many of those votes were anti-Hillary compared to pro-Donald. But the emergence of so many Trump supporters, mostly angry white men, has created a climate of artificial division that has led to mob mentality and school shootings. 

It is my belief that the real reason Trump decided to run was because of the way he was treated as the butt of jokes from President Obama and others as he had to quietly sit and take it at the White House Correspondents Dinner. He was humiliated, and I think the reason he has revoked so many Obama programs is because of this. And, of course, his “fake news” attacks on the press. 

A major issue to me is Trump’s mental health. He is indeed right when he states he is under constant attack by the media and Democrats. But most of the attacks are the result of Trump’s own words and actions. He has always been a magnet for controversy decades before his presidency.

But what concerns me most is that Trump is especially sensitive to criticism. If people like you or I were subjected to these constant acts, we would become very defensive. But it could also lead to an incredible breakdown – and I believe that Trump’s recent actions and words have left us to inquire if he is a danger to himself or others? He has an ongoing history of diverting an existing problem by creating newer problems. In this case, it’s getting involved with the problems in Saudi Arabia. And that, clearly, makes him a danger to others. 

There are many other issues I have with the president, but they are too many to list here and not really related to the issues of impeachment. But this is what I think, subject to change:

I have to consider if what the Democrats are doing is because of what is right, or a partisan power play. It is no doubt something of both.

1. Many of Trump’s actions, especially using his properties for uses being paid for by the people of this country through their tax dollars, has created an ongoing series of constitutional issues. But the focus on the conversation with a foreign leader and the issues discussed are certainly cause for possible impeachment. But compared to his other actions, this is comparatively weak. But it is still a strong case which is more easy to follow. 
2. The Republican side is partisan almost in its entirity. It would take 20 GOP senators to change their minds for a removal from office to be possible. But it hasn’t ever happened. The Senate acquitted Andrew Johnson by a single, courageous vote and Bill Clinton was acquitted in a Republican-controlled Senate because there was no supermajority. Nixon, facing certain impeachment by the House, and conviction by the Senate, chose to resign. There is even a question about if McConnell would permit it to go to trial. 
3. I have to consider if what the Democrats are doing is because of what is right, or a partisan power play. It is no doubt something of both.
4. There is a matter of timing. It would be the center of the Presidential election. And the people would become the real jury at the ballot box. If this were to happen, the political divisiveness would probably continue for another four years. This must be resolved before the Republican national convention. And that convention will be chaotic, especially since so many states have called off GOP primary elections.

So how could Trump resolve this? 

Trump could choose to not stand for re-election “for the good of the country” much as Lyndon Johnson did. It would keep him in office until his term expires. 

He could resign from office and have Pence pardon him for all crimes, as what happened with Ford and Nixon. The biggest problem with this is a number of state investigations could get him indicted for state crimes. He can be held for account by several crimes relating to his businesses and the women he bedded and bribed. If nothing else it would make his tax returns public. 

He could instruct his cabinet to remove him from office as being mentally unfit. This could result in Trump being unable to assist in his own defense at state trials. 

He could also resign and “retire” to one of his resorts in a nation that does not have an extradition treaty with the United States. 

Another issue is how much influence his family has on him. It is pretty certain that his wife does not want to be first lady. And there is the legal liability his daughter and son-in-law have. 

The bottom line is still up to Trump and McConnell, and there is no way of knowing how they plan to deal with this mess of their own making. 

As I said on a recent Facebook Post:

Hopefully, the impeachment process will not become a political circus.

Who am I kidding?

🤡 Way too many clowns!  🤡

Ancient Hippie Fest

You don’t need to get stoned to be mellow.

A bunch of very aging hippies gathered last night at the community theater in Morristown, NJ. I worked there as an usher more than 50 years ago, but 20 or so years ago, it became a center for performing arts. 

About once or twice a year, we go there to see a show. We went to a traveling performance of “Momma Mia” and a lecture by Dr. Oz. But last night was something special: a return to the early 1960s when folk music was at its peak. The Kingston Trio, The Limelighters and The Brothers Four all were sharing a concert. 

Now for those of you who are not experiencing your 70s or 80s in birthdays, you have to understand that folk music was unlike the hard rock that is mostly associated during that decade. The music was completely acoustic. Guitars, banjos, acoustic bass and even ukes and bongos were a part of the scene. Some of the songs were legendary from the depression. But many more were commentary from the era. 

At one point, the Kingston Trio were the Number One act in the world. And the Limelighters and Brothers Four could easily fill an arena. There were others like Bob Dylan, Peter Paul and Mary, and the Chad Mitchell Trio. All except Dylan were known for magnificent harmony. And the songs were all easy to remember.

Almost immediately, we were in a geezer sing-a-long. Nearly all the songs were old friends. One song, which started a medley was “Yellow Bird.” It was a minor song then but the words immediately came to mind and they were so sweet. In high school, on my first day in choir, I had never had any musical training where I had to sing. The teacher tested me and put me in the first bass section. She kept me after class and asked if I had any music training at all. I told her no. She said men were bass, baritone and tenor. But I was a monotone. But she knew I did have a talent. I could mimic and she put me next to the best bass when we gave a concert and I was passable. 

Suddenly, after more than 50 years, I was once again able to mimic and my oft horribly awesome voice blended in just fine. 

After nearly three hours, I was way, way more relaxed and mellow. I honestly couldn’t remember how long it was that I felt this good. It was ‘groovy.”

For that night, the pains of age left me,. The worries of being broke disappeared and the anxiety of relationships took the night off. Faaaaar out!