It is a fact of STA (small-town American) that a few people run most local government or public entities – school districts, communities, counties. It is a truism with few exceptions.
Lonoke County and some of the towns that are included in it are perfect examples of how the intellectual gene pools have been drained to the point of single digit IQs making major decisions.
For years Lonoke County has been wrestling with trying to mesh the need for a new jail with incoming revenues. Finally, a couple of years ago, the county Quorum Court buckled down and approved the construction of a new jail.
That jail is scheduled to open in February 2011. Maybe.
The “maybe” comes as a result of small-brain / small-town thinking.
The county is building the jail, but apparently the cost of operating it – an estimated $1.3 million a year – was never fully considered nor explored.
The citizens of Lonoke County have elected officials – County Judge Charlie Troutman, Sheriff Jim Roberson, and Justices of the peace Mike Dolan, Mark Edwards, H.L. Lang, Tim Lemons, Roger Lynch, Alexis Malham, Jeannette Minton, Larry Odom, Bill Ryker, Adam Sims, Jodie Troutman, Barry Weathers and Sony Moery – that are supposed to be looking out after the interests of the citizens.
In this case, somebody – everybody! – apparently went to sleep.
It is the county judge’s primary responsibility to be the planner, organizer, coordinator and budget overseer for the county. The judge, running for re-election, apparently didn’t do his homework and advise the JPs on what would be needed. Neither did Roberson and neither did anyone else.
Where to come up with the money?
The county budget committee will have to solve that thorny problem. But it would behoove the county judge and the county sheriff and all the JPs to start thinking … and quit assuming.
A (quote) state-of-the-at jail (end quote) with insufficient money to operate it.
What a maroon of a situation!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Stealing a newspaper honest-to-goodness crime
As a 50-year veteran of newspaper wars, I prided myself on always being upfront and honest and truthful in all respects.
In writing more than 3,000 editorials and 2,000 columns in those years, I fully acknowledge the remote possibility of slipping up occasionally and bending the truth into a pretzel, if not busting it all to pieces.
I was talking “newspapering” recently with a long-time East Texas publisher and I was rambling on about something or other and he said, “What was the real scoop on the column you wrote about newspaper theft?”
Well, there were three actually and two happened in Marshall.
Any newspaper can expect a seven-to-eight percent theft from newspaper racks. That’s a pretty good universal number for the percent of thieves that read papers. That number is a given and is figured into circulation budgets.
Back in 1989, the rack thefts at the News Messenger skyrocketed one summer, with daily theft surpassing 20 percent. I teamed up with the circulation director and rigged up a sting: We took quarters out of racks, painted the edges with fingernail polish (Passionfruit, as a recall) and replaced them in the coin bins.
It was obvious the next day when we went through the rack collection bags that many of the doctored quarters were missing.
Before we had a chance to decide on a course of action, we adjourned to Burger King for lunch. Upon arrival, the manager welcomed us and said, “If you’d been a few minutes earlier, (a staff member) could have bought your lunch. He brought in enough quarters to feed the lunch crowd.”
Part of the lunch money included quarters with the edges painted in Passionfruit.
Back at the office, we confronted the circulation employee, had him return all the quarters (three bags full in his trunk), invited him to write a check for the difference of seven-eight percent of theft and what it had been running the past month … and terminated his employment.
Never did a firing feel so good.
The second such theft report in Marshall was even more bizarre.
The Messenger, every Sunday morning, experienced a 90 percent theft rate … at one rack. It was located front and center at a local restaurant.
One Sunday I staked out the restaurant and watched as a stream of customers came up to the rack and put in the correct change, opened the door and took out a handful of papers. There were originally 50 papers in the rack and only $5 in the coin collection tray when I checked.
I went inside the restaurant and went to a meeting room in the back. A herd of men were sitting, drinking coffee, slamming down eggs and reading stolen News Messengers.
Being as it was a pre-church meeting of a men’s Sunday School class, I announced I was there to pass the collection plate to get money for the papers that were inadvertently stolen from the rack outside. I passed a blue-striped plate and dollar bills were piled high in no time.
“Don’t make me come back here,” I said, smiling, as I exited. No more theft problems from that rack … ever.
Later in my career, the paper at which I was publishing sponsored a “Little Cutie” photo contest (or some such titled money-making gimmick), and the official entry blank was included in a full-page ad. Unlimited entries were allowed, but no copies were to be counted.
That stipulation guaranteed a high degree of theft. We went to the trouble of printing rack cards telling would-be thieves the penalties for stealing newspaper.
The theft that day surpassed 50 percent.
The following day I wrote a front-page column about the theft, and advised the readers that every single rack paper was printed with a special scan code that, if the entry form was turned in for the contest, could be pinpointed as stolen … and prosecution would be vigorously pursued.
The phone rang off the wall that day with readers saying their spousal units “might” have inadvertently picked up extra copies and they’d like to come down and make restitution. The front desk took in more than $200 that day.
In my convoluted thinking, sometimes white lies are justified. And, despite what newspaper professionals like to think, some readers are dumber than a box of hair.
In writing more than 3,000 editorials and 2,000 columns in those years, I fully acknowledge the remote possibility of slipping up occasionally and bending the truth into a pretzel, if not busting it all to pieces.
I was talking “newspapering” recently with a long-time East Texas publisher and I was rambling on about something or other and he said, “What was the real scoop on the column you wrote about newspaper theft?”
Well, there were three actually and two happened in Marshall.
Any newspaper can expect a seven-to-eight percent theft from newspaper racks. That’s a pretty good universal number for the percent of thieves that read papers. That number is a given and is figured into circulation budgets.
Back in 1989, the rack thefts at the News Messenger skyrocketed one summer, with daily theft surpassing 20 percent. I teamed up with the circulation director and rigged up a sting: We took quarters out of racks, painted the edges with fingernail polish (Passionfruit, as a recall) and replaced them in the coin bins.
It was obvious the next day when we went through the rack collection bags that many of the doctored quarters were missing.
Before we had a chance to decide on a course of action, we adjourned to Burger King for lunch. Upon arrival, the manager welcomed us and said, “If you’d been a few minutes earlier, (a staff member) could have bought your lunch. He brought in enough quarters to feed the lunch crowd.”
Part of the lunch money included quarters with the edges painted in Passionfruit.
Back at the office, we confronted the circulation employee, had him return all the quarters (three bags full in his trunk), invited him to write a check for the difference of seven-eight percent of theft and what it had been running the past month … and terminated his employment.
Never did a firing feel so good.
The second such theft report in Marshall was even more bizarre.
The Messenger, every Sunday morning, experienced a 90 percent theft rate … at one rack. It was located front and center at a local restaurant.
One Sunday I staked out the restaurant and watched as a stream of customers came up to the rack and put in the correct change, opened the door and took out a handful of papers. There were originally 50 papers in the rack and only $5 in the coin collection tray when I checked.
I went inside the restaurant and went to a meeting room in the back. A herd of men were sitting, drinking coffee, slamming down eggs and reading stolen News Messengers.
Being as it was a pre-church meeting of a men’s Sunday School class, I announced I was there to pass the collection plate to get money for the papers that were inadvertently stolen from the rack outside. I passed a blue-striped plate and dollar bills were piled high in no time.
“Don’t make me come back here,” I said, smiling, as I exited. No more theft problems from that rack … ever.
Later in my career, the paper at which I was publishing sponsored a “Little Cutie” photo contest (or some such titled money-making gimmick), and the official entry blank was included in a full-page ad. Unlimited entries were allowed, but no copies were to be counted.
That stipulation guaranteed a high degree of theft. We went to the trouble of printing rack cards telling would-be thieves the penalties for stealing newspaper.
The theft that day surpassed 50 percent.
The following day I wrote a front-page column about the theft, and advised the readers that every single rack paper was printed with a special scan code that, if the entry form was turned in for the contest, could be pinpointed as stolen … and prosecution would be vigorously pursued.
The phone rang off the wall that day with readers saying their spousal units “might” have inadvertently picked up extra copies and they’d like to come down and make restitution. The front desk took in more than $200 that day.
In my convoluted thinking, sometimes white lies are justified. And, despite what newspaper professionals like to think, some readers are dumber than a box of hair.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Circumference of Me
Fourth in a series
You’re terrified? Good!
If you are just starting off on your career journey, you are probably thinking every day that you are living on the edge of your abilities. Or, you may be a long-term employee thinking exactly the same thing.
You’re not.
If you are like a huge majority of workers, you are ensconced in a mile-wide comfort zone, not daring to step near the edge of your experience and abilities.
Growth is rarely gained by standing on solid ground.
You may not recognize it now, but your abilities will not grow and your experiences will be contracted unless you live on the edge. Taking steps – even tiny, baby steps – past the edge of your self-imposed comfort zone is absolutely necessary for personal and professional growth.
You know why you don’t venture closer to the edge: It’s a fear of failure, of biting off more than you can chew, of not gathering moss on your personal rolling stone, and a bevy of other clichés.
Fear of failure is not fatal; it’s also not conducive to progression within the office ranks. If you feel you are watching your life drain out of your frame of opportunity, you have two choices: Step back into more familiar surroundings and possibly stifle unseen opportunities, or step closer and get sucked away into a whole new universe of opportunity.
Of course, it’s frightening; going from the known to the unknown always is. We all like knowing what’s behind the veil of uncertainty in business or in life. Once you set foot in uncharted territory, you at a position where your heretofore-accepted limits are no longer valid.
It’s a time for reflection, reviewing goals and setting new ones, and working to mesh your unspoken dreams with your new reality. You have faced your fears and taken decisive action to change that, which is within your power to change.
You are not the same person you were before you made a conscientious decision to actively seek change. You chose evolution over sameolution. The fact remains, without experimentation, without exploring the depths of your potential, without expanding your knowledge base and business acumen, you cannot climb higher on the success ladder.
That which terrifies you also creates an opportunity for growth.
You’re terrified? Good!
If you are just starting off on your career journey, you are probably thinking every day that you are living on the edge of your abilities. Or, you may be a long-term employee thinking exactly the same thing.
You’re not.
If you are like a huge majority of workers, you are ensconced in a mile-wide comfort zone, not daring to step near the edge of your experience and abilities.
Growth is rarely gained by standing on solid ground.
You may not recognize it now, but your abilities will not grow and your experiences will be contracted unless you live on the edge. Taking steps – even tiny, baby steps – past the edge of your self-imposed comfort zone is absolutely necessary for personal and professional growth.
You know why you don’t venture closer to the edge: It’s a fear of failure, of biting off more than you can chew, of not gathering moss on your personal rolling stone, and a bevy of other clichés.
Fear of failure is not fatal; it’s also not conducive to progression within the office ranks. If you feel you are watching your life drain out of your frame of opportunity, you have two choices: Step back into more familiar surroundings and possibly stifle unseen opportunities, or step closer and get sucked away into a whole new universe of opportunity.
Of course, it’s frightening; going from the known to the unknown always is. We all like knowing what’s behind the veil of uncertainty in business or in life. Once you set foot in uncharted territory, you at a position where your heretofore-accepted limits are no longer valid.
It’s a time for reflection, reviewing goals and setting new ones, and working to mesh your unspoken dreams with your new reality. You have faced your fears and taken decisive action to change that, which is within your power to change.
You are not the same person you were before you made a conscientious decision to actively seek change. You chose evolution over sameolution. The fact remains, without experimentation, without exploring the depths of your potential, without expanding your knowledge base and business acumen, you cannot climb higher on the success ladder.
That which terrifies you also creates an opportunity for growth.
Some ‘WHOA!’ stories
A recent “Whoa!” writing effort pinpointed items in society that cause common sense advocates to stop and say, “Whoa!” A few emails indicated that "Whoa!" was a fun reading.
In all honesty, this type of computer fodder is as easy falling off a log. To those of the younger generation, it's easier than the beginner’s stage of Halo.
1) Whoa! In Canada, making a marijuana bust can be hazardous to one’s health. Royal Canadian Mounted Police raided a suspected marijuana “grow-ops” field in British Columbia and found it guarded … by at lest 14 bears. That’s “bears,” as in “people-eating mammals.”
The bears were kept in the vicinity of the marijuana crop by heapin’ helpin’s of dog food left especially for them. Also found at the property were a pot-belly pig and a raccoon. Officers said the swine and coon were friendly, and the bears were not considered a threat, and one even said the bears “were quite tame.”
In the U.S. pit bulldogs are guard animals of choice. Canadian marijuana growers obviously have a lot to learn.
2) Whoa! According to a poll (if you believe in polls and that they are fair and balanced), 24 percent of Americans believe President Barack Obama is a follower of the Muslim faith. The same number believe that George W. Bush attacked Iraq in good faith and Dick Cheney is not the devil.
3) Whoa! The last U.S. combat brigade is leaving Iraq. Good news, right? For those soldiers, absolutely. For the people of Iraq, it’s a different tale. But it’s a safe bet that tribal warfare will break out in that country within the next year and that another dictator of the Saddam Hussein ilk will be running the place.
One thing about the American military and the civilian leaders: They don’t mind making the same mistakes over and over and over ….
4) Whoa! Almost 400 million eggs have been recalled due to an outbreak of salmonella. First, lettuce, then strawberries, then broch…brocol…cauliflower, and now eggs.
Never had this problem back in the day before television and video games. Think about it.
5) Whoa! Hard line conservatives see nothing wrong with mass emailing anything derogatory about the president. It takes virtually no effort to go to snopes.com and find out whether or not such stories are true.
Yet many believe passing along untruths is somehow helping “the cause,” whatever that may be.
In all honesty, this type of computer fodder is as easy falling off a log. To those of the younger generation, it's easier than the beginner’s stage of Halo.
1) Whoa! In Canada, making a marijuana bust can be hazardous to one’s health. Royal Canadian Mounted Police raided a suspected marijuana “grow-ops” field in British Columbia and found it guarded … by at lest 14 bears. That’s “bears,” as in “people-eating mammals.”
The bears were kept in the vicinity of the marijuana crop by heapin’ helpin’s of dog food left especially for them. Also found at the property were a pot-belly pig and a raccoon. Officers said the swine and coon were friendly, and the bears were not considered a threat, and one even said the bears “were quite tame.”
In the U.S. pit bulldogs are guard animals of choice. Canadian marijuana growers obviously have a lot to learn.
2) Whoa! According to a poll (if you believe in polls and that they are fair and balanced), 24 percent of Americans believe President Barack Obama is a follower of the Muslim faith. The same number believe that George W. Bush attacked Iraq in good faith and Dick Cheney is not the devil.
3) Whoa! The last U.S. combat brigade is leaving Iraq. Good news, right? For those soldiers, absolutely. For the people of Iraq, it’s a different tale. But it’s a safe bet that tribal warfare will break out in that country within the next year and that another dictator of the Saddam Hussein ilk will be running the place.
One thing about the American military and the civilian leaders: They don’t mind making the same mistakes over and over and over ….
4) Whoa! Almost 400 million eggs have been recalled due to an outbreak of salmonella. First, lettuce, then strawberries, then broch…brocol…cauliflower, and now eggs.
Never had this problem back in the day before television and video games. Think about it.
5) Whoa! Hard line conservatives see nothing wrong with mass emailing anything derogatory about the president. It takes virtually no effort to go to snopes.com and find out whether or not such stories are true.
Yet many believe passing along untruths is somehow helping “the cause,” whatever that may be.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
An idea whose time has come
Are you sick and tired of the endless yammering about illegal aliens, how to control the slippery hordes, what to do with them when they are captured within the U.S. borders without proper papers, and how to pay for the get-the-hell-out program?
Well, join the verbal fray!
No one – no liberal, conservative, redneck immigrant hater or immigrant activist – has a clue how to solve the problem.
It’s time for a surefire solution. So, of course I have one, so here goes.
Surefire Solve-the-Illegal-Immigrant Plan
This plan includes four key steps:
1) Find every single illegal alien in the country by Christmas.
2) Throw their illegal hinnies out of the country.
3) Tell them if they come back, they will be horsewhipped with a piece of bobwire, regardless of age or gender. (I know it’s “barbed wire,” but I’m mad and don’t care.)
4) Fine every business that hires illegal aliens $1,000 per person for the first offense; second offense, the penalty escalates to $25,000 per illegal worker and confiscation of every flat screen TV and Lazyboy recliner the lawbreaker owns. The gummit would then sell the confiscated stuff and the revenue would go directly to reducing the national debt.
The second offense penalty would insure there would be no need for a third offense penalty.
Of course, the plan has problems, but so does every other plan thus far presented. Three of the four planks in the platform above are perfectly legal … about three more than any other plan thus far offered.
Acknowledging the bobwire beatings are a bit over the top, it is still proffered just so those aginners can throw something in the plan out.
So, let’s all push to get this plan passed.
And, when all the illegal immigrants are out of the country and the crops are not being picked, and the chickens are not being plucked, and the offerings at fast food restaurants are going bad, and buildings are not being cleaned, and landscaping chores are being left undone … we can all take a collective breath and be amazed at the abject stupidity that sometimes encapsulates the best of intentions.
The winds of change blow … well, sorta funny. As soon as people start getting hungry because there’s no fresh farm produce, or consumer goods escalate like the dickens because labor costs soars, there’ll be a solid clamoring to allow any ol’ immigrant who’ll work to make our lives easier and living it cheaper to cross the borders.
The situation would be laughable if it were not so darn pitiful.
Well, join the verbal fray!
No one – no liberal, conservative, redneck immigrant hater or immigrant activist – has a clue how to solve the problem.
It’s time for a surefire solution. So, of course I have one, so here goes.
Surefire Solve-the-Illegal-Immigrant Plan
This plan includes four key steps:
1) Find every single illegal alien in the country by Christmas.
2) Throw their illegal hinnies out of the country.
3) Tell them if they come back, they will be horsewhipped with a piece of bobwire, regardless of age or gender. (I know it’s “barbed wire,” but I’m mad and don’t care.)
4) Fine every business that hires illegal aliens $1,000 per person for the first offense; second offense, the penalty escalates to $25,000 per illegal worker and confiscation of every flat screen TV and Lazyboy recliner the lawbreaker owns. The gummit would then sell the confiscated stuff and the revenue would go directly to reducing the national debt.
The second offense penalty would insure there would be no need for a third offense penalty.
Of course, the plan has problems, but so does every other plan thus far presented. Three of the four planks in the platform above are perfectly legal … about three more than any other plan thus far offered.
Acknowledging the bobwire beatings are a bit over the top, it is still proffered just so those aginners can throw something in the plan out.
So, let’s all push to get this plan passed.
And, when all the illegal immigrants are out of the country and the crops are not being picked, and the chickens are not being plucked, and the offerings at fast food restaurants are going bad, and buildings are not being cleaned, and landscaping chores are being left undone … we can all take a collective breath and be amazed at the abject stupidity that sometimes encapsulates the best of intentions.
The winds of change blow … well, sorta funny. As soon as people start getting hungry because there’s no fresh farm produce, or consumer goods escalate like the dickens because labor costs soars, there’ll be a solid clamoring to allow any ol’ immigrant who’ll work to make our lives easier and living it cheaper to cross the borders.
The situation would be laughable if it were not so darn pitiful.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Gimme spam!!
I’m probably one of only a handful of people who enjoy getting spam. The email kind, not the canned meat.
While both can be nasty, scammers can be fun if you like playing with idiots who think plying their con games on the Internet is fun.
For more than three years I have been corresponding with scammers from a score of countries and find it quite interesting to see what motivates them. Well, actually, what motivates them is easy: Money. But hooking them into a scheme of my choosing can be more fun that braiding a box of multi-hued hair.
The most interesting thing about foreign scammers is that they do not know much about American culture, television icons, holidays or religions. I have related how I could not send money on a certain day because of the National Sucker Day Observances, or how I had to meet with Pastor Ernest Borgnine of the Hairy Nest Pentacostal Church in Janehathaway, Arkansas to discuss my ‘truss” fund.
They believe me when I relate how I was injured in an accident involving a mini-van of lawyers going to a Tort Convention, or de-legged by a runaway auger drilling for corn oil, or how I went to the circus and a clown car jumped the railing and whopped the crowd.
They believe my daughter is named Vienna Sousage Smith or Dorito Chippette Smith or Suzette Smith Saliva, and my Swedish nurse is Gotchme Bigguns, and my business secretary is Pepito Bismol.
All they care about is getting some money for myriad reasons – usually shipping a truckload of jewels or security bonds, or valuable coins, bank transfer information.
Occasionally, a sick scammer claims to have died, and their barrister/lawyer takes up the cause. Countering with my own lawyer – Duke Wayne, Sonny Bono, Henry Winkler, et al – is a good way keep an even playing field.
Do I ever receive anything from the scammers? One day the mail brought in more than $385,000 in fraudulent money orders – in $2,000 and $3,000 demoninations – from Wal-Mart, Circle K and some convenience store chain from the Northeast. I notified the FBI and the nice lady agent to whom I reported the scam was not enthusiastic. She advised me to burn the money orders.
I am planning on handing them out as party favors at some point in the future.
Over the past year or so I have received checks in various amounts -- $196,000, $52,538, $98,000 – and all are official checks on real companies. In every instance, they could be cashed with no questions asked … until law officers showed up at your door with engraved handcuffs.
The “hook” for the scammers is that they want you to deposit the checks and send them anywhere from 20 to 50 percent of the deposited money, which you are supposed to transfer to a foreign bank. And, you keep the rest for your trouble.
Simple. And illegal.
It is estimated that more than $3 billion a year is bilked from U.S. citizens from such scams.
If the scammers would just learn who Ernest Borgnine was or know that Milburn Drysdale was a TV character, not a real banker, think how much more time they would have to skim more money from their greedy targets.
As for those $2,000 and $3,000 fraudulent money orders? I am planning on handing them out as party favors at some point in the future.
While both can be nasty, scammers can be fun if you like playing with idiots who think plying their con games on the Internet is fun.
For more than three years I have been corresponding with scammers from a score of countries and find it quite interesting to see what motivates them. Well, actually, what motivates them is easy: Money. But hooking them into a scheme of my choosing can be more fun that braiding a box of multi-hued hair.
The most interesting thing about foreign scammers is that they do not know much about American culture, television icons, holidays or religions. I have related how I could not send money on a certain day because of the National Sucker Day Observances, or how I had to meet with Pastor Ernest Borgnine of the Hairy Nest Pentacostal Church in Janehathaway, Arkansas to discuss my ‘truss” fund.
They believe me when I relate how I was injured in an accident involving a mini-van of lawyers going to a Tort Convention, or de-legged by a runaway auger drilling for corn oil, or how I went to the circus and a clown car jumped the railing and whopped the crowd.
They believe my daughter is named Vienna Sousage Smith or Dorito Chippette Smith or Suzette Smith Saliva, and my Swedish nurse is Gotchme Bigguns, and my business secretary is Pepito Bismol.
All they care about is getting some money for myriad reasons – usually shipping a truckload of jewels or security bonds, or valuable coins, bank transfer information.
Occasionally, a sick scammer claims to have died, and their barrister/lawyer takes up the cause. Countering with my own lawyer – Duke Wayne, Sonny Bono, Henry Winkler, et al – is a good way keep an even playing field.
Do I ever receive anything from the scammers? One day the mail brought in more than $385,000 in fraudulent money orders – in $2,000 and $3,000 demoninations – from Wal-Mart, Circle K and some convenience store chain from the Northeast. I notified the FBI and the nice lady agent to whom I reported the scam was not enthusiastic. She advised me to burn the money orders.
I am planning on handing them out as party favors at some point in the future.
Over the past year or so I have received checks in various amounts -- $196,000, $52,538, $98,000 – and all are official checks on real companies. In every instance, they could be cashed with no questions asked … until law officers showed up at your door with engraved handcuffs.
The “hook” for the scammers is that they want you to deposit the checks and send them anywhere from 20 to 50 percent of the deposited money, which you are supposed to transfer to a foreign bank. And, you keep the rest for your trouble.
Simple. And illegal.
It is estimated that more than $3 billion a year is bilked from U.S. citizens from such scams.
If the scammers would just learn who Ernest Borgnine was or know that Milburn Drysdale was a TV character, not a real banker, think how much more time they would have to skim more money from their greedy targets.
As for those $2,000 and $3,000 fraudulent money orders? I am planning on handing them out as party favors at some point in the future.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Believe it! World is crazier than ever
How crazy is this old world?
Crazy is as crazy does.
The following are “WHOA” moments, you know, those events that cause people with common sense to go “whoa” and shake their collective heads in disbelief.
WHOA! 1: A carnival recently came under political and judicial heat for having a dart-throwing game. The object of the throwing darts? A photo of President Obama. The very least the vendor could have done was have a photo alongside of Mitch McConnell. Give the carnival-goers a choice, for gosh sakes.
WHOA! 2: A New Jersey block gathering, part of the National Night Out anti-crime project, was the scene of a murder. A 39-year-old man was arguing with another party-goer and was shot in the head. Seems like the shooter didn’t get the anti-violence memo. There is no report that when he was apprehended he said, “Opps. My bad!”
WHOA! 3: Social Security is in the red. Seriously. But all the SS-drawing Baby Boomers don’t have to panic just yet. There’s enough money in the trust fund to last a while longer. If there’s not, the application line for Wal-Mart greeters is going to lap the parking lot.
WHOA! 4: The U.S. Postal Service posted (pun intended) a $3.5 billion loss in the last fiscal year. How can that be? FedEx and UPS are making money, but the ugly stepchild of the U.S. Gummit loses more money than the entire payroll of the Miami Heat? Has the government never heard of “house-cleaning” to turn a business around?
WHOA! 5: The law is the law, dadgummit. And any lawbreaker should be punished. Right? Even if the lawbreaker is a seven-year-old girl. Right?
Julie Murphy of Oregon City was cited by county inspector for not having a business license … for her lemonade stand. The temporary license cost $120, which, at 50 cents a glass, means that Julie would have to sell … let’s see, divide the five into the 2 and carry the 10… no that’s not right …. Anyway, she’d have to sell a bunch of durn lemonade.
The stupid public officials actually used “public safety” as the reason for shutting down the entrepreneurial tike.
Which brings me to …
WHOA! 6: It was about 1986 at the FireAnt Festival in Marshall. I was strutting around doing my chairman thing, glad-handing vendors and watching Patti at the Chamber and Janice McPherson do all the work, when I was buzzed about an emergency on the south side of the courthouse.
Seems the county health gomer was telling a Karnack vendor she had to shut down her stand. Her muscadine and pawpaw jelly weren’t prepared in an approved kitchen and “public health was at risk.”
I couldn’t believe the public servant was serious but, Shoot!, he assured me he was. I tried to reason with him, argue with him, even told him to go check on real lawbreakers, but he wouldn’t budge.
So, as my friends (and my detractors) know, I pulled a “George.”
Asking the lady how much merchandise she had on hand, she quickly did a count and I wrote her a check for $320 dollars or some such and hired her at $5 an hour to “sell” my merchandise for the remainder of the festival.
Then I turned to the health inspector: “This merchandise is now mine. I’m responsible for it. And I’m going to sell it through my contract agent, whom I am relieving of any legal responsibility for its sale.
“Issue your stupid citation or arrest me because we’re not shutting down.”
As he thought about it, I said quietly, “I can just see the headline in the News Mess: Publisher turns jelly seller, cited by county official.”
With his face the color of muscadine jelly, he stomped off the square.
I ended up with about 12 jars of jelly at the end of the festival and ate on that batch for the next four or five years.
Best durn jelly I ever had, too.
Had the sweet taste of righteousness tinted with just a hint of so-there!
Crazy is as crazy does.
The following are “WHOA” moments, you know, those events that cause people with common sense to go “whoa” and shake their collective heads in disbelief.
WHOA! 1: A carnival recently came under political and judicial heat for having a dart-throwing game. The object of the throwing darts? A photo of President Obama. The very least the vendor could have done was have a photo alongside of Mitch McConnell. Give the carnival-goers a choice, for gosh sakes.
WHOA! 2: A New Jersey block gathering, part of the National Night Out anti-crime project, was the scene of a murder. A 39-year-old man was arguing with another party-goer and was shot in the head. Seems like the shooter didn’t get the anti-violence memo. There is no report that when he was apprehended he said, “Opps. My bad!”
WHOA! 3: Social Security is in the red. Seriously. But all the SS-drawing Baby Boomers don’t have to panic just yet. There’s enough money in the trust fund to last a while longer. If there’s not, the application line for Wal-Mart greeters is going to lap the parking lot.
WHOA! 4: The U.S. Postal Service posted (pun intended) a $3.5 billion loss in the last fiscal year. How can that be? FedEx and UPS are making money, but the ugly stepchild of the U.S. Gummit loses more money than the entire payroll of the Miami Heat? Has the government never heard of “house-cleaning” to turn a business around?
WHOA! 5: The law is the law, dadgummit. And any lawbreaker should be punished. Right? Even if the lawbreaker is a seven-year-old girl. Right?
Julie Murphy of Oregon City was cited by county inspector for not having a business license … for her lemonade stand. The temporary license cost $120, which, at 50 cents a glass, means that Julie would have to sell … let’s see, divide the five into the 2 and carry the 10… no that’s not right …. Anyway, she’d have to sell a bunch of durn lemonade.
The stupid public officials actually used “public safety” as the reason for shutting down the entrepreneurial tike.
Which brings me to …
WHOA! 6: It was about 1986 at the FireAnt Festival in Marshall. I was strutting around doing my chairman thing, glad-handing vendors and watching Patti at the Chamber and Janice McPherson do all the work, when I was buzzed about an emergency on the south side of the courthouse.
Seems the county health gomer was telling a Karnack vendor she had to shut down her stand. Her muscadine and pawpaw jelly weren’t prepared in an approved kitchen and “public health was at risk.”
I couldn’t believe the public servant was serious but, Shoot!, he assured me he was. I tried to reason with him, argue with him, even told him to go check on real lawbreakers, but he wouldn’t budge.
So, as my friends (and my detractors) know, I pulled a “George.”
Asking the lady how much merchandise she had on hand, she quickly did a count and I wrote her a check for $320 dollars or some such and hired her at $5 an hour to “sell” my merchandise for the remainder of the festival.
Then I turned to the health inspector: “This merchandise is now mine. I’m responsible for it. And I’m going to sell it through my contract agent, whom I am relieving of any legal responsibility for its sale.
“Issue your stupid citation or arrest me because we’re not shutting down.”
As he thought about it, I said quietly, “I can just see the headline in the News Mess: Publisher turns jelly seller, cited by county official.”
With his face the color of muscadine jelly, he stomped off the square.
I ended up with about 12 jars of jelly at the end of the festival and ate on that batch for the next four or five years.
Best durn jelly I ever had, too.
Had the sweet taste of righteousness tinted with just a hint of so-there!
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