When I was a kid, Bill Bixby starred in a series entitled 'The Courtship of Eddie's Father,' based on the Glenn Ford movie. The theme song went, "People, let me tell you `bout my best friend . . ."
Well, that's what I'm going to do this morning. Some of you are going to roll your eyes, and as a matter of fact, you're going to quit reading about now, but I have a reason for this, so be patient with me.
My cat Cricket's my pal, and I know . . everyone says it's supposed to be a dog. But Cricket likes to prance after me wherever I go. She lets me know at 9 in the evening it's bedtime -- - even if I'm not sleepy. If my insomnia awakens me, she'll get up with me, then tap me on the back at 5 to let me know it's her feeding time. (I get up around then.)
Of course, if I sleep past 5, she lets me know when it's time to get up. I've been boxed, bitten on the toe, jumped on, walked on (her favorite), and meowed in the face quite pitifully. In short, I never have to set the alarm.
When I work on my writing, I do it by hand. She lets me know a lap is a terrible thing to waste, and it makes writing that much harder, but you know what? It also is that much more enjoyable, as I'm doing it with my best friend.
My mother's dog - - whom Cricket and I consider to be our adversary- - is every bit as loyal. (I cannot mention her name in this, as Cricket has not given me permission.) When Mom was taken to the hospital with a heart attack last year, the dog was devastated, and stayed at the side of my mother's bed for hours, even though she wasn't there. I tried persuading her to go outside (She has a bladder the size of a pea, so I knew she was agonizing.), and she wouldn't. or eat (Her appetite is huge.) and she wouldn't do either. As a matter of fact, the only moving she would do was to go to the bathroom door. That lasted well into the next day.
The recent story of the young soldier who perished and his dog at his funeral has been well documented as well.
Now I ask you this . . . . Why aren't we as people as loyal as our pets? Why don't we give each other the loyalty, the love, the kindness, that our animals give? As a matter of fact, when someone is being insulted, they're a 'dog.' A snide remark is 'catty.' You know, after watching our pets, we need to re-evaluate those terms. I don't think we humans have the right to be on the same level with dogs and cats at times, as we don't have the love and loyalty as they do.
Mizpah.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
We Never Realize
The other day, I was checking my page at Facebook, and noticed a message from someone I didn't know. Those particular messages one tends to be careful of, as they generally start out, "Hey Handsome . . ." (What makes those interesting is my photo is one of my grandfather when he was in his late seventies!)
Yet this message was from a woman who is married to a fellow I went to grade school with, and haven't seen in nearly forty years. Needless to say, I've never met her. She let me know her husband remember me as I was an epileptic, and they have two boys, ages six and seven, who are autistic. In her words, "John has recognized a lot of behaviors in our sons because of his interactions with you and it has helped him to better understand you as a child and our children as they grow. I just wanted to let you know that whether you know it or not you have had an enormous impact on many people."
Wow. Needless to say, that hit me right between the eyes. I'm not bragging my posting this, but it makes one think about the effect we have on others without realizing it. It also makes us think about our behavior, and how we need to keep an eye on it. One should set a sterling example, as we never know who is watching, and what they are picking up from us.
John has set a sterling example, and I am very proud of him. He has shown himself to be an excellent father I know there are others who watch him, his not knowing it. It continues . . .
Mizpah
Yet this message was from a woman who is married to a fellow I went to grade school with, and haven't seen in nearly forty years. Needless to say, I've never met her. She let me know her husband remember me as I was an epileptic, and they have two boys, ages six and seven, who are autistic. In her words, "John has recognized a lot of behaviors in our sons because of his interactions with you and it has helped him to better understand you as a child and our children as they grow. I just wanted to let you know that whether you know it or not you have had an enormous impact on many people."
Wow. Needless to say, that hit me right between the eyes. I'm not bragging my posting this, but it makes one think about the effect we have on others without realizing it. It also makes us think about our behavior, and how we need to keep an eye on it. One should set a sterling example, as we never know who is watching, and what they are picking up from us.
John has set a sterling example, and I am very proud of him. He has shown himself to be an excellent father I know there are others who watch him, his not knowing it. It continues . . .
Mizpah
Monday, August 29, 2011
It All Comes Down to A Spin and A Click
In 1960, a film opened that altered the course of the motion picture, as it brought changes not only to the Western, but the action-adventure genre as a whole. When John Sturges remade Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai as a Western, he thought he was making an ordinary film. After all, Sturges had filled his resume with Westerns such as Bad Day at Black Rock, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, and The Law and Jake Wade. Call it what you want, but when his 1960 work, The Magnificent Seven, had put Sturges on the map to stay, he would later say, “I could have directed the phone book.”
Why? Why was Sturges suddenly so popular? He had been turning out quality work, yet with this one particular movie, he became someone to reckon with in Hollywood. What is it about The Magnificent Seven that strikes our fancy? Is it the fact good triumphs in the end? No, as that is the case in so many Westerns, not to mention the vast majority of the motion pictures from that era. Is it that the bad guy, as Calvera is characterized, is charismatic? It could be, but this is not the first time this has happened in the cinema. Look at every film Claude Rains has been the villain. You never can quite figure out if you want to see him shot or would rather invite him to dinner. Or maybe . . . just maybe . . . it has something to do with the fact this is the first film where the hero is a team rather than an individual. It is quite easy to find a character we can think of, “Gee, I wish I were that guy.”
And it was an interesting list of characters to want to be. Even the baddie, Calvera, was admirable in a way. To take a look at the eight main characters is to take a peek at one of the most fascinating, yet varied, cast lists of any western:
Calvera is much like Don Vito Corleone of The Godfather, in that what he is doing to the villagers he actually doesn’t consider stealing. Rather, he looks at it as tribute. Therefore, he is upset when the Seven first confront him. Evidently, Calvera is a former revolutionary, the way his men ride into the village in formation, breaking off, knowing what to do when they first loot the village. In his conversation with Sotero, he bemoans the changing times, stating, “Now I ride with a price on my head.” So he has led this band for other purposes in the past, but is unable to stop his deeds, thus his outlawry. His true tragedy when he cannot understand why the Seven came back.
To this day, Eli Wallach does not see Calvera as a villain, but as a man trying to make a living. With this portrayal, Wallach single-handedly changed the fact of cinematic Mexican banditry.
Chris is best summed up by Yul Brenner, who said, “There are only two clean things about him—His gun and his soul.” Chris is a gunfighter with a conscience, as best summed up in three scenes. The first is when he helps to bury Old Sam, and his only payment is a half-full bottle of whiskey, which is shared with Vin. The second is when Chris realizes the village is offering him everything they have, while the third is when the Seven are considering leaving Ixcatlan. However, Chris gave his word, and plans on keeping it, no matter the cost.
While this is a remake of a samurai film, Chris is more a tie to the knights of Camelot. Note the way he walks when going to the hearse. It’s a proud, almost defiant walk. People have said Brenner was still playing the King of Siam, but this is actually more of Chris daring someone to stop him, which of course, no one does. While a knight wore a suit of armor, Chris wears black from head to toe.
Vin is a lover of excitement, but a mature one. Like Chris, he sees a lot of himself in Chico. Vin is Peck’s Bad Boy all grown up, but there is still a touch of orneriness about him. He is confident about what he does, but is not at all cocky about it. He has every right to be due to his abilities, but he knows the moment cockiness enters the picture, he’s dead. He does, however, possess a cracker barrel philosophy. Interestingly, he wears chaps, the mark of a cowboy, but does not come across as ever being one.
Harry Luck is probably the most beloved opportunist in the history of the cinema. “A dollar bill always looks as big as a bedspread,” is his motto, and Harry spends the entire picture proving it. As he refuses to believe there is no pot of gold at the end of this particular rainbow, this makes his happy-go-lucky lifestyle that much more endearing. Even though Harry has ridden on, he is the one who rides into a hail of bullets to attempt to save Chris. It is a suicide attempt, and Harry knows it, being a professional. But he does so anyway, as he’s not the selfish man he wants us to believe, dying while attempting to save a friend. Still, as he lies dying, he has to ask Chris, if there really was more to it. Harry just had to be a scoundrel at the end.
Bernardo O’Reilly, along with Harry, has the privilege of sharing his last name with the audience. Bernardo is like a chocolate covered caramel in that he is hard on the outside and soft on the inside. When he sees the children of Ixcatlan, he is glad to be there. He took the job as he had no money, and twenty dollars was a lot to him. He’s enamored with the children of the village, and they with him. His death is the most necessary, as three of these children revere him to the point he’s taken the place of their fathers. While he likes being around the boys, he in no way wishes to replace those men, whom he admires. Bernardo attempts to tell the children his life is not a happy one, and the life their fathers have chosen is honorable, yet not an easy life. It is only by his death that Bernardo is able to make this plain.
Britt is the best, according to Chris. Money means nothing to him, so he is there to compete, primarily with himself. Like Doc Holliday, Britt gets his thrills attempting to find the man faster than him. While he does not go out and search for them, he is constantly challenged by them, and has to defend his honor.
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| James Coburn and Steve McQueen |
When the Seven are captured and taken to the clearing, Chico and Chris have their conversation interrupted by a spin and a click. Britt is mad, as one can tell by the look on his face. When he states, “Nobody throws me my own guns and says run. Nobody.” we realize not only is he going back, but that Calvera is dead. Britt does not care if anyone is returning with him or not. He is a man of honor, and it has been tainted as far as he is concerned. He has to reclaim it, and for that to happen, Calvera has to die. In that one moment, he takes over from Chris.
When Britt dies, this too is a death that is necessary, and no one understands it more than Britt. The lesson here is no matter who you are, what you do, or where you are, there will always be someone better than you. Even if it is only for one split second. The man who killed Britt got him with a fleeing shot, but with that one shot, he was the best. In a face-to-face showdown with Britt, he would never have cleared his holster. But in that fleeting moment, he was unsurpassed.
Like Britt, Lee is also similar to Doc Holliday in that he is looking for a faster gun. However, this quest is for a different purpose. He has lost his nerve, and is looking for someone to put him out of his misery. He will not kill himself, having that much dignity. When Lee dies, it could be considered a mercy killing. Everyone knew he had lost his nerve. Lee considered himself a coward, which in actuality he was not. A coward does not take on three men by himself. Yet while Lee had overcome his fear, it was only momentarily. He took them with two objectives in mind. He wanted to free the farmers, yes, but he was also attempting to die in the process. When he was killed, Lee found the peace he craved.
Chico is the one who definitely changed the most in the short time at the village. He started as a young gun that at first emulated the others, wanting desperately to be as much like them as possible. Yet when he returned to his roots, he discovered that Thomas Wolfe was incorrect in that one can go home again. In assisting in the fight against Calvera, Chico gets the wanderlust out of his veins, and at the same time, finds the woman with whom he wants to settle down. Therefore, while the village finds freedom, Chico emerges as the big winner.
Sir Christopher Frayling found fault with Chico’s staying at the village with Petra, stating it was unlikely. I cannot fathom why. Many gunmen of the Old West did marry. In this case, Chico finally realized what the others have told him about their lives is true. Thus, why should he go with them for a life of unhappiness, when he could have it in Ixcatlan? Chico is impetuous, yes, but he is not stupid.
At the picture’s end, Chris states, “Only the farmers won. We lost. We always lose.” This is the one part of the film with which I take exception. Each member achieved their personal goals, therefore all won. True, neither Chris nor Vin have achieved the happiness of the villagers, but they have accomplished personal greatness, as these wanderers will continue to help others in need. That is not the mark of a loser, but of a knight. And both Chris and Vin share many of the same traits of the warriors of Camelot.
As stated earlier, The Magnificent Seven is by no means original. As a matter of fact, it states in the credits it is based on Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai. Therefore, this is the first lesson taught by this film. Quit bemoaning the fact that others take things from us and improve on them, as they are not the only ones to do so. Americans have been remaking foreign films for decades. Sometimes they improve on them, and other times, they would have done just as well to have left the movie alone.
At the same time, this is a highly influential motion picture. We have seen this film copied innumerable times. There have been three sequels and a television series. Some of the movie titles are amazing. 1961’s The Last Sunset had The Magnificent Two as a title for consideration. Others have been The Seven Magnificent Gladiators and The Invincible Six, neither one which managed to catch the public eye. When it comes to film styles, it is safe to say The Magnificent Seven set the tone for the likes of Sam Peckinpah and Sergio Leone.
Yet the most influential arena for the film is easily its score. When Elmer Bernstein was asked to score the picture, he was best known for The Man With the Golden Arm and The Ten Commandments. Yet it was actually The Magnificent Seven that made him well known, also doing so for many of the film’s stars. The score has actually been called the eighth cast member, as it is not only remembered so well to this day, but basically became a celebrity. Bernstein saw to it that even when there was not much happening onscreen, such as men riding slowly on horseback, the music still pulsated, making the film at times more exciting than it is. To this day, the main theme is played at political conventions, and until cigarette commercials were taken off the air, it was the theme for Marlboro. Whenever something is ‘magnificent’, according to the advertiser, we hear Bernstein’s theme. The title is also influential in that every time some group does something of note, they are “The Remarkable Four”, “The Terrific Five”, or “The Outstanding Nine”. We actually did have a “Magnificent Seven” gymnastic squad several years ago.
We cannot forget the influence this film had on the careers of those who were involved in it. In addition to Bernstein becoming the dean of Western film music, this picture boosted the careers of the actors who were in it. Within the course of the next few years, Steve McQueen (Vin) went from television to one of the biggest stars in motion pictures. James Coburn (Britt) by the end of the decade was super-agent Derek Flint, and had appeared in some of the decade’s best films. Charles Bronson (Bernardo) saw his parts improve after this film, and by the end of the decade, was a star in European films. Robert Vaughn (Lee) had become a worldwide idol as Napoleon Solo, the Man from U.N.C.L.E. Brad Dexter (Harry) turned to producing, while Horst Buchholz (Chico) returned to European films. Of the two already established, Eli Wallach (Calvera) and Yul Brenner (Chris) continued their careers both on the stage and in films.
Earlier, I asked why this film was so popular. “Why?” is the question Calvera asks as he lay dying. It is the one, lone, unanswerable question. It is a question with no complete answer, yet oh, so many attempts. The Magnificent Seven is the second-most aired film on television because we benefit from seeing all the people we grew up with. It continues in popularity as we like seeing the ‘little people’ like the farmers strike back at the end. We enjoy seeing Britt with his knife fight at the railroad yard. We must. People would come up to Coburn until the end of his life, and simple ask him to say, “You lost.” It could be we enjoy hearing Vin state, “We deal
in lead, friend.” Or maybe we want to hear Britt coolly state, “Nobody throws me my own guns and says run. Nobody.” Maybe we take pleasure in seeing Harry constantly try to find out why Calvera is always coming back to the village, or Lee defeat his demons at the end, even if only temporarily. It could be we like to hear Bernardo take up for the farmers, pointing out to their sons what brave men their fathers are. Or possibly we just like all of it put together. The recipe is there, as are the ingredients. And they make such a great smorgasbord.
When it comes to that spin and the click, we are hooked. And we should be. The Magnificent Seven is a tale of heroism and teamwork. At the same time, it is a tale of hero worship, love, and manliness.
Several decades later, John Sturges, when talking about his films, stated, “I thought we were making movies, not history.” How little he knew.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
All It Takes Is A Sentence
In 1958, Hugh O'Brian was one of the most famous people in America, being the star of "The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp." During the summer, he was getting some extra income touring with a circus which at the time was in Winnipeg, Manitoba. While there, O'Brian received a telegram from Dr. Albert Schweitzer, saying he would be more than welcome to visit. He had long admired the German doctor-missionary-theologian-musician, saying, "He was a great humanitarian who could have done anything he wanted in the world, and there he was in the middle of Africa taking care of people." O'Brian was on his way, arriving by various forms of travel.
He spent nine days with the 83-year-old Schweitzer, the winner of the 1952 Nobel Peace Prize. The doctor was concerned about world peace, stating the United States need to take a leadership role, or "we are a lost civilization." As O'Brian was departing, Dr. Schweitzer asked him, "Hugh, what are you going to do with this?" That simple questions struck Hugh O'Brian right between the eyes like a thunderbolt.
Two weeks later, O'Brian started the prototype for his first youth seminar and from 1958-1967, he held seminars for California youths. His group was called the HOBY foundation. By 1968 it had grown to the point youths from all over the nation and world were joining up.
HOBY's core values are Volunteerism, Integrity, Excellence, Diversity, and Community Partnership. Their goals are service and leadership, and motivating youth to make a positive difference through understanding and action based on effective and compassionate leadership.
Today, more than 14,000 young men graduate from HOBY seminars annually. They have graduated more than 350,000 in all.
And it all started with a simple sentence.
A perfect example of why we should never underestimate our words. One never knows who is listening, or how they are going to be interpreted. One sentence--one word--can set someone off on a journey, so let what comes out of our mouths be carefully planned. Dr. Schweitzer knew exactly what he was saying, and not only changed the life of Hugh O'Brian, but more than 300,000 teenagers thus far.
Mizpah.
http://www.hoby.org/
http://www.hughobrian.me/
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| Dr. Albert Schweitzer |
Two weeks later, O'Brian started the prototype for his first youth seminar and from 1958-1967, he held seminars for California youths. His group was called the HOBY foundation. By 1968 it had grown to the point youths from all over the nation and world were joining up.
HOBY's core values are Volunteerism, Integrity, Excellence, Diversity, and Community Partnership. Their goals are service and leadership, and motivating youth to make a positive difference through understanding and action based on effective and compassionate leadership.
Today, more than 14,000 young men graduate from HOBY seminars annually. They have graduated more than 350,000 in all.
And it all started with a simple sentence.
A perfect example of why we should never underestimate our words. One never knows who is listening, or how they are going to be interpreted. One sentence--one word--can set someone off on a journey, so let what comes out of our mouths be carefully planned. Dr. Schweitzer knew exactly what he was saying, and not only changed the life of Hugh O'Brian, but more than 300,000 teenagers thus far.
Mizpah.
http://www.hoby.org/
http://www.hughobrian.me/
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Lunch With Paul
Note: This is a revision of something many have read. It will be an annual column on August 17 in memory of Paul Hammond.
Most of you didn't know Paul Hammond.
You missed out.
He was my college roommate, and easily the most intelligent person I've ever met. His brother Ted dubbed him "The Oracle," and the nickname fit. Paul could give you an intelligent conversation regarding any topic you wanted to discuss, even it it was the behavior of the Zoroastrian religion in the Appalachian region during the Christmas season. Trust me, Paul could have done it, and at the same time, was never condescending. He was never that. He also could talk about any sport from football to lacrosse, and I think he followed high school sports in every state - - - and all of this was pre-Internet.
We became friends due to a mutual love of Strat-O-Matic Baseball, and once we roomed together - - - when our finances would allow - - - we'd hit Little Caesar's on Sunday. That was our spot. We each had our particular brand of pizzas, and we got them every time. I'd polish off a 2-liter of Mountain Dew, while Paul would do the same to a Dr. Pepper.
Sadly, we graduated, going our separate ways. I returned home, Paul moving to Colorado. He would visit his mother every Christmas, and would always find time for a Strat-O-Matic tournament - - - in which he would wax me - - - and of course, a trip to Little Caesar's. Per the usual, we ordered the same pizzas and I'd have the 2-liters cold.
Over the years, I added one more topping, and Paul changed his pizza. Finally, Paul's stomach wouldn't let him eat pizza anymore. With the passing of time, we quit getting together for baseball, but met with Glen Kilgour, a friend from the dorm, and fellow member of our championship College Bowl team, Sammie's Scholars. (Paul would have wanted that mentioned. We earned that!)
One year, while we were still meeting for baseball, Paul didn't want to play. He just wanted to talk, and that's all we did, long into the night. You name it, we discussed it: baseball, politics, life in general, our families and how they were doing, what we wanted out of the future, guys from the dorm, Room 226, and of course, God. Of course, we talked from about 7 p.m. until 3 in the morning, so there were a lot of other topics. With all the fun I had with Paul, that was the best time I ever had.
Two years ago today, my aunt was visiting. She wanted to buy lunch, so she sent me to Little Caesar's. I hadn't been in one for about five years. On the way home, my cell phone rang. It was Ted, Paul's brother. Paul had passed away, a half hour beforehand. I knew then and there Paul had wanted everyone to know he was okay, so God sent me to Little Caesar's. There was no other explanation for my aunt picking that particular week.
So today and every other August 17, I'm having lunch at Little Caesar's and cracking open a 2-liter. It's not the best thing for the diet I'm on, but that's okay. I'm going to order my combination, and hoist my 2-liter to Paul, whom I think of daily. Even before he left us, I always thought of him when I drove by that restaurant, and I always will. But today, I'm just going to enjoy my memories of a great friend.
| Paul Hammond, Mickey Fisher, and Glen Kilgour |
Most of you didn't know Paul Hammond.
You missed out.
He was my college roommate, and easily the most intelligent person I've ever met. His brother Ted dubbed him "The Oracle," and the nickname fit. Paul could give you an intelligent conversation regarding any topic you wanted to discuss, even it it was the behavior of the Zoroastrian religion in the Appalachian region during the Christmas season. Trust me, Paul could have done it, and at the same time, was never condescending. He was never that. He also could talk about any sport from football to lacrosse, and I think he followed high school sports in every state - - - and all of this was pre-Internet.
We became friends due to a mutual love of Strat-O-Matic Baseball, and once we roomed together - - - when our finances would allow - - - we'd hit Little Caesar's on Sunday. That was our spot. We each had our particular brand of pizzas, and we got them every time. I'd polish off a 2-liter of Mountain Dew, while Paul would do the same to a Dr. Pepper.
Sadly, we graduated, going our separate ways. I returned home, Paul moving to Colorado. He would visit his mother every Christmas, and would always find time for a Strat-O-Matic tournament - - - in which he would wax me - - - and of course, a trip to Little Caesar's. Per the usual, we ordered the same pizzas and I'd have the 2-liters cold.
Over the years, I added one more topping, and Paul changed his pizza. Finally, Paul's stomach wouldn't let him eat pizza anymore. With the passing of time, we quit getting together for baseball, but met with Glen Kilgour, a friend from the dorm, and fellow member of our championship College Bowl team, Sammie's Scholars. (Paul would have wanted that mentioned. We earned that!)
One year, while we were still meeting for baseball, Paul didn't want to play. He just wanted to talk, and that's all we did, long into the night. You name it, we discussed it: baseball, politics, life in general, our families and how they were doing, what we wanted out of the future, guys from the dorm, Room 226, and of course, God. Of course, we talked from about 7 p.m. until 3 in the morning, so there were a lot of other topics. With all the fun I had with Paul, that was the best time I ever had.
Two years ago today, my aunt was visiting. She wanted to buy lunch, so she sent me to Little Caesar's. I hadn't been in one for about five years. On the way home, my cell phone rang. It was Ted, Paul's brother. Paul had passed away, a half hour beforehand. I knew then and there Paul had wanted everyone to know he was okay, so God sent me to Little Caesar's. There was no other explanation for my aunt picking that particular week.
So today and every other August 17, I'm having lunch at Little Caesar's and cracking open a 2-liter. It's not the best thing for the diet I'm on, but that's okay. I'm going to order my combination, and hoist my 2-liter to Paul, whom I think of daily. Even before he left us, I always thought of him when I drove by that restaurant, and I always will. But today, I'm just going to enjoy my memories of a great friend.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Listenin' to Davy
Davy Crockett had a motto he carried with him all his life: "Be sure you're right, then go ahead." He followed that creed, and it cost him dearly. When President Jackson decided to take away Indian land, Crockett, who had been there when the treaty was signed, stood up for the Indians, and lambasted Jackson, who not only was extremely popular, but from Crockett's state of Tennessee. As a result, Crockett lost the next congressional election.
Knowing he'd stood up for what was right and had a switch taken to him for it, Crockett told his constituents, "You can go to h---. I'm going to Texas." That he did, taking a good amount of friends with him, and each and every one of them wound up dying in the Battle of the Alamo, which is another story. But once in Texas, Crockett and his friends decided to stick around for the fight as they felt it was the right thing to do. Davy Crockett didn't run from his conscience.
We need to follow in the footsteps of men like Crockett in that many of us today don't even know what a conscience is. The right thing? Doing that takes too much time and effort. I'll do it tomorrow . . . or Tuesday . . . or next year. We become stagnant until it's too late, and by then we really don't care.
Our consciences are powerful things, and we need to listen to them more often. They're not there to brainwash us, but to steer us onto the correct and proper path. You may say, "Yeah, but Crockett's got him killed." Crockett had to live with himself, and had he gone along with the Washington crowd, he would have been a walking dead man, which he knew. He merely chose the way for him to go, and it turned him into one of America's greatest legends. He knew exactly what he was doing. Crockett may have lost his life in the long run, but he went out an honest man with a clear conscience.
How many can attest to that?
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| Davy Crockett |
Knowing he'd stood up for what was right and had a switch taken to him for it, Crockett told his constituents, "You can go to h---. I'm going to Texas." That he did, taking a good amount of friends with him, and each and every one of them wound up dying in the Battle of the Alamo, which is another story. But once in Texas, Crockett and his friends decided to stick around for the fight as they felt it was the right thing to do. Davy Crockett didn't run from his conscience.
We need to follow in the footsteps of men like Crockett in that many of us today don't even know what a conscience is. The right thing? Doing that takes too much time and effort. I'll do it tomorrow . . . or Tuesday . . . or next year. We become stagnant until it's too late, and by then we really don't care.
Our consciences are powerful things, and we need to listen to them more often. They're not there to brainwash us, but to steer us onto the correct and proper path. You may say, "Yeah, but Crockett's got him killed." Crockett had to live with himself, and had he gone along with the Washington crowd, he would have been a walking dead man, which he knew. He merely chose the way for him to go, and it turned him into one of America's greatest legends. He knew exactly what he was doing. Crockett may have lost his life in the long run, but he went out an honest man with a clear conscience.
How many can attest to that?
Friday, July 29, 2011
Want the Bickering Stopped? Listen to Paul Harvey
With the way Congress is bickering about the debt ceiling, it's funny the memories it's allowed to bring up. For some odd reason, this particular one has stuck me for more than thirty-five years. It was a mere moment, but I'm glad it did.
I was going through the paper, and for some reason, decided to read Paul Harvey's column. I don't know why, as at the age I was, I would read the funnies, and if there was no baseball news, I skipped the sports. Plus, I always read the late Jim Lange's editorial cartoon. But this particular day, that column stuck out, and I've never forgotten it.
He wrote of how everyone wanted a problem solved, and when a solution came up, someone in a part of the nation would cry out, "Not that! It hurts me!" So they'd come up with yet another solution, and another group would shout out, "You can't do that! It hurts me!" So they would go back to the drawing board, return with Plan C, and lo and behold another group would rush up screaming at the top of their lungs: "What are you doing? Can't you see the damage that will do to us?"
Harvey went on to point out that in order for the then-current problem to be stopped, people needed to quit acting as individuals, and act as Americans. They needed to dump the 'me first' attitude that had taken over. That, he said, was the only way this was going to happen.
Sadly, while people respected Paul Harvey, continuing to listen to him on the radio and read his column, they evidently ignored what he had to say that particular day. We are more of a 'me first' generation than we were thirty-five years ago. I remember Dr. John George saying many times to my classes, "People are like Templeton the rat from Charlotte's Web in that we're always asking, 'What's in it for me?'"
In looking over today's times, we need to remember to drop the 'me first' and put an 'America first' attitude. We hear so many differing viewpoints from Washington, it's hard to tell what is going on there. People will say, "Oh, I believe so and so, as he's a member of my party." In the long run, that's worth about as much as a wooden nickel.
We need to drop our selfish attitude, and remember the foundations this nation started on. If not, we're going to continue this downward spiral. Nations that have forgotten their past have no future.
For Paul Harvey - Good day.
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| Paul Harvey |
I was going through the paper, and for some reason, decided to read Paul Harvey's column. I don't know why, as at the age I was, I would read the funnies, and if there was no baseball news, I skipped the sports. Plus, I always read the late Jim Lange's editorial cartoon. But this particular day, that column stuck out, and I've never forgotten it.
He wrote of how everyone wanted a problem solved, and when a solution came up, someone in a part of the nation would cry out, "Not that! It hurts me!" So they'd come up with yet another solution, and another group would shout out, "You can't do that! It hurts me!" So they would go back to the drawing board, return with Plan C, and lo and behold another group would rush up screaming at the top of their lungs: "What are you doing? Can't you see the damage that will do to us?"
Harvey went on to point out that in order for the then-current problem to be stopped, people needed to quit acting as individuals, and act as Americans. They needed to dump the 'me first' attitude that had taken over. That, he said, was the only way this was going to happen.
Sadly, while people respected Paul Harvey, continuing to listen to him on the radio and read his column, they evidently ignored what he had to say that particular day. We are more of a 'me first' generation than we were thirty-five years ago. I remember Dr. John George saying many times to my classes, "People are like Templeton the rat from Charlotte's Web in that we're always asking, 'What's in it for me?'"
In looking over today's times, we need to remember to drop the 'me first' and put an 'America first' attitude. We hear so many differing viewpoints from Washington, it's hard to tell what is going on there. People will say, "Oh, I believe so and so, as he's a member of my party." In the long run, that's worth about as much as a wooden nickel.
We need to drop our selfish attitude, and remember the foundations this nation started on. If not, we're going to continue this downward spiral. Nations that have forgotten their past have no future.
For Paul Harvey - Good day.
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