Reflections on Jack Ruby

Depending upon who you read, Jack Ruby was a petty strip-club gangster or an important mobster-friend of Sam Giancana.







NOTE: I first wrote this in 2009 and have re-posted it every November since then. Since this is the 50th anniversary of the assassination, it seems even more pertinent and poignant.

Please limit comments to current post. Thanks.



~*~


It was November 24, 1963.

I remember that I was sitting on a footstool, my nose approximately 8 inches from my family's black-and-white TV set. If I got too close, I couldn't see anything, but I was intent on getting just as close as I could. I wanted to see it all.

It was Sunday morning, and I remember well the hubbub of the adults in the kitchen. I was the only one in the small dining room that served as our TV room. I heard the TV-news announcer say that Lee Oswald was going to be transferred in an armored vehicle. I didn't know what an armored vehicle was, but it sounded awesome. And yet... that little guy? As a six-year-old, I was surprised that such a skinny little guy could be the villain of the hour. I had expected the president's assassin to look something like Brutus, the dastardly evil man of the Popeye cartoons... or at least, he should bear some resemblance to Lex Luthor. This skinny, slight, soft-spoken fellow who calmly denied being near Dealey Plaza? Well, he was just spooky, that's all. They kept calling him a Marxist and a communist, words I didn't yet understand but knew meant that he was a bad person. (I would say the word "communist" in 1963 had the similar gravitas of the word "terrorist" in 2009.) I was enthralled by the constant TV-coverage, the switching back and forth from Dallas to Washington... to our new president, Lyndon Johnson and then back to the basement of Dallas city jail. It was as dazzling as space travel.

Middle-American culture had changed utterly and completely in only two days.

For one thing, the TV had not always been on before. You turned on the TV to watch something, and when it was over, you turned it off. Sometimes you left it on, but usually not. Among the working classes, it was not unusual for some families not to own a TV at all. There were often anti-TV holdouts in these families; cantankerous, old-school types who thought TV was all rubbish and probably unchristian. But after this weekend? This archaic viewpoint was consigned to the dustbin of history. Back in my first-grade class, I would hear about parents who had rushed out to buy a TV at long last. They simply could not bear to be left out.

The TV had been turned on, and stayed on. It was on when I got home from school, dismissed early due to the tragedy, and it was on throughout the funeral. And it stayed on forever after.

And the TV was on as they transferred Lee Oswald to the armored vehicle, or attempted to. There was much talk about security because tensions were running extremely high; there was palpable fury throughout the city of Dallas. When police had forcibly taken Oswald from the theater where they had discovered him, hostile mobs surrounded the police car, and it was said he might have been torn to pieces if the crowd had been able to get their hands on him.

Listening to all this, I was riveted. I remember peering intently as they brought him out, my nose almost right on the screen: There he is!

And then, the inevitable disappointment: such a nonthreatening little dude he was.

I peered and peered and then... bang. Oswald was down.

What?

It was so quick. If not for the firecracker-noise of the gun, I would never have known.

"They shot him!" I shouted, "They shot Oswald! They shot him!"

The adults stampeded as one entity, from the kitchen to the small dining room where I was. My mother, grandparents, some other relatives I have since forgotten... possibly my cousin Charlene.

"I SAW it!" I was shouting, "I SAW IT!"

SSSSSSSssssssshhhhhhhh! Everyone was shushing me. Had I really seen that? The adults' eyes were collectively popping. I felt pretty important for being the one to see it.

"He must be really mad about the president, huh?" I asked.

Nobody answered. They kept shushing me, as obviously-shaken news-announcers talked about what they had just witnessed.

And then, the adults were all looking at each other, that way adults did when they were thinking things that they would not share with children.

Finally, my grandfather said, in what I have come to call his Christian Science Wisdom voice: "Well, that really stinks."

My mother's eyes were wide, wide, wide.

My grandfather shook his head and said "Stinks!" again, rather emphatically. My mother nodded gravely back at him.

I didn't know what he meant then.

The TV-announcers were saying his name: Jack Ruby. The man's name was Jack Ruby.

~*~

Like millions of Americans that day, I saw a murder on live television. Because the murder was widely perceived as an act of justice, nobody worried about the ill effects on all of us children who saw it. And later, many years and decades later, when we began to doubt that what we saw was justice and instead wondered if it had been the silencing of a co-conspirator... nobody worried about the erosion of our morality and the consequential development of our cynicism.

But I trace it all back to that day, the day in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

They ask us, do you remember where you were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated? But I always ask, instead: What did you think when his accused murderer was pronounced dead? Because the silencing began then, the questions asked that will forever remain unanswered. (As Norman Mailer once explained the existence of the angry kids of the 60s: They hated the authority because the authority had lied.)

My grandfather was right. It certainly did stink. And the stench covered everything.

The lies of the powerful were uncovered and exposed before us, that morning in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

Some of us never forgot.

August update

Above, left: State Representative Leola C. Robinson-Simpson (District 25 - Greenville County) speaking at our local 50th anniversary celebration of the Civil Rights March, in Greenville's Cleveland Park on Saturday.

Above, right: Traci Fant, event organizer and local activist extraordinaire.

~*~

Back from Texas! (Did yall miss me?) You can see my purty family-photos HERE. My grandchildren (below) are both huge. And my grand-cat Napoleon is almost 9 years old! (as always, you can click all photos to enlarge)



~*~

And hey, I got old cars! (waves to the car-photo lurkers) You knew I would. (below)



I barely managed to get the first photo, as we went zooming by at breakneck pace. (Texans all drive like maniacs, including my beloved daughter.) I have no idea of the make, model or year of first one (it was for sale) or even the exact location--except that I snapped the photo somewhere between Fredericksburg and Kerrville. I am thinking: 60-61 Buick? It has fins!

The second photo, a Monte Carlo (75 or 76?), was taken in back of the Mellow Mushroom after the rally on Saturday.

~*~

Lots going on, as our awful Governor Nikki Haley (spits for emphasis) announced her re-election campaign right here in Greenville yesterday. When in trouble (as Haley certainly is), conservative state politicians ALWAYS run up here to hide amongst the GOP faithful. (As I have said many, many times, this IS the most conservative county in the USA, according to Rick Santorum's former campaign manager, who should know.) Haley's decision to announce here signals that she is in trouble in her own backyard, which is Columbia. (She avoids the coast at all costs.)

At yesterday's event, Texas Stoner Governor Rick Perry was on hand for comedy relief and her other good buddy, Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker (I mentioned here how chummy they are) was also present, for back-up.

She needed it.

Our own Double A, one of my two dynamite radio co-hosts, attended the demonstration against Haley, and reported on the foofaraw. Other than a few small, brave news outlets, the counter-demonstration was mostly ignored by local media.

~*~

HEAT and TRANS update, all in one

Recently, whilst sitting and baking in the ungodly heat, I have read/seen a good number of young trans men ecstatically bragging that they are post-op (known as "top surgery" i.e. mastectomies) and now, ohhh happy day, they can jump in the pool topless and sit around the house topless and at long last, go without a shirt! As if it is somehow intrinsically impossible to do these things unless one is male. These statements are utterly infuriating, and incidentally, feed the (unpopular and oppressive) radfem perspective that gender IS entirely a social construct (and therefore, they believe, surgical/hormonal transition should be unnecessary, and society itself should change or "transition" instead). Because going shirtless is not an intrinsically male or female activity, but IS entirely socially constructed, as we all learned as children, leafing through National Geographic and seeing photos of topless women in the Amazon or wherever.

The fact that these young trans men do not question their cultural environment, and make a big point of bragging about their newly-acquired social superiority (i.e. they are FINALLY FREE of having to do what those NARROW, CONSTRICTED, REPRESSED, GROSS WOMEN ARE FORCED TO DO: keep their shirts on), is very reactionary, offensive and sexist.

Wanting to shed one's shirt does not make you a man, it makes you conscious of the goddamn heat. Living in the broiler that is summer in South Carolina, I want to take my shirt off every single day. Every. Single. Day. And I am not a man and have never wanted to be one. As regular readers know, this is one of my big FEMINIST ISSUES--that men have this right and women do not, all because the almighty sacred titties are arousing to men and obscenity laws were written by men. (NOTE: This is rightly called PATRIARCHY, since the laws were written by MEN, using men's desires as a guide to what is regarded as obscene; women's desires have not been a factor.) I see no reason why WOMEN should not enjoy these so-called "male" privileges too. Instead, as in THIS VIDEO, it is simply understood that men have this seemingly-God-given right and women do not, period. Consequently, the young trans man brags that he can now, finally, at long last, hallelujah, take off his shirt.

(sigh)

And so, instead of properly fighting for everyone to have this right, it is presented as evidence of manhood (and in this context, transgender feelings), thus preserving the patriarchal status quo. This is backward, not forwards.

And further, radfems rarely (if ever) mention trans men and these kinds of sexist statements they make... its only when a high-profile individual like Chaz Bono is openly misogynist that anyone speaks up and says WHOA. I am tired of trans women taking all the heat for their choices, as trans men get off the hook, which by the way, perfectly mirrors our cultural sexism. As Julia Serano writes:

[The] media tends not to notice—or to outright ignore—trans men because they are unable to sensationalize them the way they do trans women without bringing masculinity itself into question. And in a world where modern psychology was founded upon the teaching that all young girls suffer from penis envy, most people think striving for masculinity seems like a perfectly reasonable goal. Author and sex educator Pat Califia, who is himself a trans man, addresses this in his 1997 book Sex Changes: The Politics of Transgenderism: “It seems the world is still more titillated by ‘a man who wants to become a woman’ than it is by ‘a woman who wants to become a man.’ The first is scandalous, the latter is taken for granted.

Which brings me to the matter of Wikileaks whistleblower Bradley Manning, now known as Chelsea Manning.

I said most of my piece on the radio yesterday. As I said then, I fully support Chelsea, and I am very proud we have a woman-whistleblower (go team!), which took all kinds of nerve. Although I must admit -- as a blogger, my first thought was, how on earth do I change all the tags on my blog (LOL) to CHELSEA when they already say BRADLEY--including some headlines and photos. Indexing nightmare! I remember the same problem back when I worked in a record store and we had to figure out what to do with Walter/Wendy Carlos. I finally lettered and inked a sign myself, that said Walter/Wendy Carlos, since people would come in asking for both (no internet in those days) and often believed they were a married couple, not the same person.

Speaking of sexism, sometimes classical-music freaks would actually inform me (haughtily and knowingly) that Wendy wasn't nearly as talented as her husband Walter (!), totally unaware that Walter and Wendy were the same person. When I tried to tell them they WERE the same person, they often refused to believe me, since you know, Walter is a serious musician who would NEVER do something crazy like change his sex! I mean, this was the 70s.

In response, I would simply tell them to look it up, since as I said, there was no internet in those days. So it was difficult to prove my assertion, since Wendy was/is a pretty private person. I hung around bisexual-circles even then, and I heard about Walter-to-Wendy through general gossip. And my record-store boss also seemed to know by community-osmosis (wink-wink), so he never argued with me.

In all my time there, only one of the aforementioned snotty classical-music crowd came in to apologize to me and tell me I was right... and come to think of it, I realize now that he was probably gay.

~*~

I am tagging this BRADLEY MANNING until I figure out a new tag. Blogger used to make it fairly easy to change a tag (you could change them all at once), but now, they make you do it one at a time. Ugh.

Does anyone know how the "big blogs" manage this type of situation?

Glad to be back, hope your week is going well too.

Feminists

Oh yeah.

Prompted by: Texas abortion law ignores real problem.

Latest in Nuke News

Last week, we interviewed Mary Olsen (of Nuclear Information and Resource Service) on Occupy the Microphone. (For the best in recent nuke news, check out NIRS.org)



Some of the news Mary shared with us:

[] In March, the NRC denied a third reactor to Calvert Cliffs nuke in Maryland:

The five-member commission [that oversees the US Nuclear Regulatory Commission] upheld an earlier Atomic Safety and Licensing Board ruling on the Calvert Cliffs 3 new nuclear reactor application, which had denied UniStar Nuclear Energy LLC’s application because of its failure to meet NRC foreign ownership requirements for US power reactors.

On Aug. 31, the three-judge ASLB denied a license for the proposed Calvert Cliffs unit 3 project because UniStar was bought out by Electricite de France in November 2010, resulting in 100-percent French ownership of UniStar.

[] In April, the Crystal River nuke in Florida was permanently shut down due to cracks in the containment dome and other problems; it has been offline since 2009 and has been a long-term headache for Duke Energy ever since:

The Crystal River plant in Citrus County, Florida, is operated by Progress Energy Florida. A failed repair to its thick reactor containment building led to repeated problems with cracking concrete in the structure.

Duke cited differences with merger partner Progress Energy last year over Crystal River’s condition. Progress CEO Bill Johnson, who was fired as chief executive of the combined companies, had favored repairing the 36-year-old plant.

But a Duke-commissioned engineering report late last year concluded that, while repairs were feasible, they could cost up to $3.4 billion in a worst-case scenario.

[] In May, the Kewaunee nuke in Wisconsin was permanently shut down:

The Kewaunee plant, which opened in 1974, was sold in 2005 to Dominion, based in Richmond, Va., by its owners, the Wisconsin Public Service Corporation and Wisconsin Power and Light. In the past, the lengthy decommissioning process that nuclear power requires was in the hands of local companies, which have had the option to go to a public service commission and ask for a rate increase to pay for the job if it proved unexpectedly difficult.

But Kewaunee was a “merchant” plant, a sort of free agent on the grid, selling its electricity on contract, at a price set by the market, not by the government.

...

Earlier this year, [Rep. Edward Markey] pointed out, the owners of the Crystal River 3 plant in Florida decided to retire it rather than repair its containment structure, because of unfavorable economics. Industry experts say that several reactors are operating at a loss while their owners wait for the glut of natural gas to disappear. How long that will be, and how many will last, is not clear.

“Once these old nuclear reactors shut down — as we’re seeing now — it will take 60 years and hundreds of millions of dollars to decontaminate them,” Mr. Markey said in a statement. “Taxpayers should have assurances that these nuclear relics don’t outlive their corporate owners and their ability to fund nuclear cleanup costs, leaving ordinary Americans to foot the bill.”

[] The NRC denied a license to Nuclear Innovation North America LLC for their proposed South Texas 3 & 4 Project (a joint venture between NRG Energy and Toshiba) because Toshiba owns a controlling interest in the nuclear reactors, in violation of US law:

The federal regulator denied the application of Nuclear Innovation North America LLC for a license to build the reactors, noting that Toshiba’s ownership stake in and “overwhelming financial contributions” to the project afford it a degree of control over the nuclear power plant that exceeds the limits of the Atomic Energy Act.

“The staff has determined that Toshiba, a Japanese corporation, through Toshiba American Nuclear Energy Corp. … its American subsidiary, is the sole source of financing for NINA,” the commission said in a letter denying the license.

[] Nuclear plant San Onofre 2 & 3 in California, has been shut down permanently, due to one disaster after another:

[The] nuke plant’s two operating reactors had already been shut down since January 2012. Southern California Edison’s decision to give up the ghost can be traced to its pattern of extreme mismanagement of plant operations, consequent huge financial losses, and the tenacious opposition that rallied local communities to take action to keep the unsafe plant shut down.

San Onofre is the largest nuclear power plant to be shut down in the US. One reactor was retired in 1992. The other two, just cut loose, formerly generated 2200 Megawatts of electricity to 1.5 million households. Located between San Diego and Los Angeles, the plant supplied power to 1.5 million households. 8.7 million people live within 50 miles of it. The two reactors at San Onofre had been scheduled to operate until 2022.

...

Long before Fukushima, San Onofre had already been having its own problems.
Reactor Unit 1, started up in 1968, had to be shut down in 1992 after problems with equipment that came back to haunt Edison with a vengeance in recent years at its other reactors.

In 2006 workers found radioactive water under Unit 1 that was 16 times more radioactive than EPA permitted levels for its presence in drinking water. And this was 14 years after that reactor had been shut down.
In August 2008 the Los Angeles Times reported “Injury rates at San Onofre put it dead last among US nuclear plants when it comes to industrial safety.” Later that year it emerged that a battery system, key to providing backup power to pump water to flood Unit 2’s reactor in case of a potential meltdown “was inoperable between 2004 and 2008 because of loose electrical connection,” the Nuclear Regulatory Commission reported.

And also in 2008, the Radiation and Public Health Project reported, in the European Journal of Cancer Care, that the counties nearest San Onofre, had the highest child leukemia mortality rates, of counties near nuclear power plants studied for the years 1974-2004.

...

All this led to 2009 and 2010, when Edison found it necessary to replace the four massive steam generators in San Onofre’s units 2 and 3. The original steam generators lasted over a quarter century, though they were supposed to last for the life of the reactors, 40 years. Steam generators facilitate the creation of steam to turn turbines to generate electricity in the type of nuclear plants most common in the US. Water pipes run through reactors and are heated by nuclear fuel. But this water also picks up lots of radioactivity. The steam generators have tubes that pass on the heat to another set up pipes that make the steam, while not passing on the radioactivity, which otherwise would escape into the environment and contaminate it. Thus the steam generators are key to keeping these nuclear plants running safely. Edison reportedly spent $680 million on the replacement steam generators. Since the plant was not originally designed to need replacements, the utility had to cut huge holes in buildings to get them inside.

And then they turned to junk in just a few years.

In a March 2012 report , Arne Grundersen, of Vermont’s Fairewind’s Associates, a former nuclear industry engineer, described the decisive moments when San Onofre’s shut down began in January 2012: “Unit 3 was operating at full power and experienced a complete perforation of one [steam generator] tube that allowed highly radioactive water from inside the reactor to mix with non-radioactive water that was turning the turbine. As a consequence, an uncontrolled release of radiation ensued, and San Onofre was forced to shut down due to steam generator failure.”

[] And finally, Warren Buffett's MidAmerican Energy has shelved all plans for a nuclear reactor in Iowa, opting for wind turbines instead:

MidAmerican Energy has scrapped plans for Iowa’s second nuclear plant and will refund $8.8 million ratepayers paid for a now-finished feasibility study, utility officials said Monday.

The utility has decided against building any major power plant: “We opted for what was in the best interest of our customers,” MidAmerican vice president for regulatory affairs Dean Crist told The Des Moines Register.

Mid­American will focus on its plan to build up to 656 wind turbines in a $1.9 billion project across Iowa, which also will trim power bills by saving fuel costs.

Thanks to Mary for coming on our show; she will be revisiting us soon.

So much loss...

... its hard to contemplate. I am concentrating on gratitude. Just when we start to think we need more money, more cars, more houses, more STUFF... the world caves in and reminds us of first principles and what is truly important. Its a cliche, but oh so true.

It is almost impossible to process.

A short recap --

As of right now, the whole Boston area is on lockdown, looking for the second Boston Marathon bomber.

As of right now, West, Texas is in mourning following a deadly explosion at a fertilizer plant. The mourners include my dear friend Yellowdog Granny, whom I have quoted and borrowed from so often in this space. This is her first-hand account of experiencing the explosion up-close and personal, which I also read aloud on the radio yesterday.

Some looney tune Elvis impersonator tried to poison President Obama and Mississippi Senator Wicker, for reasons unknown.

Sean Collier, a police officer at MIT, was shot and killed.

The controversial gun control bill was defeated.

And just when you think things can't get any worse, The Atlantic is warning us that Tylenol is scrambling our ethical sense. Yow!

Currently, we have thunderstorms all over Georgia and the Carolinas, and in the famous words of Tony Joe White (by way of South Carolina's own Brook Benton), I feel like its rainin all over the world.

~*~

Rainy Night in Georgia - Brook Benton

Reflections on Jack Ruby

Depending upon who you read, Jack Ruby was a petty strip-club gangster or an important mobster-friend of Sam Giancana.







NOTE: I first wrote this in 2009 and have re-posted it every November since then.

Please limit comments to current post. Thanks.


~*~


It was November 24, 1963.

I remember that I was sitting on a footstool, my nose approximately 8 inches from my family's black-and-white TV set. If I got too close, I couldn't see anything, but I was intent on getting just as close as I could. I wanted to see it all.

It was Sunday morning, and I remember well the hubbub of the adults in the kitchen. I was the only one in the small dining room that served as our TV room. I heard the TV-news announcer say that Lee Oswald was going to be transferred in an armored vehicle. I didn't know what an armored vehicle was, but it sounded awesome. And yet... that little guy? As a six-year-old, I was surprised that such a skinny little guy could be the villain of the hour. I had expected the president's assassin to look something like Brutus, the dastardly evil man of the Popeye cartoons... or at least, he should bear some resemblance to Lex Luthor. This skinny, slight, soft-spoken fellow who calmly denied being near Dealey Plaza? Well, he was just spooky, that's all. They kept calling him a Marxist and a communist, words I didn't yet understand but knew meant that he was a bad person. (I would say the word "communist" in 1963 had the similar gravitas of the word "terrorist" in 2009.) I was enthralled by the constant TV-coverage, the switching back and forth from Dallas to Washington... to our new president, Lyndon Johnson and then back to the basement of Dallas city jail. It was as dazzling as space travel.

Middle-American culture had changed utterly and completely in only two days.

For one thing, the TV had not always been on before. You turned on the TV to watch something, and when it was over, you turned it off. Sometimes you left it on, but usually not. Among the working classes, it was not unusual for some families not to own a TV at all. There were often anti-TV holdouts in these families; cantankerous, old-school types who thought TV was all rubbish and probably unchristian. But after this weekend? This archaic viewpoint was consigned to the dustbin of history. Back in my first-grade class, I would hear about parents who had rushed out to buy a TV at long last. They simply could not bear to be left out.

The TV had been turned on, and stayed on. It was on when I got home from school, dismissed early due to the tragedy, and it was on throughout the funeral. And it stayed on forever after.

And the TV was on as they transferred Lee Oswald to the armored vehicle, or attempted to. There was much talk about security because tensions were running extremely high; there was palpable fury throughout the city of Dallas. When police had forcibly taken Oswald from the theater where they had discovered him, hostile mobs surrounded the police car, and it was said he might have been torn to pieces if the crowd had been able to get their hands on him.

Listening to all this, I was riveted. I remember peering intently as they brought him out, my nose almost right on the screen: There he is!

And then, the inevitable disappointment: such a nonthreatening little dude he was.

I peered and peered and then... bang. Oswald was down.

What?

It was so quick. If not for the firecracker-noise of the gun, I would never have known.

"They shot him!" I shouted, "They shot Oswald! They shot him!"

The adults stampeded as one entity, from the kitchen to the small dining room where I was. My mother, grandparents, some other relatives I have since forgotten... possibly my cousin Charlene.

"I SAW it!" I was shouting, "I SAW IT!"

SSSSSSSssssssshhhhhhhh! Everyone was shushing me. Had I really seen that? The adults' eyes were collectively popping. I felt pretty important for being the one to see it.

"He must be really mad about the president, huh?" I asked.

Nobody answered. They kept shushing me, as obviously-shaken news-announcers talked about what they had just witnessed.

And then, the adults were all looking at each other, that way adults did when they were thinking things that they would not share with children.

Finally, my grandfather said, in what I have come to call his Christian Science Wisdom voice: "Well, that really stinks."

My mother's eyes were wide, wide, wide.

My grandfather shook his head and said "Stinks!" again, rather emphatically. My mother nodded gravely back at him.

I didn't know what he meant then.

The TV-announcers were saying his name: Jack Ruby. The man's name was Jack Ruby.

~*~

Like millions of Americans that day, I saw a murder on live television. Because the murder was widely perceived as an act of justice, nobody worried about the ill effects on all of us children who saw it. And later, many years and decades later, when we began to doubt that what we saw was justice and instead wondered if it had been the silencing of a co-conspirator... nobody worried about the erosion of our morality and the consequential development of our cynicism.

But I trace it all back to that day, the day in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

They ask us, do you remember where you were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated? But I always ask, instead: What did you think when his accused murderer was pronounced dead? Because the silencing began then, the questions asked that will forever remain unanswered. (As Norman Mailer once explained the existence of the angry kids of the 60s: They hated the authority because the authority had lied.)

My grandfather was right. It certainly did stink. And the stench covered everything.

The lies of the powerful were uncovered and exposed before us, that morning in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

Some of us never forgot.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch

At left: We enjoyed sets by The Flashbacks last evening in downtown Greenville. I love me some big brass noise with my old soul music! (You can click to enlarge.)



Our show today had three callers! Woot! Unfortunately, none were (frequently-requested) calls from irate Bob Jones University students, who continue to fulminate on Facebook about Chris Peterman being expelled for watching Glee. They are very upset that he went national with that story, since as everyone around here knows, BJU likes to keep its dirty laundry in-house.

When you ask if you can quote these irate students by name, they immediately flip out. What are they afraid of? Shouldn't they WANT to be quoted and given credit from BJU for their undying loyalty? Hm?

Well, no. Because BJU is a cult, and there is simply no pleasing a cult. These students know, on some level, that they will screw it up. They will say at least one wayward word or use some outlawed phrase that the cult will find displeasing or incorrect, and they KNOW it. So instead of stepping up to preen and get themselves on the air, they shrink and run for the shadows when the spotlight shines on them, and become nearly-hysterical if you suggest you will actually use their names.

They suddenly send a torrent of private messages pleading, pleading, pleading that you will not quote them.

It is patently bizarre, since at the same time, the BJU-student-mouthiness never stops. They do not seem to understand that they draw a lot of attention with their odd behavior, since 1) as products of the BJU-bubble, they don't understand how odd they sound in the first place, and 2) they have not been raised in the glare of the mainstream media, as the rest of us have been. We EXPECT that if we throw a tantrum, people will stare. (By contrast, in the Old South, they would politely look away and pretend they hadn't seen any tantrum. BJU is still steeped in Old South manners and the accompanying paradigm.) The rest of us are aware that if we throw said tantrum in a public place like Facebook, people will inevitably ask for follow-up, they will expect some sort of explanation. They will put the spotlight right on you and gape for several minutes at a time. (And what did you expect?)

These BJU kids seem unaware of this; they are shocked that outsiders like me expect them to answer for their nonsense. And yet, they accuse the world at large of all manner of sins. We just aren't supposed to reply. Instead, they say, they are addressing only Chris Peterman, or other ex-BJU rabble-rousers like Camille Lewis. When somebody like me barges in and asks for clarification, we get the proverbial deer-in-the-headlights expression, and the aforementioned semi-hysterical pleas for anonymity. (Or we can end up simply censored, with no reply at all, as a certain Hidalgo Grain Company person specializes in: endless pissed-off yammerings and then howlings of persecution when those yammerings are taken seriously. This seems to be the general pattern.) Overall: they seem stunned that the outside world exists at ALL.

Well, it does. And we're watching. And we won't stop watching, the way people rarely stop rubbernecking at an especially unpleasant, nasty train-wreck.

We couldn't turn away now if we WANTED to.

I admit: The slow-motion implosion of Bob Jones University is some of the greatest entertainment I have ever witnessed.

~*~

At left: I do not know who this person is, but I knew yall would never believe me (BJU readers excepted) if I didn't take a photo. I saw this Gospel-singing dude on the local Christian TV station late last night, and just check out those flags. (Note: You can see the logo of the Trinity Broadcasting Network in the upper right corner of the screen.)


THIS is what I vainly tried to explain to people in THIS post, and lots of em didn't get it.

As I said in that post, Israel's military well-being is possibly more important to the Christian Right than it is to Jews, and Israel directly benefits from the Christian Right's political power. I would very much like to hear more criticism of this unholy alliance from liberal and anti-militaristic Christians and Jews. But alas... (((crickets))) ... it is not a very popular topic. (Meanwhile, Israel still treats its own Palestinian Christian citizens like shit.)

But take note of that photo, gang... on HIS RIGHT is the Israeli flag. I think the order is supposed to be reversed?

Or maybe not.

~*~

THESE PEOPLE (heavy, heavy warnings) helped me decide that this month would be GAY PRIDE MONTH, on the blog and the radio show. That alarming link takes you to a toddler (!) singing "Ain't no homo gonna make it to heaven" at his church in Indiana. I really wish I was making that up.

Speaking of which, as I reported on my show today, somebody in Texas saw Jesus in their shower mold.

Really.

Wednesday Linkage

At left: Artisphere mural, more photos here.


Once again, the celebrity golfers have invaded the neighborhood, as they do every year. I have complained about this before (notably here and here) and so I will spare you any extended howling.

But damn, I wish they'd set up their Golf Network tents somewheres else.






Got links! Lots of interesting and timely reading around the intertubes:


[] The main reason capital punishment is wrong is human error. We now know that Texas executed the wrong man, Carlos DeLuna in 1989. Whoops! Sorry about that, DeLuna family!

Carlos, my heart bleeds for you.

[] Special needs teenager in NC, placed in box for punishment.

This made me think of the movie Papillon, in which Steve McQueen is placed in a box... but that film was set in a penal colony in French Guiana in the 30s. Not North Carolina in 2012. (cries)

[] Anti-environmental activist Cal Beisner Warns the 'Depraved' Environmental Movement Models itself after Satan. Trying to save the earth is evil, doncha know, but destroying the atmosphere is Godly. Just for the record.

[] Free the Weed Department: Pro-marijuana policy bloc swings Oregon attorney general primary election: Ellen Rosenblum (champion of marijuana policy reform) is now Democratic nominee for attorney general of the State of Oregon.

Since there is no Republican challenger, Rosenblum’s victory means she will be Oregon's next AG.

[] Special link for those who claim there is no GOP War on Women. Really? How about this: Debbie Wasserman Schultz Depicted In Dog Collar On GOP Candidate's Website.

And the hits just keep on comin, kids.

[] For fans of Bravo network's Inside the Actors Studio, here is James Lipton on Mitt Romney. The piece is tellingly titled: How to Act Human, which I think is a pretty tall order for Mitt.

Money quote:

Perhaps it starts with his laugh, a device he employs at odd moments and in a most peculiar way. (The public thinks that crying is the acid test of the actor, but in fact “laughing” is much harder — and Mr. Romney hasn’t mastered it.)

Listen to his laugh. It resembles the flat “Ha! Ha! Ha!” that appears in comic-strip dialogue balloons. But worse – far worse – it is mirthless. Mr. Romney expects us to be amused, although he himself is not amused. Freeze the frame, cover the bottom of his face with your hand, and study his eyes. There’s no pleasure there, no amusement.

[] Dubya kinda sorta endorses Mitt, as elevator closes. Funny!

[] And again speaking of Mitt, it is time to face the music on Bain: Is Mitt Romney ready for Bain battle?

As the Obama campaign this week began a concerted attack on the presumptive GOP nominee for his tenure at the private equity firm he managed, strategists in both parties say the Republican has yet to give a confident, detailed explanation of his Bain Capital tenure that silences questions about his biography as a businessman.

You don't mean he FIBBED, do you? I am shocked, shocked I tell you!

And I hope your Wednesday is good.

Bring Joe-Bob back to the Drive-In, and other horrifying updates

Joe-Bob Goes to The Drive-In was the name of Joe Bob Briggs' old B-movie column in the Dallas Morning Herald. These reviews were compiled into a very entertaining book by the same name. The book's sequel was titled, of course, Joe-Bob goes back to the drive-in (introduction by Wayne Newton). Both books are totally indispensable and absolutely necessary for any serious trash-culture fan!

Joe-Bob Briggs was really John Bloom, and with his TEXAS MONTHLY writing partner, Jim Atkinson, wrote a very good true-crime account of one woman killing another with an axe. I sure never forgot THAT one! (Aside: An Amazon reader informs us that this woman, Candy Montgomery, is now a nurse in Atlanta... remind me never to go to the hospital in Georgia, for any reason.) He hosted his own TV show for awhile: Joe-Bob's Drive-In Theater. This was one of the great treasures of the 90s, my friends. You may also recall Joe-Bob as the host of the more mainstream 90s cable-show MonsterVision, which brought us some far-out B-movie classics, such as the inimitable Basket Case.

Joe-Bob has been in a few movies himself, and was even in the mini-series of THE STAND, playing a character named Deputy Joe-Bob Brentwood (attesting to Stephen King's excellent B-movie sensibilities). He was also in Martin Scorcese's Casino, one of my favorite movies, where you may remember him getting fired by Robert DeNiro and hollering in protest, "This is not the way to treat people!" (I remember thinking, is that Joe-Bob Briggs he is firing????) Unfortunately, his scenes were deleted from Texas Chainsaw Massacre II, which I am sure upset him terribly.

My question: WHERE is the contemporary Joe-Bob? Why are we Joe-Bobless? It doesn't seem fair that we have no trash-movie impresario on regular TV these days. (Note: I'm sure one of the millions of satellite channels has this kind of programming, but I refer to mass-market TV.) I grew up with horror movies hosted by the incomparable Ghoulardi of Cleveland, and I love that kinda stuff.

Come back, Joe-Bob!!! And no offense, but you can leave your politics back in Texas. Nonetheless, if I have to put up with Libertarian jabber to get some decent B-movies, I am willing to do that.

~*~

Some more stuff:

:: Conspiracy theories! As an ex-Yippie, I eat em for breakfast. (I also figured this would go well with Joe-Bob.) Bin Laden Death Deemed Murder of CIA Case Officer as 9/11 Coverup:

President George W. Bush knew Osama bin Laden was a CIA agent and in no way ever involved in 9/11. He knew bin Laden personally from family visits and knew bin Laden had been to the White House while living in the US under the cover name of “Tim Osmon.”

This has been verified by CIA officials.

It has? Well, color me surprised.

I definitely need to hear more about this one.

:: Monica runs a video from Ellen DeGeneres, calling out the "One Million Moms" (actually only 40,000) who have targeted her as a gay spokesperson for JC Penneys. (I also thought homophobes go well with horror movies, so that is the reason the link goes here.)

:: And finally, from Politico: The political transformation of Barack Obama, which has most assuredly been horrifying.

Add your own, play along at home.

Reflections on Jack Ruby

Depending upon who you read, Jack Ruby was a petty strip-club gangster or an important mobster-friend of Sam Giancana.







NOTE: I first wrote this in 2009, and re-posted it last year at this time.

I am posting it again, since it accurately captures my nostalgic feelings/memories at the end of every November.

Please limit comments to current post. Thanks.


~*~


It was November 24, 1963.

I remember that I was sitting on a footstool, my nose approximately 8 inches from my family's black-and-white TV set. If I got too close, I couldn't see anything, but I was intent on getting just as close as I could. I wanted to see it all.

It was Sunday morning, and I remember well the hubbub of the adults in the kitchen. I was the only one in the small dining room that served as our TV room. I heard the TV-news announcer say that Lee Oswald was going to be transferred in an armored vehicle. I didn't know what an armored vehicle was, but it sounded awesome. And yet... that little guy? As a six-year-old, I was surprised that such a skinny little guy could be the villain of the hour. I had expected the president's assassin to look something like Brutus, the dastardly evil man of the Popeye cartoons... or at least, he should bear some resemblance to Lex Luthor. This skinny, slight, soft-spoken fellow who calmly denied being near Dealey Plaza? Well, he was just spooky, that's all. They kept calling him a Marxist and a communist, words I didn't yet understand but knew meant that he was a bad person. (I would say the word "communist" in 1963 had the similar gravitas of the word "terrorist" in 2009.) I was enthralled by the constant TV-coverage, the switching back and forth from Dallas to Washington... to our new president, Lyndon Johnson and then back to the basement of Dallas city jail. It was as dazzling as space travel.

Middle-American culture had changed utterly and completely in only two days.

For one thing, the TV had not always been on before. You turned on the TV to watch something, and when it was over, you turned it off. Sometimes you left it on, but usually not. Among the working classes, it was not unusual for some families not to own a TV at all. There were often anti-TV holdouts in these families; cantankerous, old-school types who thought TV was all rubbish and probably unchristian. But after this weekend? This archaic viewpoint was consigned to the dustbin of history. Back in my first-grade class, I would hear about parents who had rushed out to buy a TV at long last. They simply could not bear to be left out.

The TV had been turned on, and stayed on. It was on when I got home from school, dismissed early due to the tragedy, and it was on throughout the funeral. And it stayed on forever after.

And the TV was on as they transferred Lee Oswald to the armored vehicle, or attempted to. There was much talk about security because tensions were running extremely high; there was palpable fury throughout the city of Dallas. When police had forcibly taken Oswald from the theater where they had discovered him, hostile mobs surrounded the police car, and it was said he might have been torn to pieces if the crowd had been able to get their hands on him.

Listening to all this, I was riveted. I remember peering intently as they brought him out, my nose almost right on the screen: There he is!

And then, the inevitable disappointment: such a nonthreatening little dude he was.

I peered and peered and then... bang. Oswald was down.

What?

It was so quick. If not for the firecracker-noise of the gun, I would never have known.

"They shot him!" I shouted, "They shot Oswald! They shot him!"

The adults stampeded as one entity, from the kitchen to the small dining room where I was. My mother, grandparents, some other relatives I have since forgotten... possibly my cousin Charlene.

"I SAW it!" I was shouting, "I SAW IT!"

SSSSSSSssssssshhhhhhhh! Everyone was shushing me. Had I really seen that? The adults' eyes were collectively popping. I felt pretty important for being the one to see it.

"He must be really mad about the president, huh?" I asked.

Nobody answered. They kept shushing me, as obviously-shaken news-announcers talked about what they had just witnessed.

And then, the adults were all looking at each other, that way adults did when they were thinking things that they would not share with children.

Finally, my grandfather said, in what I have come to call his Christian Science Wisdom voice: "Well, that really stinks."

My mother's eyes were wide, wide, wide.

My grandfather shook his head and said "Stinks!" again, rather emphatically. My mother nodded gravely back at him.

I didn't know what he meant then.

The TV-announcers were saying his name: Jack Ruby. The man's name was Jack Ruby.

~*~

Like millions of Americans that day, I saw a murder on live television. Because the murder was widely perceived as an act of justice, nobody worried about the ill effects on all of us children who saw it. And later, many years and decades later, when we began to doubt that what we saw was justice and instead wondered if it had been the silencing of a co-conspirator... nobody worried about the erosion of our morality and the consequential development of our cynicism.

But I trace it all back to that day, the day in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

They ask us, do you remember where you were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated? But I always ask, instead: What did you think when his accused murderer was pronounced dead? Because the silencing began then, the questions asked that will forever remain unanswered. (As Norman Mailer once explained the existence of the angry kids of the 60s: They hated the authority because the authority had lied.)

My grandfather was right. It certainly did stink. And the stench covered everything.

The lies of the powerful were uncovered and exposed before us, that morning in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

Some of us never forgot.

Is Rick Perry stoned?

Some of you might have seen Texas Governor Rick Perry's amazing meltdown last night, during the CNBC Republican presidental debate. It was PAINFUL. He couldn't remember the names of government agencies, after proclaiming they ought to be abolished. "Which ones?" he was asked. Perry just lost it, for several seconds. Long... seconds... and then he said "Oops!" which was as weird as anything else.

Congressman Ron Paul helpfully tried to goose his memory, which made me think of dad trying to coach their kid in a spelling bee. Just awful!

I was mucking around in my kitchen, with garbage bags, cat food and such, listening to the debate. You usually don't need to watch these things, and I find that when I listen and don't watch, I hear very clearly whether the politician-in-question knows what they are actually talking about or not. Thus, when Perry's sudden-silence occurred, I heard it before I saw it. At first, I thought my cable had gone out. And then I heard, um, um, um, er, uh... oops.

Holy shit, did I really hear that? I did! "Perry is done!" I happily bellowed to Mr Daisy, and quickly logged onto Twitter to assess the instant damage.

It was bad.

I bet Rick Perry could name his three favorite drinks -- @chaplinlives

Will 'Oops' be Perry's campaign epitaph? -- @CNN Political Ticker

Top Perry fundraiser calls campaign "over" -- @TPM (Talking Points Memo)

That quiet "oops" Perry said at the end of his brain-cramp was rather poignant, the soft splat of his presidential hopes. -- @James Wolcott

Xanax. I think it's Xanax. Not booze. -- @pattonoswalt

now we all know why Perry said he might skip the debates -- @downwithtyranny

And finally, for the win, Andy Borowitz, who kept tweeting hilarious one-liners throughout the remaining debate:

"Mr. Perry: can you name three states other than Texas?" "California, Oklahoma... um... nope."

Rick Perry's candidacy is coming dangerously close to qualifying as a prank.

Rick Perry: "I would like to abolish Social Security because I can't remember my goddamn number."

Rick Perry Briefly Forgets Own Last Name

I used to believe in evolution, but Rick Perry is a pretty strong argument against it.

Rick Perry: "Before I answer that question, could somebody hold my hair while I vomit?"

Rick Perry: "We need to transition from Social Security to Living Social."

Thus, I laughed myself sick through the rest of the debate, which included Herman Cain referring to Nancy Pelosi as "Princess Nancy." (Serious question: Are these people for real?)

After Perry's embarrassingly bizarre speech in New Hampshire (which is where I got the screen-captures for this page), this will just bury him. After that speech, there were lots of rumors that he was high, even among the GOP. After last night, there can be little doubt.

For my part, I'm glad I rescinded my first prediction. I thought any conservative southern white male who Loves Jesus could easily win South Carolina, but after the last debate that featured Perry's extended goofiness, I decided he wasn't ready for prime time. And now, we see he is a Texas Stoner(tm)! He needs to join up with Congressman Paul for a Free the Weed ticket.

And get some PRIDE, dude. Next time they ask you something, answer "Who the hell cares?" like a proper pothead. Why look dumb if you don't have to? Go for the brazenly stoned vote, and hold your head up! If you can.

(giggles)

~*~

ANNOUNCEMENT:

Occupy Greenville, along with MoveOn and other Occupiers from around the Carolinas will be meeting the Rethuglicans in person at Wofford College in Spartanburg on Saturday, for the CBS Saturday night debate. We will be giving them a HEARTY SOUTH CAROLINA WELCOME! If you would like to join us, come on down, it's gonna be a party!

Map to Wofford here. We can't go onto campus (undoubtedly why they chose the venue), but we will be at the entrance to Wofford on Church Street. Yes, we have a permit. Be law abiding, remember, this is Jesusland. Join us if you can.

Make signs, bring warm bodies, we love the children and the dogs and all of that.

BRING IT!

Grandma Daisy's: "We don't dial 911"

I see Renegade Evolution's existential question... and I raise her one! At left, photo reads: Grandma Daisy's: "We don't dial 911" and is punctuated with a nice old-school firearm. (This is an antique store in Fredericksburg, Texas, and of course, I could not resist taking the photo for my blog!)

Not coincidentally, various folks over the years have joked to your humble narrator, that I probably didn't need 911, and they are probably right about that. ;)

Speaking of which: Suitably adorable Grandma photos of my trip, for anyone interested. I loved seeing my grandbabies! (I worried that photos of me and Barbie would ruin my feminist cred, but hey, I think that was already compromised a long time ago!)

~*~

A sort of all-purpose post, as I create links for the Daisy Deadhead show tomorrow. (Commercial: LIKE US ON FACEBOOK!) I suppose I could bring my laptop to the radio station (WFIS, tomorrow, 9-10am), but trying to fiddle with the keyboard and talk, at the same time? Sounds risky to me. I am NOT Wolfman Jack. Maybe when I get a little more proficient at this stuff.

First up, will be the illuminating story in the Austin Statesman, Personal ties key to Rick Perry's wealth:

Gov. Rick Perry might like for people to believe he made more than $1 million while holding elective office in Texas through shrewd business decisions, but in almost every case he was steered to his investments.

From his father-in-law renting space in a building Perry owned back home in Haskell to a high school buddy from Future Farmers of America helping him make a million in a Horseshoe Bay land deal, Perry has been more than just lucky or shrewd. He has been a man with friends.

The question of whether Perry's real estate windfalls have been a result of friends helping friends or are evidence of some sort of corruption has been fodder for some of his past campaign opponents.

"From abusing his power over appointments to getting sweetheart real estate deals from supporters, he's a regular get-rich-quick icon," U.S. Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison's campaign manager said of Perry before last year's gubernatorial primary.

During the general election campaign last year, Democratic opponent Bill White said of one deal, "Perry's investment was enhanced by a series of professional courtesies and personal favors."

Over the course of about 18 years , Perry and his wife, Anita, grew from struggling to make ends meet in Haskell County to having a comfortable retirement nest egg built primarily from real estate deals Perry made while he was a statewide elected official.

And rest assured, there is plenty more dirt where THAT came from. Tune in for my personal assessment of Rick Perry's business acumen! NOTE: I DO have my all-purpose, FCC-approved, NO CUSSING sign, as I mentioned HERE, so I am required to keep my anti-Perry commentary squeaky clean. (It's a challenge, but I am up to it.)

On the local front, we will be peeling and digesting State Senator David Thomas (R-of course), who opposes "government spending"--except when the spending is on David Thomas. Another faker, like Governor Haley.

He carefully voted himself a cushy pension for working only A SCANT FEW YEARS:

At age 55, South Carolina state Sen. David Thomas began collecting a pension for his legislative service without leaving office.

Most workers must retire from their jobs before getting retirement benefits. But Thomas used a one-sentence law that he and his colleagues passed in 2002 to let legislators receive a taxpayer-funded pension instead of a salary after serving for 30 years.

Thomas' $32,390 annual retirement benefit — paid for the rest of his life — is more than triple the $10,400 salary he gave up. His pension exceeds the salary because of another perk: Lawmakers voted to count their expenses in the salary used to calculate their pensions.

No other South Carolina state workers get those perks.

Since January 2005, Thomas, a Republican, has made $148,435 more than a legislative salary would have paid, his financial-disclosure records show. At least four other South Carolina lawmakers are getting pensions instead of salaries, netting an extra $292,000 since 2005, records show.

And finally, I will try to include Anna's comments at Mills River Progressive, which came courtesy of Onyx Lynx. (THANK YOU!)

It just seems so obvious, but sometimes, people have to spell out the obvious:

All the Politicos Yapping About "Creating Jobs" Avoid the REAL Solution

Which is to stop sending the jobs overseas. Duh. That would be the logical course of action, if the U.S. Congress actually worked on behalf of the citizenry. Obviously they don't, and therefore none of them will propose the only lasting solutions to our massive unemployment. End our destructive trade policies, restore fair trade policies and practices, invest in new sustainable industries on the domestic front (other than weapons), and sweet pygmy Jeebus STOP REWARDING CORPORATIONS THAT SEND JOBS OVERSEAS!

There. That's not too difficult, is it? It's not rocket science. And it's well within the realm of the possible. But *they* won't do it. They won't discuss it. Almost no one will mention it on the floor of Congress. Why? Why won't the people who supposedly represent our interests do the things that will lead to a reversal of our crumbling fortunes and dismal futures? Because their handlers - their actual bosses, the financial elite, the investor class, the 1% - don't want that.

The reality is that our lives are of no importance to them. In fact, we're obsolete. They make enormous amounts of money by sending our industries, our (former) work to the third world. They're profiting like never before; why on earth would they want to return to the bad old days, when profits were hampered by trade policy, by benefit packages, by paying a middle-class wage?

I will try to quote the whole thing, if there is time. We hope to be hearing directly via telephone from Green Party members who are currently occupying Wall Street. YEAH!

I will also slip in a mention of Duke Energy's intention to raise our utility-rates, and the necessary information about the local public hearings. The print on the teeny-tiny postcard recently mailed out by Duke Energy is nearly microscopic, and very difficult to read.

I'm sure that's only a coincidence. They wouldn't try to dissuade people from coming to the hearings, now would they?

National Museum of the Pacific War

Back from Texas! And my internet was down upon my return, so a bit late in checking in. Sorry about that, sports fans!


Below, photos of the National Museum of the Pacific War in Fredericksburg, Texas, birthplace of Admiral Nimitz.

Some of the displays can make you cry. :( The Pearl Harbor segment is loud and unnerving in the extreme, imitating what it might have been like for the residents that day.

Most photos are self-explanatory, but for the historically-challenged, photo #5 was a short film about the Rape of Nanking, too horrific for words, reducing our plucky narrator to sobs. Photo #8 was an account of the Battle of Midway, where we settled some hash.

Photo #6 is actually rather amusing now, especially when you are standing amidst all the artillery and gun-fetishism of central Texas. Really General Kanji, I hardly think so.

The next-to-last photo is of the SACO flag. And similarly, there were oodles of uniforms, flight jackets and other wartime paraphernalia, but unfortunately, those photos didn't turn out so well. (I don't know the makes and models of those fighter-planes, but if you do, speak up!)

Daisy concludes: War is bad.

Truthfully, I came to that conclusion before I ever went in.

~*~