By Which Rules?

In sports, as well as in life, there are written and unwritten rules. And sometimes, the unwritten ones take precedence.

Two incidents in major league baseball just a few days apart illustrate the point. Both involved catchers. I toiled at that position as a youth on grade school, high school, American Legion, and county league teams, so the news got my attention.

First, Buster Posey, a legitimate all-star performer with the San Francisco Giants, had a broken leg after an opponent crashed into him instead of sliding as Posey awaited a throw near the plate. Posey is out for the season. Just days later, Houston Astros’ catcher Humberto Quintero was put on the 15-day disabled list with a sprained ankle after a collision at home plate.

What’s new? Not much. Catchers have led most leagues in injuries since the game began back in the 1800s. “Muddy” Ruel knew of what he spoke when he dubbed the face mask, shin guards, and chest protector (plus a cup to protect a young man’s most important parts) as “The Tools of Ignorance.” Ruel was a catcher for the Washington Senators. The implication was that intelligent people with some semblance of ability could choose more rewarding positions with fewer hazards.

I was a very slow runner with other limited skills, so working behind the plate was my only real chance to participate in what was then, without a doubt, America’s pastime. Green Bay Packers t-shirts were rarely seen when I was a kid in Wisconsin. Chicago Cubs and White Sox and St. Louis Cardinals (and eventually Milwaukee Braves) caps were common. Every rinky-dink town had a baseball team, and, especially on Sundays, going out to the old ballpark was the thing to do. Boys wanted to be part of the action, and donning “The Tools of Ignorance” was my chance for glory.
 
My baseball career ended at age 17. By then I was smart enough to know I couldn’t hit curve balls tossed by even washed-up former minor league players. I also knew by then I had a relatively weak throwing arm to go with my poor foot speed. Before those truths dawned on me, I had played in several hundred games.

Four things remain from my days on the diamond. A deep bone bruise in my left hand still hurts if something hits there hard enough. The thumb on my right hand is noticeably larger than the one on the left, the result of being split open (it resembled an overcooked hotdog at the time) by a foul tip. All four fingers on my left hand work just fine (I can type really fast), but I can bend them at the first joint in a way few other people can. My left kneecap has a small scar over an area that serves well as a weather forecaster.

That’s what catchers do. They get hurt, whether the hurt is applied by errant balls, foul tips, flying bats, or base runners intent on scoring any way they can.

During the time I played, and to this day, the written rule in baseball said a catcher cannot impede a runner by standing in the base path without the ball. I knew that, because I made an effort to be familiar with the rules of the game.

My high school coach, who was a former minor league catcher as well as a college football star, never mentioned it. He taught the unwritten rule: “Your job as a catcher is to guard that plate. Make the opponents respect your territory. Whenever you can, make them pay a price for crossing the plate.”

My mentor pointed out that catchers have an advantage. The “Tools of Ignorance” give them some armor-plating the runners don’t have. That doesn’t always help, though. It often didn’t help in county ball.

The Lincoln County League, where I played two summers, was made up mostly of men in their 20s and 30s with only a smattering of high school boys. It was a man’s game, no question.

In one contest at Tug Lake, a community consisting almost entirely of a tavern and a rudimentary baseball field with no fences, the going got rough. Early in the game, a runner charged in from third base after tagging up on a fly ball. I took the throw and had plenty of time to block the path between him and the plate. He chose to slide with one foot high enough in the air to rake a spike across my leg above my shin guard. There is no written rule against that kind of high-spiking; there is an unwritten rule.

He was the third out, so the father of one of our players had time to give me medical attention between innings. That consisted of pulling a piece of sod out of my wound, dousing the cut with beer, and applying a bandage brought by a lady who had been watching the game from a window in the tavern. I continued to play. We had no subs.

A bit later, one of my teammates, Joe Obey, retaliated. Obey weighed well over 200 pounds and had success as a football center and hockey goalie among his athletic credentials. He was clearly out at first base on a routine ground ball. The first baseman somewhat sloppily let his foot drag over the bag. Obey stepped on it. Howls of pain and a few choice words resulted, but there was no serious injury.

Perhaps intentionally, perhaps not, an opposing runner tried to run right over me several innings later. He was attempting to score on an infield ground ball. I blocked the plate without the ball, assuming it had a chance of arriving about the time he did. It did.

The runner threw himself into me with a sort of clumsy cross-body block. But he missed most of me. I heard a sharp crack as I tagged him out. The middle of his shin had collided with the middle of my shin guard. He had a broken leg. The game was stopped for some time waiting for a stretcher and an ambulance. There were no further incidents, and both teams adjourned to the bar after the contest.

In the wake of the major league collisions, some are proposing rules changes to make it illegal for runners to try to level catchers and to keep catchers from impeding a runner’s path to the plate. The latter already is the rule. Neither of the two injured big league catchers had the ball when they were bashed. They were the ones violating the rule, not the runners.

The better player of the two, Posey, made somewhat conflicting statements. “I don’t think he did anything illegal,” he said of the runner who broke his leg. Later, he suggested that runners might be required to slide if “a lane presented itself.” Why should they have to slide when they could score by just running straight ahead?

Traditionalists yowled that just because an all-star was seriously hurt doesn’t mean the rules should be changed, and that injuries in the battleground around home plate are inevitable. I’m pretty much of an anti-violence guy, but in this case I’m with the traditionalists.

And, it’s not all bad to have a left knee that throbs a little to warn you when a storm is coming.

In Grateful Memory

Pfc. Robert L. Voakes, Jr. (U.S. Army), 21, L’Anse, Michigan. Killed by an enemy explosive in Laghman Province, Afghanistan, June 4, 2011.

One Up, For Sure


The geezer used to get lots of laughs with this line:

“Utah has a higher birth rate than Bangladesh.”

Well, no one stays atop the comedy charts for long. Recently, blogger Kay Dennison (http://kaysthinkingcap.blogspot.com) provided a U-Tube link in which Bill Maher rolled them in the aisles while discussing presidential candidate Mitt Romney. Maher said:

 “Mormons have a higher birth rate that Catholics on Ecstasy.”

He’ll Be There


A trusted commentator, who keeps track of such things, wrote on Memorial Day that many communities abandoned the traditional parades years ago. She said the holiday, originally established to honor Civil War dead, was becoming nothing more than a chance for family barbeques and other outings preceded by heavily promoted sales of outdoor merchandise. I was shocked.


By gum, Plainwell, Michigan, hasn’t abandoned our parade. People decked out in red, white, and blue came from near and far. The Martin Fire Department even dispatched a truck, and their village is seven or eight miles away. Imagine that.


I lucked out. A little bench in front of the Plainwell Ice Cream Company, the most popular place in town during summer, miraculously was empty. There I perched for the whole show.


Just as I settled down, a white-haired man wearing a Veterans of Foreign Wars outfit sat down on the other end of the bench. As he rose to offer up a salute when the honor guard carried Old Glory past us, I noticed his shirt and trousers were crisply pressed, the brass insignia on his collar and cap sparkled, and his black shoes gleamed. I also noticed, as the procession continued, veterans and military personnel in the parade often SALUTED HIM as they passed by our bench.


Things like that still happen in small towns.


The parade was almost a replica of those held a half-century ago in my hometown, which is just about the size of Plainwell. The high school band tried mightily to stay in some sort of formation and deliver a martial air. Children, young and old, followed the band in various costumes and vehicles. Restorers of old cars and tractors showed off their prize possessions.


Floats (I use the term very loosely) sponsored by businesses, churches, schools, and other organizations appeared at intervals. Most were decorated trucks of various sizes and vintages. Three displayed signs honoring a Plainwell boy killed in Afghanistan just a week earlier (see previous post). After the parade, a special ceremony at the city’s veteran’s memorial monument honored him. That was nice.


Everything wasn’t solemn, though. Few others seemed to make the connection, but I doubled over in laughter after a business “float” followed by a dozen girls decked out in Uncle Sam uniforms had passed. A point of local pride is that boys from our county formed the Federal unit that captured Confederate President Jefferson Davis near the end of the Civil War. Apparently unaware of which side Michigan was on, the operator of a CD player on the “float” programmed it to blare out the strains of “Dixie.”


What the heck, nobody in the parade was a professional, except the cops who kept things in order and the firemen who showed off their equipment. After the last police car signaled the end of the procession, many of the bystanders headed for an ice cream social on the lawn of the Community Center. The social was conducted by volunteers to benefit a women’s shelter charity.


The VFW guy and his wife just got up without a word and headed, arm-in-arm, for their car, which was parked not far from mine.


Abandon the Memorial Day Parade? I’ll bet if that old vet hears of any such nonsense, he’ll personally march through Plainwell to keep it from happening.

In Grateful Memory

PFC Thomas C. Allers (U.S. Army),

23, Plainwell, Michigan, killed by an    

improvised bomb in Kunar Province,

Afghanistan, May 23, 2011. We did

not know the family; many in our

area did.  He was an only child and

a well-liked grad of the local high

school.

The Price is What?


A few years ago, when beautiful wife Sandy and I were young marrieds, we had to watch every penny to stay above the poverty line. Included in our little family was a lovable poodle named Mitch—for Mitch Miller, the sing-along star of TV fame. Trust me; there really was a resemblance between the jovial band leader and our favorite pooch.


We wanted all the best for Mitch so, despite our meager bank account, when doggie problems came up we promptly took him to a veterinarian of good repute. Dr. Shebanek had a degree from Ohio State as a credential, and a pleasant dog-side manner that made clients want to return whenever professional care was indicated. After several visits, we noticed the bill was identical for quite different services.


We began to refer to the good vet as “Twenty-dollar Shebanek.” We paid that amount every time we put Mitch in his care. Perhaps the limited fee schedule was a way of simplifying his bookkeeping.


Nearly a half century and lots of cost inflation later, we noticed a certain parallel. Sandy’s computer went soundless. Our favorite expert couldn’t fix it. It was repaired at the local techie place. Cost: $200.


This happened about a week after a blogger from Ohio reported her computer developed a mysterious ailment, which her electronic expert friend couldn’t fix. It went into the shop for repairs. Cost: $200. Just after Sandy’s puter returned to duty a blogger in Virginia said his machine went whacko and was sent off for treatment because he could not find a cure. Cost: $200.


We just don’t know what to call the repair nerds. Maybe, $200 geeks? Doesn’t seem to have much pizzazz to it.

Hold That Celebration


All sorts of reports appeared over the weekend of people in many places partying and cracking bad jokes because it appeared that the forecast Judgment Day and associated Rapture transporting the worthy to heaven was just another false alarm.


Well, hold on there a minute, folks.


It is true that Judgment Day did not start at 6 p.m. on May 21 in New Zealand with an earthquake as the prophesy said it would. And nothing spectacular happened at 6 p.m. as we progressed through the other time zones. But that is not cause for celebration or ridicule. The preacher who launched the whole idea surely will point this out as soon as he has had a chance to think things through.


A quick check of the status of most of my friends and acquaintances shows all are still with us. But we would have to check the missing person lists worldwide to be sure others were not raptured soon after their clocks struck six. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but few if any of my contacts have unblemished records. I may have committed a few minor transgressions myself. It is, therefore, not surprising that none of us vanished over the weekend.

If the bar was set very high, it just could be that only a dozen or so humans qualified to rise into the kingdom on the 21st. The rest of humanity, according to the prophesy, will get what’s coming to us between now and October 22. During that time, a series of catastrophes will extinguish many lives throughout the world. On the 21st, presumably at 6 p.m. although the prophet didn’t state the hour for this event, the world will end in a fiery ball.


Looking at things this way explains something that’s been bothering me. Following my generous offer (see May 11 post) to accept excess assets from all who believed they were too wealthy to make it into heaven, I received only two responses. One fellow blogger sent me a bill for $40,010.00, after calculating that his net worth was under water. The other respondent mailed a check for $1.37.


It’s too late now to make yourself more attractive by shedding your cash. You’ll all just have to join me in toughing it out until fall. Then we can party with confidence.

Modesty, First Class


For about 20 years when we lived in Ogden, Utah, the Geezer regularly played golf on Saturday mornings at the Ben Lomond Golf Club with the “Local Legends.” The Legends were mostly U.S. Forest Service personnel and retirees, but there was some diversity in the membership.


For a time, Richard Jones, a professor at Weber State University, played in the group. Of course, he almost immediately became known as “Dr. J.” What else?


Dr. J. was a big man who appeared to be in excellent condition and could hit golf balls a long way. He soon was asked the obvious question, “Did you play football in college?”


“Yeah, I played for a couple of years at a small West Coast school,” the professor somewhat grudgingly admitted.


Dr. J. continued with a story about one of the toughest games he ever played in when Michigan State badly defeated his team. Spartan coach Duffy Daugherty went directly into the losing team’s locker room after the game and gave a little speech telling the dejected players they should be proud of they way they conducted themselves during the contest. Dr. J. said he had never forgotten that example of goodwill by an opponent and how he was positively affected by it.


What was the “small West Coast school” whose team lost that day with our friend at tackle?


Stanford.

In Grateful Memory 

Cpl. Daniel W. Courneya (U.S. Army) 19, Vermontville, Michigan. Killed by enemy fire near Al Taga, Iraq, May 12, 2011.

Let Me Save You


We have been assured by Christian fundamentalist Harold Camping and his followers that the long-awaited Judgment Day is May 21. That gives us only ten more days of normal life.


The Geezer was concerned. A quick google of “Judgment Day” turned up all the biblical arguments and associated mathematical formulas that Camping says prove beyond a doubt we all will be brought to judgment on the 21st. Further, after a period of Rapture in which the “elect” will be taken up into heaven, the world will end on October 21. The webpage evidence was overwhelming. It made a believer of me.


Being convinced we now are living in the last few day’s of the history of earth, I did a little more Internet searching for details about just who the “elect” may be. Well, I found precisely who they will not be.


The Christian bible says, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of God.” Wow! That’s pretty clear. We can assume that rich women, except for very skinny ones, also are excluded from entering the pearly gates. In the days Matthew allegedly penned the words, men didn’t feel much obligation to give spending money to their ladies, which probably explains the discriminatory language.


Some fundamentalists have tried to wiggle out of the clear biblical meaning by claiming the “eye” really is a narrow street or gate, so only the chubbiest of billionaires would have to be concerned. A majority of religious thinkers, however, say those who put forth this view are full of camel dung. The needle is a needle, and needles don’t have big eyes. And camels have big humps.


Unfortunately, nowhere in the bible is there a concise, or any other, definition of “rich.” So we are left on our own to figure that out. At least in America, almost everyone who is not extremely wealthy took a real kick in the assets during the last two years. So, it seems fair to define as “rich” any person whose net worth at the moment exceeds $10.


After pondering the situation at length, I have decided to sacrifice myself to save vast numbers of my fellow citizens. After all, I have lived a long and satisfying life. It is now time to dedicate what few days remain to others.


If you are nervous about your wealth, you can wrest yourself from among the rich guys who are going to unpleasant places on October 21 by cashing everything in and sending me the difference between your liquified assets and $10. Hurry. This offer definitely expires at midnight May 20. After that, it's a crap shoot.


Should the million-to-one chance that the fundamentalists are wrong actually happen and we are still here on October 22, I will cheerfully return all of your cash (except for a minor administrative fee of 5 percent to cover postage, transportation, and office expenses).


No need to thank me. The joy of giving myself up for a good cause will be reward enough.

Was He Worth It?


Two related things deserving of comment happened this week at almost the same time. As just about everybody knows, President Obama announced that Osama bin Laden had been killed in Pakistan. A day earlier, a Blog reader asked why I limit posts honoring our war dead in the Middle East to men and women from Michigan.


Considering the question first, the Geezer would like to honor all our troops and those of our allies equally. Unfortunately, I simply don’t have the time or resources to identify and salute every individual who falls in combat or is killed as a result of our wars in the Muslim world.


I only had to lower my flag and do a post here four times during April to recognize American heroes from my home state of Michigan who were killed in the Middle East. Four is a terrible toll, but it is only a fraction of the 49 young men and women from throughout the USA who were killed during April in Afghanistan and Iraq. And it is an even smaller number compared to the total of NATO allies lost plus hundreds of Afghans and Iraqis killed during the month.


The news media seem to have lost any interest they had in reporting Middle East casualties, but if you want to keep track of part of the carnage you can do so at http://freedomremembered.com/. That site will give you details of American deaths as they continue at the rate of about one every day. For the others, you will have to do additional detective work.


One of our government’s stated purposes for spending nearly a decade as an occupying force in Afghanistan was to hunt down bin Laden. Now we have succeeded in that. I most assuredly do not mourn his passing. But I wonder whether the life of that despicable monster was worth even one of the fallen sons, daughters, or grandchildren of my Michigan neighbors and many other good people throughout the world who participated in his pursuit.


Will we now honor all of our troops and their comrades by bringing them home?

In Grateful Memory                


Pfc. Robert M. Friese (U.S. Army) 21, Chesterfield, Michigan. Killed by a rocket-propelled grenade, Al Qadisiyah Province, Afghanistan, April 29, 2011.

In Grateful Memory
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Sgt. David P. Day (U.S. Marine Corps) 26, Gaylord, Michigan. Killed by a roadside bomb, Badghis Province, Afghanistan, April 24, 2011.

The Right Mix for the USA

Those Cats are Too Fat 

A Cocktail Party Position on Taxes
  


Now that some of the smoke and hot air has blown away and we are into serious discussions about federal budgets and how to stop the deficit bleeding, it is time to start talking sense about income tax rates. As usual, quite a few statements by politicians on both ends of the political spectrum twist the facts, or simply are not true.


One common assertion is almost true. The most recent Bush-era tax cuts are derided by political opponents as a gift to the wealthy. Actually, all taxpayers got a reduction. However, the very rich did benefit the most because the top dogs saw the maximum rate reduced from 44 percent to 35 percent, a huge advantage for them.


That brings up something often misunderstood about income taxes. Using an example that might apply to some of us mere mortals, let’s compare a couple filing jointly with taxable income of $50,000 and one whose income is $4 million. The tax rate for the little guys is 13.3 percent. The tax rate for the wealthy couple on the first $50,000 of their taxable income also is 13.3 percent—exactly the same. Higher rates for the high earners gradually kick-in at higher levels of income; the fat cat couple does not pay 35 percent on all of their income, only the amount that exceeds $379,150.


Consider President Obama’s income taxes this year. All recent presidents have made their return information public—a good thing. The Obamas filed jointly. Their income totaled $1.73 million. Most of it was the President’s $400,000 salary and royalties from three books he authored that sold millions of copies. The Obamas paid $453,770 in income taxes. That’s a lot of cash, but it is 26 percent and change, not 35 percent.


Knowing their tax records will be made public no doubt inhibits the Obamas from using tax loopholes to reduce their rate to an even lower level. Most wealthy folks have no such constraints. They can hire accountants and attorneys the little guys cannot afford. It is well-documented that the experts guide their clients to numerous legal ways to avoid a whole lot of income taxes. The rich don’t need much help in finding ways to profit from capital gains; these rates are lower than the income tax levels. People at the low end of the income spectrum have little or no ability to earn capital gains.


Some of the wealthy like to point out that they support millions of low-income people who pay no income taxes at all. It is true that nearly half of Americans pay no income taxes through their annual returns to the Internal Revenue Service, but some of those filers are quite well-to-do. And, everyone who works is liable for payroll taxes that finance Social Security and Medicare. These amounts are income taxes, even if we choose to call them something else.


Congress responded to an Obama proposal by using some trickery to give employees a gift throughout 2011. The usual 6.2 percent Social Security tax on wages was reduced to 4.2 percent. The difference, the legislation says, will be made up in transfers of funds from the treasury to the Social Security trust funds. The trouble with that is the treasury is broke, and the gift contributes to the ballooning deficit. The Social Security trust funds were doing just fine, with a multi-trillion dollar surplus, before this ruse went into effect. It is going to be difficult for Congress to take back this unnecessary gift at the end of 2011. If this tax reduction is not rescinded, it will seriously weaken the Social Security system.


Opponents of any income tax increase claim a return to the 44 percent top rate for the wealthy would retard the creation of badly needed jobs, and even contribute to increases in unemployment. That line of thinking is at odds with reality. The top rate peaked at 92 percent in the early 1950s. It was reduced to 77 percent in 1964 and later to 70 percent, where it stayed throughout most of the 1970s. The three decades when very high rates were in effect were among the most prosperous times in American history.


As the top income tax rate was lowered, we experienced a massive redistribution of wealth in the U.S. from the poor and the middle class to the rich. Reports based on Internal Revenue Service statistics show this clearly. One appearing in The Washington Post last summer said the average income for the top one percent of earners rose 281 percent, or about $973,000 per household, in the previous 10 years. The bottom 20 percent of earners saw their incomes rise only 16 percent, or $2,400 per household, during the same period. When inflation is factored in, poor and middle-class workers actually lost money while the fat cats grew much fatter.


The top one percent of Americans now take in nearly 25 percent of the annual income generated in the country. They control 40 percent of the wealth. These figures have risen dramatically recently as unemployment also rose to high levels.


Americans are fascinated by the rich and famous, and most of us admire those who climb up the economic ladder through their hard work, often coupled with risk-taking. We think they deserve to be well-rewarded. But we know instinctively that the current vast and growing gap between the rich and poor in the U.S. is unhealthy. Respect for the rich is turning to anger over huge Wall Street bonuses and outlandish salaries for corporate officers and a government that seems unable or unwilling to make adjustments to compensate for the excesses.

What we feel in our guts is bad for America has a scientific basis. A 2009 best-seller, The Spirit Level: Why Greater Equality Makes Societies Stronger, describes links between wide income gaps in nations and social problems. The problems including obesity, mental illness, drug and alcohol abuse, homicides, imprisonment rates, lowered life expectancies, over consumption of resources, teen pregnancy, and lack of upward mobility.


Surprisingly, the scientists state that many of the problems are experienced by the rich as well as the poor when wealth is very unequally distributed. And the connections to wealth inequality prevail in rich as well as poor nations. The scientists once again confirm the link between income gaps and poverty, which has been described many times.


Error rates can be high in studies involving the human condition and interpretations of data always are somewhat subjective in the social sciences. But if the authors of The Spirit Level are correct about only a few of the links they describe, we have compelling evidence that huge gaps in income and wealth within nations contribute to vexing problems that have high costs for all citizens. The ultimate solution when the gaps become too wide is revolution. No thinking American wants that.


The Cocktail Party endorses three actions to reduce the gap between the haves and have-nots in America to a more reasonable level, help reduce the federal deficit, and preserve Social Security:


1. Restore the top income tax rate to the 44 percent level when the current tax legislation authorizing the 35 percent rate expires.


2. Return the Social Security payroll tax rate for employees to 6.2 percent at the end of 2011.

3. Remove the cap on Social Security payroll taxation, which currently is $106,800, but leave the maximum payout where it is. Currently, the Social Security payout for workers who earned high salaries and retire at age 66 is nearly $26,000 per year. It rises through cost-of-living adjustments as do all payouts. That’s plenty of safety net for any destitute fat cats who manage to lose their millions. Removing the taxation limit coupled with minor changes in the way cost-of-living adjustments are calculated is sufficient to assure Social Security will be solvent for the foreseeable future.


The fat cats can well afford to slim down a little for their own good and the common good.


To review the announcement of the founding of the Great American Cocktail Party visit the August 5, 2010 post titled “Coffee, Tea, or . . .” in the archive on the right-hand column of this Blog.

In Grateful Memory
                                                                     
Lance Cpl. Dominic J. Ciaramitaro (U.S. Marine Corps) 19, South Lyon, Michigan. Killed in combat, Helmand Province, Afghanistan, April 23, 2011.

Put That in Your Cart and . . .


Beautiful wife Sandy is a shopping wizard. She can ferret out bargains obtainable with no sacrifice in quality and develop schemes for visits to stores that rank right up there with some of the more successful military campaigns in history. Sandy is at her best in dealing with the supermarket scene.


With rare exceptions, Wednesday is grocery shopping day. Sandy spends about a half-hour taking inventory, checking for coupon deals, and developing a list. Visits to two, and sometimes three, supermarkets are planned. I go along on the shopping trips often enough to maintain a barely adequate ability to handle the tasks on the infrequent occasions when Sandy is not available to replenish our supplies.


Wednesday is the day of choice for several reasons. All three markets get major deliveries on the same days, and Sandy long ago coordinated her visits with those events. At all three, shelves are fully stocked with fresh merchandise on Wednesday. Also, weekend advertised specials are in effect, but by making a mid-week trip we avoid the clogged aisles and long checkout lines that make supermarket visits miserable on a Saturday or Sunday.


The first market on our route gives a 5 percent senior discount on all purchases—only on Wednesdays. Best of all for me, the same store offers free coffee to fully mature adults on Wednesdays. Yes, Wednesday is the day.


Our next stop generally has lower prices, and Sandy buys items there priced below the 5-percent discount level at stop one. Coffee is 50 cents a cup at the second market, not a bad deal at all if I haven’t fueled up sufficiently at the first place.


Because my only important contributions to successful market-going are sipping coffee and pushing the cart, I have ample time to observe the strange attire and activities of fellow shoppers. It is cheap entertainment—almost as good as sitting in an airport, one of our long-time favorite spots for people watching. The variety is incredible. I often coin playful names for some of the characters—Go-Cart Gertie, Aisle Blocker Blanche, Chatty Cathy Checkout, The Raucous Rug Rat—and quite a few not for publication here or elsewhere.


On a recent visit to what is the cleanest and best-maintained of the three markets, I noticed the door of the toilet enclosure for handicapped folks in the men’s room had been vandalized. Someone had inflicted numerous dents in the metal panel, as though the perpetrator had been pounding on the door with a club.


Could it have been the work of Harvey Stall Banger?

Buckets of Buds


Sure signs of spring have arrived. Golfers are out in droves, advertisers are extolling the virtues of the latest gardening gadgets and products, and the “Boys of Summer” are back at it doing their best to whack baseballs out of the park or prevent the other guys from hitting them “where they ain’t.”


For me, spring always sets off a bit of reflection back to the days when I served as Sports Editor of the Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune. Spring meant a new crop of young pro baseball players would arrive to start a 124-game schedule in the Midwest League. Covering the team, a farm club of the Minnesota Twins, was my primary task until falling leaves signaled the end of summer. The local club played home games at Witter Field.


Witter Field was a nice ballpark, but no one would mistake it for Yankee Stadium. The press box perched atop the roof over the stands directly behind home plate resembled an enlarged chicken coop.


The box was clean, but far from fancy. It included a counter across the area beneath the two open windows and a few folding chairs. Bill Nobles and Dave Van Wormer joined me there on many summer evenings. They served as public address announcers, and broadcast most of the Class A minor league games for radio station WFHR. They occasionally asked me to fill in some dead time with a statistical report. Those moments probably set radio announcing back quite a few years.


Equipment perhaps unique to our press box occupied one corner. A pail tied to a lengthy coil of rope stood ready for a midway point in the game when one or all of us usually got thirsty. The beer stand was directly below the press box.


We would put two dollars in the bucket, lower it to the beer dispenser, and wait until he tugged on the rope. We then reeled up three Buds and our change.


Our radio broadcasts and newspaper reports didn't suffer. We almost always confined ourselves to one Bud per game. For young Wisconsin men, that hardly amounted to anything. Fans near the beer stand often greeted the appearance of our bucket with a cheer, so we thought we were making a worthy contribution to fan entertainment in addition to slaking our thirst.


Ah, springtime at the old ballpark.

In Grateful Memory          

Hospitalman Benjamin D. Rast (U.S. Navy) 23, Niles, Michigan. Killed by a missile fired from an American drone, Helmand Province, Afghanistan, April 6, 2011.

What about Libya?


A reader posed the question regarding our latest military adventure after reading the geezer’s opinions (March 20 post, “When Will We Ever Learn?) regarding American involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan. Those opinions could be summarized as: “Get out.”

I’m a little nervous about another military entanglement in the Muslim world, but I believe the U.S engagement in Libya was justified. President Obama is being vilified just about equally by those who say we should have gone in sooner and those who claim we should not have entered the fray at all. Somewhere in the middle are various members of Congress who are complaining that they weren’t consulted, or even that Obama’s action was illegal without their approval.

It all reminds me of what many wise old U.S. Forest Service managers said during my career with that organization when we were in the middle of a controversy: “When we’re catching hell equally from the timber industry and the preservationists, we’ve got it about right.”

I think Obama got it about, but not quite, right this time.

To ignore the pleas for help from the young rebels in Libya would have sent a terribly wrong message to other youths calling for more freedom and democratic institutions throughout the Middle East. It would have sent an equally wrong signal to tyrants we have traditionally supported, such as the Saudi royal family. This, I think, is just the right time in history to change the course of our foreign policy to what we say it always has been—supporting freedom and democracy.

We don’t need to launch another dozen wars to pursue humane, rather than economic, goals. But we do need to demonstrate to the tyrants that they must make concrete progress toward reforms that benefit their people or they will lose any support we are giving them, and we will join international military opposition to them should it develop. We can help make the world a better place with that sort of policy.

Obama, I believe, made only one serious mistake in his approach to the Libyan situation. Early on, he announced to one and all that “Gadhafi must go.” That defined a not necessarily essential end point to the conflict. The current civil war could end in a stalemate, resulting in an east-west partitioning of Libya. I think a partition separating traditionally unfriendly tribes, although not entirely satisfactory, would represent progress. There was no reason to rule it out with an emotional declaration stating only one outcome is acceptable.

Otherwise, Obama did the correct things. He declines to agree with those who say he actually created an “Obama Doctrine” for dealing with rebellions against dictators, but I think he did. If he did, it’s a good doctrine.

He studied the situation carefully, almost until the last possible minute available to save the rebels. He waited for a commitment from the Arab League to oppose Gadhafi and a commitment from NATO allies to assume military leadership after our major involvement was completed. He helped get United Nations Security Council approval of action to protect Libyan civilians. He stated clearly that American troops would not be involved, and we were not going to accept a leadership position throughout the conflict.

This approach is superior to what we have done recently in the Middle East—launching an assault by all available American forces, dragging along only those allies we could coerce into participating. That’s the kind of action that got us in all the trouble in Iraq and Afghanistan, trouble we can’t seem to get out of.

Of course, the fact that the two wars have emptied our treasury may have been the primary factor in putting us on a better course than usual. Letting others take the military lead after a no-fly zone was established was a big cost saver for us. But it wasn’t a five-and-dime variety military action, either. Those Tomahawk cruise missiles (we fired about 112 the first night of our activities) cost $1 million to $1.3 million apiece. We had more than 2,000 stockpiled when we opened fire, so the costs won’t be immediate, but the bill will come due when we replenish the arsenal.

Those expensive missiles needed to be fired. Military leaders are unanimous in stating that the first step in establishing a “no-fly zone” is to knock out anti-aircraft weapons and detection systems. We did that pretty quickly. Now our involvement is limited to things we are very good at, such as aerial refueling and surveillance and related intelligence and communications operations. The rebels and our allies who have the biggest stake in creating a democratic Libya are handling the rest.

Our involvement in Libya has cost us some cash, but so far not one American life has been lost and we have saved many, many lives. Gadhafi said he would kill civilian opponents “like rats,” and go door to door to do it when he had the chance. There’s no reason to doubt his word on that. Our air and missile power attacks helped prevent slaughter on a giant scale. Obama needs only to stick to the limits he has set for American participation to make our part in the Libyan intervention a success we can take pride in.

Call the new approach whatever you want—a doctrine, a policy, a blunder, an accident of history. I call it a welcome, new approach when force becomes necessary to carrying out our responsibilities to help improve the human condition.

Madness in Madison

It’s no surprise that recent political events in Madison, Wisconsin, included some strange twists and turns plus touches of creativity.


Democrat Senators fled the state to prevent passage of anti-union legislation. The Republican Governor finally got the bill passed with some parliamentary trickery. Protesters came from near and far. Most estimates pegged maximum crowd size in and near the capitol at between 85,000 and 100,000 on the busiest days.

A ferocious Badger

Some of the protesters displayed as much creativity as the Senators and Governor, including the lady pictured here with the sign she developed to let the Governor know just how she felt. The grandma, Nancy Rathke, displayed the tenacity of some protesters who now intend to impeach the Governor when she said, “Grandmas united can never be defeated. And now let’s make it so.”

Were I the Governor, I would be nervous.


Eccentric behavior has been a hallmark of Madison politics for a long time. Several unusual incidents occurred back in my student days at the University of Wisconsin and later when Sandy and I were residents of the city.


A young lawyer protested the addition of a one-way lane on University Avenue by driving the wrong way on it in an antique auto until the police showed up and arrested him. Local media were on hand and the publicity caused city fathers to remove the lane and restore the avenue to its previous condition.


A candidate for Mayor threw more than his hat in the ring when he held his announcement event at the “Dangle Lounge,” a notorious topless bar in downtown Madison. With media reps and political supporters packing the place, the candidate jumped up on the bar and opened his trench coat to reveal he literally “had nothing to hide.” The voters were not impressed by the full-frontal revelation--he lost the election by a considerable margin.


The Dangle Lounge, featuring athletic young women dancing all night on top of the bar, played a role in our lives when I worked for four years at the Forest Products Laboratory, a major U.S. Forest Service research facility on the edge of the University campus.


Quite a few relatives, friends, and Forest Service business associates visited us. The city offers may fine things for visitors to see—spectacular views from the Lake Mendota shoreline, a beautiful state Capitol, many excellent examples of Frank Lloyd Wright architecture, and other wonders. The University campus offers enough points of interest for a solid day of touring.


What did our visitors want to see when we asked them? After a moment of embarrassed silence, many suggested we take them to the Dangle Lounge. We hosted so many trips there that we actually got bored with the place.


Our good friend Dick Paynter, resident artist at the Forest Products Lab, fit right into the “Mad City” scene. Before one New Years Eve bash, he landed a moonlighting job at the Dangle. He was hired to apply body paint to the dancers. He created some interesting designs.


Sandy and I unwittingly accepted one of Paynter's recommendations when we asked about good places to go for a night on the town. Bars that openly acknowledged they catered to gay men were unusual in the late 1960s. We learned quickly that our friend had directed us to one.


We sat at the bar. The bartender was wearing a powder blue jumpsuit. When he decided he needed to visit the men's room, he unzipped the suit, let it fall to the floor, and calmly sauntered across the room in the buff.


Sandy and I were willing to try a few new things during our years together, but we never went to that bar again. There were enough other kinds of madness in Madison to amuse even the most jaded adventurers.

Aim, Boys, Aim


Would someone please tell those Libyan rebels who claim to be hard up for arms and ammunition to stop firing rounds into the air to celebrate every little thing? The enemy seldom attacks from that direction.

Sighting a Beauty


The death of Elizabeth Taylor this week rang a bell in my memory of a close, although brief, encounter with the great actress and legendary beauty.


The Chamber of Commerce in my hometown, Tomahawk, WI, for years billed the community as the “Gateway to the Great North Woods” as it sought to establish the place as a tourist mecca. We had many nice resorts in our locale and lots of visitors from the Milwaukee and Chicago areas who returned year after year, but ours was somewhat of a minor- league resort area. The big-time was farther up Highway 51, about 30 miles due north, in the Minocqua area.


In summer, Minocqua went from a sleepy little burg of about 1,000 souls to a booming place where the wealthy and near-wealthy escaped city heat and responsibilities in favor of boating, fishing, or just relaxing in an informal environment. Elizabeth Taylor spent some ten summer vacations at a lodge called Cedar Gates on Lake Minocqua.

Minocqua was pretty much a family vacation spot. Mom and Dad brought the kids along, and that meant an influx of teenage girls. This fact was not lost upon young men who lived a half-hour drive away. My friends and I made several forays to Minocqua, convinced we were just the guys to entertain any bored young ladies who were seeking companionship. I don’t, however, remember that we ever found any girls who shared our high opinion of ourselves.


One sunny day in the early 1950s, three of us were strolling down the small Minocqua main street. Ms. Taylor, arm-in-arm with a handsome man wearing a yachting cap, approached from the opposite direction. The man probably was Michael Wilding, the second of eight Taylor husbands. We came nearly face-to-face with the pair, and, as I recall, even had to step aside for them to pass.


We all probably wonder sometimes if those beautiful people on the silver screen get that way largely because of the attentions of expert makeup professionals and artistry by lighting and camera wizards. Anyone who has seen Robert Redford in the flesh knows he magically grows taller for his movie roles.


The day we saw Elizabeth Taylor she was making no attempt to enhance her appearance. She was wearing jeans—the old-fashioned kind, not the skin-tight variety we see today—a nondescript windbreaker, and a scarf over much of her jet-black hair. Nevertheless, there was no doubt about her identity.


She was absolutely gorgeous.




No Enhancements Needed



When Will We Ever Learn?

(Yesterday was the eighth anniversary of our invasion of Iraq. Amid various assurances by politicians and generals that all is going well there and in Afghanistan, it seemed a good time to dust off this post, which was published last June, and issue a revised version.  Careful review indicated only a few words needed to be changed. The only important developments have been increases in the totals of wasted lives and treasure and fudging about the date for complete withdrawal from Iraq. My flag is at half-staff and my heart is heavy today in mourning.)

Are there any Americans who don’t want to bring our young men and women home from Iraq and Afghanistan? Unfortunately, yes.


Despite what they say publicly, many generals and admirals who gain power, promotions, and places in history during wartime really don’t want to end major conflicts. They prosper when battles rage, yet are careful to stay safe and snug in their war rooms. When’s the last time we lost a general in combat?


Despite what they may say publicly, many corporate leaders whose firms are enriched by profits from producing guns, bombs, aircraft, tanks and other implements of war do not want wars to end. It doesn’t take long to replenish the arsenal in peacetime, and a full storehouse of armaments significantly diminishes bottom lines of companies making the weapons of war.


The two groups comprise the American military-industrial complex. Isn’t that the very complex Dwight D. Eisenhower, a fairly experienced military man, warned us to beware of when he left the office of President? It is. History now verifies the wisdom of his warning. Our nation is in a precarious financial position because of the huge cost of two wars, yet no one except members of the complex and those duped by them wants to be engaged in those wars.


Some suggest we should simply quit and go home, because neither war can possibly result in benefits worth even a fraction of the costs. Some maintain we must stay as long as necessary to establish democracies, which somehow will promote stability in the volatile Middle East.

Some, like me, think the two wars are distinctly different. We ought to get out of both, but for different reasons and in different ways. A rereading of The Future of Freedom: Illiberal Democracy at Home and Abroad, by Fareed Zakaria, a bestseller in 2003-2004, supports some of my beliefs, although the expert and I disagree on a few important points.


A big-time political analyst, Zakaria is considered a liberal by many conservatives because of his dark skin and foreign-sounding name and a conservative by many liberals because of what he says. Born and reared in India, Zakaria seems best categorized as a pragmatist. He discusses real-life pathways to establishing, developing, and nurturing democracies, based on his own experiences and rigorous study of history and political science.


Briefly, he thinks it foolhardy to defeat the bad guys in a country militarily, get the residents to hold elections as soon as possible, and declare that democracy has been established and the citizens will henceforth enjoy the benefits of freedom. Instead, he suggests a much slower process is realistic, with American-style democracy finally arriving thanks mainly to the efforts of the locals, not outsiders. The first steps are to develop basic institutions, especially establishing the rule of law. Then capitalism can begin to flourish, helping the citizens to attain a reasonable standard of living. What Zakaria calls liberal democracy, featuring personal freedoms, guaranteed rights, and citizen participation, then has a good chance to develop.


Zakaria thinks invading Iraq to oust Saddam Hussein was justified because of his evil repression of his own people—no government that followed the tyrant could be as bad. I disagree.


There was no good justification for invading Iraq. With very effective no-fly zones, occasionally effective economic sanctions, and a large segment of world opinion against him, Saddam posed absolutely no threat to us. Nasty as he was within his own borders, he was under control as far as our interests went.


Saddam had destroyed his weapons of mass destruction to protect himself. His secular government was an effective check on theocratic Iran, ruled by some pretty evil guys in their own right who really are a threat to us and some of our allies. He also kept the unruly Kurds in the north occupied with fending his forces off, which probably pleased our Turkish allies. His presence helped stabilize the Middle East far more than his absence has.


That said, there is a chance for democracy to succeed in Iraq, despite horrendous bungling by the U.S. government seemingly designed more to destabilize than stabilize the country. Iraq did have established institutions and rule of law (even repressive law offers a measure of security for the general public). A strong military enforced the rules before we took over and dismantled the most fundamental institutional needs. Rebuilding essential institutions has taken a long time and a huge amount of our taxpayer money, but that part of the task of establishing viable government finally is enjoying some success.


Before and during Saddam’s reign, unlike most Arab countries, Iraq had a large cadre of literate and educated citizens, and was allowing some participation by women and minorities in politics and professional fields. Many of these people fled during the civil war that followed our invasion, but some are back, and educational institutions again are functioning. Much business, except for the vital oil industry, follows western-style capitalism and free enterprise principles. A secular state headed toward classic democracy has a chance there.


We ought to get out of Iraq—soon, but not next week. We ought to do it just about the way we recently started to do it, by setting some dates for major withdrawal events (which the Iraqis demanded). It was to our advantage to do that to motivate the Iraqis to get serious about running their own affairs. We need to stick with the final date—out by the end of 2011. And we need to make sure that is a true “out,” not just a point at which to negotiate extensions.

Once we leave, the Iraqis will resolve their differences either peacefully or by fighting it out, and any outcome will be more beneficial to us than squandering further lives and dollars with a never-ending adventure that should not have begun in the first place. We gain nothing by staying in Iraq any longer than the end of 2011.

To my chagrin, the war I enthusiastically supported (I opposed invading Iraq from the moment the idea arose) has turned out to be the bigger bummer. As part of a majority of Americans, I strongly backed President George W. Bush when he ordered our military forces, with as many NATO allies as he could round up, to attack Afghanistan and topple its government. I believed the radical Islamic state that trained and harbored terrorists deserved the strongest possible retaliation for the dastardly 9/11 attack on our country.


Our military did a great job in Afghanistan, just as it did in Iraq. Our government didn’t make nearly the number of blunders in post-war Afghanistan as it did in Iraq, but as things have turned out the overall strategy imposed on our military was faulty, and our latest strategy adjustment is not working.


Just as we have so long ignored the sound advice of that old leader Dwight Eisenhower, we ignored the counsel of a more recent outstanding military commander, Colin Powell. Powell’s philosophy is that successful military ventures must have a carefully defined and limited mission, including an exit strategy.


We broke Taliban control of the Afghan government and tossed most of them out of the country pretty easily. Then we made the big mistake. We stuck around, hell-bent on killing or civilizing the rest of the Taliban, and finding and prosecuting Osama Bin Laden.


Americans like to personalize their collective enemies. In fact, one man restricted to moving from cave to cave by the threat of a multi-million-dollar reward for his capture is not much of a threat to the United States of America. The reward, plus launching a missile at a cave occasionally, would have been sufficient actions on our part to render him ineffective. And, as for the Taliban, they just melt back into the populace when our forces take some territory and return when we leave.


Afghanistan bears little similarity to Iraq. It consists of a whole lot of illiterate tribal people who could care less who rules in Kabul as long as they are relatively secure, free to cultivate their poppy cash crops, and able to collect pay from whatever rebel force is fending off foreign invaders or battling the central government at any particular time. There never has been a coherent system of national institutions. Evidence is scant any could be developed in the foreseeable future.


We should have gone into Afghanistan as we did. We should have punished the Taliban for their sponsorship of terrorism as we did. We should have put a large price on Bin Laden’s head and made a diligent search for him, as we did. Then we should have brought our people out, leaving the Taliban with a clear message that we’d be right back to kick hell out of them if they sponsored anything that even barely resembled an attack on us or our allies.


Now, we need to put silly politics aside and do what is in our national interest. George W. Bush and company made a major blunder by invading Iraq. Barack Obama and company decided that a troop “surge” coupled with a new territory holding strategy was just the thing needed to triumph in Afghanistan. A surge was a factor in improving the situation in Iraq. It hasn’t worked in Afghanistan, reinforcing the idea that the two wars are radically different. Both Presidents have blundered; these are equal opportunity wars for our top politicians to screw up. Unfortunately, Bush’s blunder cannot be corrected. Obama’s can.


Instead of sticking around for many more years until we can make a phony declaration of victory, we should get out of Afghanistan as soon as possible. Next Wednesday would not be soon enough. Of course, a little more time than that will be needed to arrange an excuse for withdrawal and plan to get our forces out safely.

A withdrawal excuse is at hand. Officially, we are part of a NATO military mission. We should meet with leaders of our allies, many of whom already are withdrawing, for an up or down vote on total withdrawal. The outcome is assured. We can claim we had no choice but to accept the verdict of our NATO allies and “reluctantly’ leave Afghanistan’s corrupt leaders to search for a new group of outsiders from whom to extort cash. When we go, Afghanistan will return to the dark ages, a regrettable situation for women’s rights and any prospects for religious and other freedoms there, but that is a price we must pay.


There was no hope of establishing a viable national government of any kind in Afghanistan when the British left the feudal country many years ago. There was no hope when the old Soviet Union withdrew massive forces not long ago. There is no hope now, at least not in this century. Staying there is just a waste of lives and cash that is badly needed to protect civilized people from terrorists, to reduce our national debt, and for other useful purposes.


Let’s bring our young heroes home, and soon.

Ask Your Barber


One of the benefits of living near a small Michigan town is that I can visit an honest-to-god barber shop--the kind that has real, heavyweight swivel chairs, a real barber pole outside the door, and real, experienced male barbers ready to apply the clippers and scissors just the way you want.


Sports posters adorn the walls in Otsego’s barber shop, where I’ve become a regular. The talk is of the fortunes of the Lions, Packers, Tigers, Red Wings, and other manly interests, including political gossip. The only change from the snip shops of my youth is that a woman occasionally enters with her husband, children, or grandchildren.


The presence of a lady or youngster doesn’t affect the conversation in the shop at all. One of the curious things I’ve observed in barber shops over many years is the absence of profanity or dirty jokes. I started my working career shining shoes in barber shops in 1946. I’ve yet to hear a serious cuss word or suggestive story. Could it be that only gentlemen get haircuts in real barber shops?


Well into the 1980s, barber shops were male sanctuaries. Rarely was a woman seen in one, a far cry from the situation now where the barbers are females in most establishments. I mentioned the lady “hair stylists” to one of the older Otsego barbers. His reaction was, “Well, the kids have to learn somewhere.”


During the first half of the 30 years we lived in Ogden, Utah, "Dick's Barber Shop" in the lower level of the old Ben Lomond Hotel was the place to go to get inside information about what was going on in the city. Dick was a good listener and had a great memory. He could provide accurate situation reports on just about any topic.


Almost all the Forest Service men who worked in Ogden got their haircuts at Dick's. He knew a lot about what was going on in the Service, and could recite an impressive list of former customers who had transferred to other duty stations. Occasionally, the barbershop grapevine was more efficient than official channels.


One legend featured a regional office employee who arrived in Dick's chair during a lunch hour. When the haircut was finished, Dick asked, "What's your reporting date in Atlanta?"


"What?" the forester asked. "I'm not going anywhere. You must have something mixed up."


The man dashed back to the office and confronted his supervisor about the transfer rumor. "Oh yes," the boss said, "I just didn't have time to tell you this morning. You've been reassigned to Atlanta."

Take Your Pick


The governor of Michigan is proposing substantial tax increases for middle-class retired people, especially those who own their homes, so he can give businesses a huge tax cut. We qualify for the higher individual taxes, but not the business tax break. Tough choices loom in our future.

The tax increases for us amount to six percent of our net income, income that already has been reduced due to rock-bottom interest rates and a lack of cost-of-living increases in two pension payments over the past two years.  We will not be in as dire a situation as some, but we will be hurt badly.  We will have to consider every purchase even more carefully than we now do.

Recently, by coincidence, we gained insight into the type of beverage choice that may become necessary. We bought a six-pack of V-8 juice cans for $2.99 just days after picking up a couple of bottles of really cheap, but pretty good, wine at Walmart. A bottle of the cheapo cabernet was $2.97.


True, it isn’t a completely fair comparison. The wine was two pennies cheaper, but a bottle contained 167 milliliters (about 6 ounces) less fluid than the six little cans of vegetable juice. Well, what are a few silly milliliters, anyway?


If the gov succeeds in pushing us right to the wall, the beverage choice may be difficult for Sandy. Easy for me, though. I’ll go for the grape.

Number, Please


I’m a word butcher, not a number cruncher, so I had to think a bit about a recent e-mail from fraternity brother Jeff Weir.

Weir is a successful attorney and real estate investor in northern Wisconsin. He also has authored a well-written novel. When I knew him years ago, he was struggling a little. It’s great to learn how he has progressed since then.


Weir said he was rummaging through a drawer and discovered his old Sigma Nu Fraternity membership card. He wondered how many of the brethren would remember their initiation numbers and the Greek letters designating the chapter.


I still can recite the Greek alphabet (I’m good at that kind of stuff), so the chapter designation came to mind easily—Gamma Lambda. However, I’ve spent more than two years trying to engrave my latest phone number in my memory. The initiation digits could have been trouble. They weren’t though. My initiation number is unforgettable. It is 714.


Anyone who recalls the long-running television show “Dragnet” would know that Sergeant Joe Friday carried Badge 714. What are commonly called fraternity pins more formally are known as badges. Thus, I have always had only to think of the indomitable cop Friday to remember my badge also is 714.


Number recollection must vary considerably among individuals, and perhaps the numbers themselves. I easily bring my social security number to mind. BW (beautiful wife) Sandy cannot remember hers no matter how hard she tries, although she easily recalls many more other numbers than I do.


The only other number of any importance I can readily recall is my military serial number. I was forced to memorize it 53 years ago. Why it still often leaps to mind completely escapes me. Perhaps I dream of being captured by some horrible enemy and remember my training company sergeant yelling: “Don’t tell 'em a damn thing but name, rank, and serial number,” and I want to be ready to do just that.


What strange numbers come to your mind?