Senator JOhn McCain’s New Campaign Slogan

If elected, I will go to Vietnam.

High School Days: First Date

Late in my high school career (fourth period, 12:40 PM) I agreed to go on a double date. It seemed like a good idea at the time, though the girl in question was later suspected of being a gang member. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The date came about mainly because I had a car. A couple of friends, Mike and Sharon, wanted to double date. Sharon’s angle was she wanted to go out with Mike who didn’t have a driver’s license yet. Sharon set me up with Suzy, the new girl in town. This was big of her.

I had agreed to pick up everybody at Sharon’s house. I pulled up in my snazzy 1951 Plymouth and jumped out to open the passenger door for Suzy.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked. Sharon shot him a look as though he might take a lesson. Suzy didn’t seem to be impressed by my gallantry. She was a decent looking girl if you didn’t mind a few tattoos.

We were going to a movie at Casey’s Fairview Drive-in, a nine-mile trip. We had barely gotten out of the driveway when Suzy decided to light up. There was nothing wrong with that—I smoked myself.

I thought I was a pretty cool smoker. I had a pack of Marlboros hidden in my right sock, which made walking a little tricky. The preferred method, the coolest, was to have the pack rolled up in your T-shirt sleeve. That wouldn’t have worked for me, as I didn’t want my folks to know I was smoking.

Mike and I decided to light up as well. He had a decent lighter. I carried a box of matches, which meant my sock runneth over. Suzy dug an industrial strength Zippo and a pack of Camels out of her purse.

Of course I had to keep driving while lighting up–something I overlooked when I bent down to get my cigarettes. I felt a sudden flash around my eyebrows. Suzy’s lighter—a blowtorch really—had singed me.

I handled it well. My car was equipped with an emergency brake that I managed to engage while trying to see if I had any eyebrows left. The sudden braking pitched us all forward. Then the car, which seemed to be operating on its own, took off for a block or so before the brake kicked in again.

After a couple of blocks of me riding the Plymouth like a bucking horse, Mike finally yelled, “Shoot it—kill it—turn it off!” We were on a quiet residential street—nobody was hurt unless you counted my eyebrows.

We pressed on to the drive-in, which was just out of town next to the cornfields. I found a parking place and rolled the window down to attach the speaker that was mounted on a post.

The posts were planted in gravel with a splash of crabgrass that attracted local livestock, who generally grazed there during the day. Usually by show time they were in bed, but occasionally a cow would appear at the snack bar and order popcorn.

I had just got the speaker sound adjusted when Suzy announced she was going to the snack bar to make a phone call. Sharon tagged along.

The girls had barely got out of the car when Mike said: “You wanna kill her, or do you want me to?” He was speaking of Sharon, of course, who had engineered this double date from hell.

In a few minutes Sharon came back. She had overheard enough to learn that Suzy was planning to meet another girl who had just escaped from the State Home For Budding Gang Girls. Sounded like they had big plans to start their own sewing circle. Sharon said we had to get Suzy back to her foster parents and call them later about their would-be runaway.

We then sat through a double feature of “Reform School Girls” and “The Explosive Generation” shown in thrilling black and white. Suzy seemed to be rooting for the bad girls. During dramatic moments she would fish out her Camels. Just to be on the safe side, I hugged the driver’s seat window whenever she fired up.

We got Suzy back to her foster parents, but we weren’t looking forward to seeing her at school, as she would know we had turned her in. We figured she had gang member friends—Sharks or Jets—who would be looking us up. But we never saw her again. The rumor was she was sent up the river, or to reform school as we used to call it.

The following year I thought I saw her again; she seemed to be in a movie called “Gang Girls Behind Bars”. She was obviously playing herself. I noticed the other actors gave her a wide berth. Especially when she lit up.

The Nutcracker Man

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

“OH 5… is a fossilized skull… It was discovered…by Mary Leakey in 1959. It is estimated to be about 1.8 million years old”.

OH 5 was also known as Zinj, or the Nutcracker Man, for reasons best known to Mary Leakey, who discovered him, or at least dug up his bones.

Leakey and her husband, Richard, often appeared as guest stars on the Discovery Channel. They frowned thoughtfully while watching the little people do the actual digging. The Leakeys were a jealous bunch. They often elbowed Jane Goodall aside when she was carrying on about her monkey friends.

For them, Early Man (and Woman) took precedence over the chimps. Mr. Leakey was particularly sensitive about monkey pictures. It was rumored that his morals were no better than the chimps.

The Leakeys aside, Nutcracker Man left pictures of a different kind. Cave wall drawings. He seemed to have been chased by Early Woman, who had only one thing on her mind: getting Early Man out of the house.

It is clear from the surviving pictures—they were freeze dried—that Nutcracker Man often wanted to stay inside and brood about his troubles, which he couldn’t do if Early Woman continued to talk to him.

One panel of drawings showed his thoughts: Why, oh why, did women like to talk so much? Why couldn’t they just go to the mall and leave him and his friends alone?

In addition to drawing, Nutcracker Man seemed to have the gift of seeing the future in visions. He had a sense that he was suffering through the Ice Age just so his descendants could talk on cell phones. It was terribly unfair.

On one occasion (1.8 Million B. C., give or take a few days) he drew a picture with captions to cheer himself up (he was hoping to be syndicated.)

He was inspired by a vision of a time far, far away. He read a captain’s log that appeared in a slow-moving crawl: The Return of the Weirdly Dressed Beings, Chapter VII, or Love Will Find a Way.

He was then distracted by a competing vision that took him to Dodge City. Matt and Kitty were at the Long Branch, smoking L & M’s.

Next CNN reported the latest news, but he tuned it out. He realized he was lucky that all he had to worry about was being eaten by animals or starving to death. His day would never be ruined by higher gas prices or the fear of global warming.

But within a few minutes he had to give it up his happy reverie, as his Woman seemed to be nagging him about something. She was talking and following him around their two-bedroom cave.

Nutcracker Man decided to go out, even though blizzard warnings were in effect. He had no choice. He was out of cigarettes.

It felt good to be out in the storm—man against Nature. He stopped mid-way to the convenience store and admired the snow-laden trees. They might have been whispering sweet nothings to him except a gale force wind drowned them out.

Despite the near blizzard conditions, a little bird landed on his shoulder and radioed the tower for instructions. He was in route to Brazil. He dipped his wings, as he headed south. This brief encounter caused Nutcracker Man to see a tiny bird somewhere in time who appeared to be best friends with a Beagle.

He began working on a caption for the birdie picture as he walked. He took time to consult his day planner. Will draw this Friday, he thought, as the Woman has Girls’ Night Out.

Oh, peace and quiet. He loved the Woman, but he needed space. A man couldn’t be hunting and fishing 24/7; he had to have a little down time in his cave.

Tomorrow is another day, he thought. He looked into the future and saw Scarlett O’Hara. She appeared to be crying and eating dirt.

He thought of a new picture and caption: “As God as my Witness, I will never be hungry again!” He hurried home to find a post-it note, not even taking time to get his cigarettes.

As he ran through the snow, he caught a glimpse of Margaret Mitchell at her typewriter, swooning over Clark Gable. She would never know that he had met Scarlett O’Hara nearly two million years earlier.

Nutcracker Man, Early Time Traveler!

Mr. Dunne Works on his Wikipedia Biography

Danny Kenneth Dunne (1842-1906) was born in a log cabin left over from William Henry Harrison’s Presidential campaign. His family, however, abandoned the cabin in 1846 after the plumbing backed up.

Dunne’s early education was skimpy, as was customary in the backwoods of Illinois. He borrowed Lincoln’s shovel and practiced writing excused absence notes on it for his parents to sign. He later attended the Miss Edith Brooks School for Unlikely Lads and Budding Humorists. What he mainly learned from Our Miss Brooks was that all 19th century writers had three names.

When he came of age, or at least was wearing long pants, he looked–not very hard– for work. He was a daydreamer, who was fond of making jokes. His family and friends liked to have died laughing at him.

Dunne decided to seek his fortune back East. Inspired by a local train wreck, he hopped a freight car on a circus train bound for New York City and had an overly close encounter with the MGM lion.

This adventure ended early when Dunne realized that the rails to New York hadn’t been laid yet. This put a crimp in his plans, as he had hoped to get booked in one of the popular comedy clubs. He was in fact standing on the site of his town’s future depot, which was then home to a family of squirrels.

But fate intervened in the form of the Civil War, which had to be fought to preserve the Union, free the slaves, and make it possible for Gone With the Wind to play to packed houses.

Dunne showed up for boot camp, but marched in the wrong direction for about thirty days. When he rejoined his regiment, he told how he had lived on tree bark and fought with tadpoles for a drink of branch water.

The regimental commander, General Buford Montgomery Logan, was so amused that he chose Dunne to be his aide and regimental clown. (Logan’s previous mascot, Buster the Bulldog, had crossed enemy lines in search of a French Poodle, a blonde last seen driving a T-Bird.)

After the war, despite entertaining the troops, Dunne’s comedy career seemed stalled. He began submitting funny articles to local papers (he shoved them under the door of various editors’ offices as his Internet connection was unreliable).

He was an overnight success at the Toledo Illinois Democrat (POP. 700 or 698 in winter as they had couple of snowbirds). At least a dozen people read his column–in time several other local papers picked it up.

Within two years, he was on the lecture circuit–he often opened for Ralph Waldo Emerson. His most famous oration was “How I carried the News from Bull Run to Washington”. This was an account of how he got separated from his regiment and fell into the Potomac River.

In time, the public grew weary of funny stuff about the War. Dunne lost his column and found comedy bookings harder to come by. He had sunk so low he nearly signed up for his own reality show as a D list celebrity.

But by chance an army buddy bought the Greenup (IL) Press, and gave Dunne a job. He contributed one-liners and paragraphs about his hometown. The New York Times later picked up his column and he became an overnight sensation–again.

Several collections of his works were published in the closing days (Friday and Saturday) of the century. But public taste soon changed again, as new columnists from the cities became popular.

He spent his last years as an obscure newspaper editor; all his books were out of print by the time of his death.

His complete works are now available online, but a survey of the site’s visitors indicated that they had landed on the address by mistake, as they were searching for Finley Peter Dunne, the Andy Rooney of his day.

Dunne did, however, have one last burst of notoriety in 1901 at President McKinley’s second inauguration. He tried to reproduce his famous Bull Run to Washington speech, but instead fell off the lectern and nose-dived into the Potomac River.

This caused quite a ruckus, as many onlookers thought Dunne was drunk. He was only awkward of course. But he told everybody how sorry he was and checked into rehab. It was the least he could do.

Dunne’s work may be forgotten, but he will live on thanks to Civil War buffs that look up the Battle of Bull Run. Google includes his dip in the Potomac as result number 1,720,000. A dedicated Civil War hobbyist will eventually reach that figure, although he might have to re-load his musket.

* * *

“Take that, Henry Wheeler ‘Josh Billings’ Shaw and all you three-named worthies!” said Mr. Dunne to himself as he closed down his study for the night.

Memoir Interrupted

Mr. Dunne was busy writing his memoirs. He was deep in his Vietnam War chapter when he had been a correspondent for CBS News. He had once met Agent Orange, but mistook him for a CIA operative.

He would have to be careful about the details of his personal life. What should he say of his romance with Greta, the A. P. photographer? Nothing. It never happened. At least, not to him. He could write about his friendships with Dan Rather and Morley Safer. Except that he never met them.

Mr. Dunne had actually spent the ‘60s back home in Illinois working at a bank. He had led a quiet life except for the splashy times when he was in rehab for his addictions (Folger’s Regular Coffee and Salem Lights).

As a young man, on one of the few occasions he left home, he had attended banking school for two weeks at Southern Illinois University. For him this was a considerable journey, over one hundred miles.

Mr. Dunne was not a good traveler. He went places without knowing where he was going. When he somehow arrived at a destination, he didn’t know how he had got there. When he returned home, he didn’t know how he had got back, or where he had been in the first place.

His poor sense of direction led him to places not on the map; local residents would giggle at his ignorance and tell him to go east two miles until he reached “the slab”, which was how the highway was described in their vernacular.

So exotic places and travel were not really on his agenda; he seldom left the cornfields of home.

Still there was his show business period when he worked as an extra at Universal Studios. His biggest role was the day he fell out of an upstairs window and landed on Audie Murphy’s horse.

How had he got to California? Plane. A further check of his diary indicated that he had only taken the Universal Tour, but he liked the Audie Murphy story better.

Mr. Dunne suddenly had an epiphany (after a spell-check): he had given up on his memoirs, because he had gotten weary of making stuff up.

It would be hard, however, to skip the Civil Rights Movement. But he wasn’t there—he had missed the bus. He had got home somehow, but was glad he didn’t have to explain the details– although hopping a ride on a freight car would have made a good story. He could have explained how he met Woody Guthrie and rode the rails.

What was that song they used to sing together? “This Land is My Land”?

Presidential Historian

Mr. Dunne’s status as a Presidential Historian is relatively new. His capsule biography of William Henry Harrison was published with little fanfare. This essay involved a great deal of research, most of which was done by the editors of Wikipedia (whoever they are). Mr. Dunne only added, as is his wont, a few semi-smart remarks. (Semi-smart has two meanings: (1) only mildly bright and (2) attempts to make fun of his betters, both living and dead.)

So far Mr. Dunne has not been invited on C-Span’s Book TV to discuss his Presidential Biography, which is just the latest of a string of failures related to his so-called literary life.

Dunne is presently in Limbo (a location that is intimately familiar to him) and is not now taking questions from the press.

Informed sources indicate that he is thinking of forming a committee to see if there is any interest in his candidacy for the presidency. He would like to be elected long enough to dissolve Congress, and to declare that foreign policy is too difficult for Americans; and that the U. S. should now give it up, at least until its leaders could pass an eighth grade test in history.

At the same time Dunne admits he is apolitical, like the vast majority of Americans who do not vote. The last time Dunne voted he went with The Gipper, although his family had always voted for Democrats. His family had memories of the depression and of the man who saved us all , Franklin D. Roosevelt. His family was also in agreement on religion: there were no Christians among them–they were all Baptists. Christians went to the other churches in Hidalgo (POP. 100 then and now).

Dunne’s next project will be announced as soon as it comes up in Wikipedia’s random article, which is his current source of inspiration. Or he may return to Presidential History, if Wiki can come up with the dirt on Zachary Taylor, “Old Rough and Ready”, our twelfth President.

Two Questions

The first question that arises is: What letters? Scholars agree that it’s only e-mail; actual letters are very rare. There is also the matter of the author’s handwriting, almost illegible in the earlier years (Mid 20th century).

The next question (possibly should have been first question): What life? The main source is the Diary begun in 1989 that is the dullest imaginable reading. The author, as a rule, did nothing, went nowhere, and by all accounts, preferred that lifestyle.

William Henry Harrison, or Old Tippecanoe (1773-1841)

William Henry Harrison became President because he was a war hero. His campaign slogan was “Tippecanoe and Tyler Too”, which came from the battle of the same name. This battle or skirmish in 1811 involved 700 Indians under the command of Tecumseh’s little brother, who was called The Prophet because Tenskwatawa was too hard to spell.

Many details have been lost in “the fog of war”, but Harrison was clearly the hero on the scene thanks to a pool of embedded reporters. American was a young country that was nervous about its future, particularly in 1811 when everybody knew the War of 1812 was scheduled. So a future leader was born.

Thirty years later, Harrison became the first man to campaign openly for the presidency.[i] (He was out of a job at the time.) He had been in Congress and most notably had been the Governor of The Indiana Territory, which included the future states of Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, and the eastern part of Minnesota, the Land of the Lakes Trading Post and Souvenir Center, and anything else not nailed down.

The campaign was notable for suggesting that Harrison was brought up in a log cabin and was just an ordinary Joe. This was not quite accurate in that Harrison came from a Virginia family of means. He even went to a sort of prep school, something like the Leander Smith Fairchild School for Sissies. When Harrison was shown an actual log cabin of the type he had claimed to have lived in, he fainted dead away.

Harrison, our 9th President, set several records for the Presidency including dying in office after only 31 days. “Old Tipp” (short for Tippecanoe) was actually the oldest president elected (67), a record that stood until Ronald Wilson “The Gipper” Reagan was elected in 1980.

On a cold, windy March day Harrison made news again by giving the longest inaugural address in history, over 8,000 words. He would have gone on even longer, if his teleprompter hadn’t malfunctioned. It took Harrison over two hours to read his speech; he had forgotten his overcoat and managed to catch a very bad cold.

His advance men neglected to make arrangements for a canopy to shelter him, but the balloons they ordered showed up three hours after the speech was over, so it wasn’t a complete failure.

During Harrison’s brief tenure in office no states entered the union and he appointed no Supreme Court judges, so you can’t say he didn’t accomplish anything.

Much of his time was taken over by office seekers who stormed the White House the month he was President. (Several good post office jobs were up for grabs.)

But mainly he was trying to get over his cold. Many medical experts were consulted including barbers who did a little medical work on the side such as blood letting. One suggested therapy was the use of snakes. (A Harvard man thought this was a good idea.)

Eventually, however, nothing worked and Harrison went on to The Happy Hunting Ground of Warriors that he had fought against.

Harrison today is largely forgotten; a hint of his future obscurity was provided the day he died by ex-President Andrew Jackson, who was taking a nap at the time. When told the news about Harrison, Jackson said: “President Who?”

[i] The Founding Fathers had stayed at home and filed their nails, but they kept their cell phones handy so they could answer their country’s call.

William Henry Harrison, or Old Tippecanoe (1773-1841)

William Henry Harrison became President because he was a war hero. His campaign slogan was “Tippecanoe and Tyler Too”, which came from the battle of the same name. This battle or skirmish in 1811 involved 700 Indians under the command of Tecumseh’s little brother, who was called The Prophet because Tenskwatawa was too hard to spell.

Many details have been lost in “the fog of war”, but Harrison was clearly the hero on the scene thanks to a pool of embedded reporters. American was a young country that was nervous about its future, particularly in 1811 when everybody knew the War of 1812 was scheduled. So a future leader was born.

Thirty years later, Harrison became the first man to campaign openly for the presidency.[i] (He was out of a job at the time.) He had been in Congress and most notably had been the Governor of The Indiana Territory, which included the future states of Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, and the eastern part of Minnesota, the Land of the Lakes Trading Post and Souvenir Center, and anything else not nailed down.

The campaign was notable for suggesting that Harrison was brought up in a log cabin and was just an ordinary Joe. This was not quite accurate in that Harrison came from a Virginia family of means. He even went to a sort of prep school, something like the Leander Smith Fairchild School for Sissies. When Harrison was shown an actual log cabin of the type he had claimed to have lived in, he fainted dead away.

Harrison, our 9th President, set several records for the Presidency including dying in office after only 31 days. “Old Tipp” (short for Tippecanoe) was actually the oldest president elected (67), a record that stood until Ronald Wilson “The Gipper” Reagan was elected in 1980.

On a cold, windy March day Harrison made news again by giving the longest inaugural address in history, over 8,000 words. He would have gone on even longer, if his teleprompter hadn’t malfunctioned. It took Harrison over two hours to read his speech; he had forgotten his overcoat and managed to catch a very bad cold.

His advance men neglected to make arrangements for a canopy to shelter him, but the balloons they ordered showed up three hours after the speech was over, so it wasn’t a complete failure.

During Harrison’s brief tenure in office no states entered the union and he appointed no Supreme Court judges, so you can’t say he didn’t accomplish anything.

Much of his time was taken over by office seekers who stormed the White House the month he was President. (Several good post office jobs were up for grabs.)

But mainly he was trying to get over his cold. Many medical experts were consulted including barbers who did a little medical work on the side such as blood letting. One suggested therapy was the use of snakes. (A Harvard man thought this was a good idea.)

Eventually, however, nothing worked and Harrison went on to The Happy Hunting Ground of Warriors that he had fought against.

Harrison today is largely forgotten; a hint of his future obscurity was provided the day he died by ex-President Andrew Jackson, who was taking a nap at the time. When told the news about Harrison, Jackson said: “President Who?”

[i] The Founding Fathers had stayed at home and filed their nails, but they kept their cell phones handy so they could answer their country’s call.

Boundless

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

“Boundless is an album by Finnish a cappella ensemble Rajaton, released in 2001.”

For those of you who are behind in your Finnish acapella news, this department (Shipping and Shoelaces) has a report on “Boundless” by Rajaton. Below is a rundown on several tracks that look promising.

1. Butterfly

This track explores the life of a poor butterfly who gets lost at the mall. She has no credit cards or cash so she has to fly back to Finland. “Life is hard!” she sings after stopping at London to refuel.

2. Un-Wishing Well
This song is based on the famous folk tale about young lovers who make a wish to live happily ever after. As luck would have it, they made their wish at the Un-Wishing Well and were struck dead by Topher, the god of Water Rights.

3. The Lark in the Clear Air
This soaring rendition concerns the Lark who never flies in bad weather; he is known to call the airport prior to takeoff. Since 1994 larks worldwide have been grounded.

4. We Walk in a Fog

This track concerns a group of friends who do everything together, as they fear they may somehow be parted. When the fog rolls in, they join hands and sing. We understand this sounds better in Finnish.

5. Dobbin’s Flowery Vale

Irish folk music has never sounded so lilting as in this tale of Dobbin, a poor student who picked flowers in the vale for his love, who being allergic, sued him for all he was worth. He spent the rest of his days singing “O my flowery vale” over and over. Neighbors grew sick of this and had him shot.

6. Armahan Kulku (The Lover’s Path). This thrilling song is enhanced by being performed in its original Finnish version. It concerns a couple who make a wrong turn on the highway of love.

7. Kaipaava (Longing)
The best track was saved for last as Longing, or unrequited love on a cracker, is practically the national anthem of Finland. The arrangement by Wuorela and Chydenius, the Simon and Garfunkle of Europe, is possiby their best work to date. Although purists might prefer their rousing version of “I am, I said to the chair that wasn’t there.”

If you find that this album merely whets your appetite for the Finnish acapella of Ragaton, you may want to check out their latest work, Out of Bounds (2006). To quote from the album notes:
“The English texts are not direct translations. In the first two, Stephen Hatfield attempted to write English lyrics that matched many of the vowel sounds in the Finnish versions.”

Oh, bring it on.