srj641

This is a time of international melding, a self coined term that describes the shift to technologies that reflect a product or culture that is no longer uniquely American in origin. The world stage dominates the news and, for me, it is time to come home and talk about things that are not adulterated by the international veneer that seems to coat much of our landscape. One such iconic consideration is the Harley Davidson motorcycle, as American as it gets.

There is risk in life. Smart, old folks at some point in life began trading risk for longevity, usually as a result of declining physical and, sometimes, mental capability. For me, the precise date of this recognition occurred on Friday, May 24, 2019, when I handed the keys to a beautiful Harley Davidson Street Glide to it’s new owner in the Steak & Shake parking lot in Lebanon, Missouri. It marked the end of my days of throwing around a behemoth of a motorcycle in parking lots and matching wits with our increasingly careless motoring public. It has occurred to me that I also dispensed with the single most American possession that I owned, a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Harley Davidson’s are manufactured in America, period. They enjoy a unique sound, feel and look that is often challenged but has never been surpassed. They are built by American craftsmen and women in spotless factories in places like Milwaukee, Wi. and York, Pa. I toured the York operation and came away with a feeling of awe. There was pride evident at every station in the production process. One must remember this is a motorcycle design that has been around a long time, dated in some respects but modernized in many others. Harley has seen hard times, but under the leadership of a German born and trained CEO, Jochen Zeitz, has awakened, realizing greater margins and profitability from fewer total sales. A huge challenge is the rising age of riders and difficulty attracting a younger and more diverse genre. Their foray into the electric motorcycle business was a short one, with the Livewire project spun off into a mostly owned subsidiary. It did not take Harley long to realize the shortcomings of battery powered motorcycles, unlike the automobile industry that is losing billions chasing this under ripe, politically driven technology. The challenge that Harley faces is the ability to stay relevant without losing authenticity. That folks, is no small challenge.

One of the endearing aspects of Harley ownership is the infinite customization potential of each machine. Harleys are a canvass, and the pride stricken owner can and often does make the bike totally unique. There isn’t much you can do to a Japanese or German bike, evidenced by their thin catalogs as compared to a Harley where the catalog is, literally, two inches thick. Harley has also embraced the mantra of “United we ride and not divided we ride”, their challenge to the social polarization we are currently being swallowed by.

My closing summation here is this. Harley Davidson motorcycles are generally big, loud and meticulously built by craftsman who are now part owners of the company. They are not adulterated by foreign (major) components, built entirely in America and reek of leather, steel, oil and gas. They announce their presence with a patented sound and hormone driven panache’ that has not been emulated. When you walk that fine line between risk and the reward of the open road on two wheels, they are indeed a uniquely American way to do it. I was a part of this culture at one time, and am better for the experience. Long live Harley Davidson.

Have a great week!

SR

I shudder every time a madman goes on a killing binge. First, I am overtaken with a profound sadness for the victims and their families. Then like so many of us, I begin counting the days until the pundits roar out of their all knowing alters and begin the assault on the firearm as the reason such carnage happens. As much as I wish it was not true, each of these occurrences weakens our hold on the 2d Amendment, providing another launch pad to scream for additional restrictions on guns by folks who know nothing about armed defense and self preservation in the face of other folks who are no longer rational and slipping into the realm of sociopathic behavior. I am not writing today to discourage the ownership of firearms, instead to bring the reader up to date on the realities of walking out the front door carrying a concealed firearm. Keep this posting, I pray your don’t need the information, but if you do, it will become vital. I have tackled this subject before, however; the issue is evolving and not to the advantage of the armed citizen.

One of America’s greatest authorities on armed encounters was a Marine Corps Colonel by the name of Jeff Cooper. Among his many pearls of wisdom was this thought,

“The purpose of the pistol is to stop a fight that somebody else started, almost always at very short range”.

Folks a handgun is useless in a situation like the shooting in Maine, unless you happen to find yourself suddenly standing directly behind the shooter within a very few feet, having already steeled yourself to place a bullet in the back of his head. It is that simple and leads to the axiom that you need to be a master of avoidance. Along these same lines it helps exponentially if you understand the concept of de-escalation and have a basic understanding of social dynamics and body language. These are critical skills in the police profession but can be learned by the armed citizen as well.

I am a reader of the “American Rifleman” a periodical published by the NRA. They devote a section of this magazine to anecdotal incidents where armed citizens prevail in confrontations. I have noticed that an increasing number of these descriptions end with a sentence stating the armed citizen is not expected to be charged in the incident. Why is this? Because when you shoot someone, even in the cleanest of circumstances, your actions are going to be reviewed by law enforcement and today’s charging attorneys with an eye to your culpability, even if it appears you have none.

In today’s environment , if you shoot someone, you need to zip your lip and immediately contact a good defense attorney. Do not pontificate, not to the 911 operator, not to the police, not to your family member in the presence of the officers and others. I repeat, you must make the second call, after notifying law enforcement of the event, to an attorney. You MUST resist the urge to prattle on, to the police, to EMS, to 911 folks, to anyone until after you are under the influence of a good attorney. Remember, someone has been shot and you have a gun. Do not be a party to your own lynching by running your mouth like a clatter-bone in a goose’s neck. Until you are cleared by charging authorities you are a suspect.

Carry responsibly, never openly. Carry a reasonable firearm, not a flashy “big Iron”. Document your training and range time and never consume alcohol when carrying.

Finally, to those just entering the world of armed self protection I offer another thought from Col. Cooper,

“Owning a handgun doesn’t make you armed any more than owning a guitar makes you a musician”

Carrying today is a complex business that extends far beyond a box of ammo on the local range and a comfortable holster. Believe it……

Have a great week,

SR

We have come a long way. My first firearm was a single shot .22 rifle that I bought from a fellow food transfer and packaging specialist (carry out boy at a food store) in a parking lot transaction. It was in rough condition but a five spot would not buy much, even in 1966. I took the old rifle home, disassembled it and went to work spiffing it up. The stock was made of a mystery wood that closely resemble pine after the walnut stain was removed and the “surface rust” hid any number of pits and deep erosion. The little rifle shot straight enough to gather plenty of squirrels for the pan and a neat, season end collection of salted tails sold to a lure manufacturer to make buck-tail spin baits.

My fishing equipment was comprised of a Garcia Conolon rod and a prized Mitchell 300 reel with enough terminal tackle to fill an old tin box with a single tray. It worked fine, bringing a good number of blue gill and an occasional channel cat to the table. I will never lose my love of rods and guns, but the landscape has changed. Successful couples must have secrets. Before harping on the sanctity of marriage and full disclosure, my secrets involve what is behind the door to the gun safe and hidden away in the lockers on a bass boat. It is wise to keep your wife out of the safe and away from all those dangerous treble hooks and toxic bait sprays hidden from view in the rod lockers. Downsizing from a 21’ bass boat to a 12’ kayak was challenge enough, but the inevitable assembly of pounds of tackle and over 20 rods in one place was traumatic. It is hard to explain to anyone who has not been rabidly afflicted with the urge to match wits with a piscatorial foe or wiley grey squirrel. In the photo accompanying this piece, an astute observer will note 3 rods that have never been used and many more that have seen limited duty. Shameful comes to mind. I held a garage sale this past year in an attempt to re-home a number of rods, reels and lures, but failed in this retail exercise. Folks would rather buy new stuff, colorfully assembled in China, than rods and reels of US origin, decidedly better quality, but not as cheap, by a long shot.

I tried to explain that all hobbies have expense, relying on my perceptions of golf as an example. I asked her if she had ever priced golf balls, considered the vast array of clubs, bags, shoes, green fees, nifty hats, cart rentals, etc. This ploy was ineffective. I explained that golf club designs were on upward trajectory with synthetic shafts and exotic alloy heads and such, requiring constant rotation in the duffers arsenal. Her response was to the point. You can’t afford to add golf to your list of pursuits. The lady has a point. Best to stick to fishing and gather a little red meat for the slow cooker.

I’ll end this piece with advice for those that are similarly afflicted with a passion for hunting and fishing. Don’t let her near your gun safe. Secret your stores of ammunition in a number of different locations lest she see the myriad boxes of ammo that will go to your heirs for disposition. Hide your rods and reels in various locations, the tool shed, garage or buried in a locker on the boat. Never allow your baits, spools of line and other assorted tackle come to rest in a single location. When she puts it all together, something is going to get painted, furniture is going to be replaced, new kitchen gadgets are going to appear and she will begin dropping hints about the miles on her car. All embarrassingly practical and impossible to defend against. Secrets are okay, but when the lid comes off, and it will, be ready. Your wallet is going to take a hit and there isn’t one damned thing you can do about it! It is why we love them…….they will level the playing field, trust me.

Have a great week!

SR

Monday through Friday, with rare exception, I drive over to the Meyer Center, an orthopedic facility affiliated with Cox Hospital and spend the first hour or so of the day in their excellent gym. It has taken awhile to morph into a regular gym participant, which is a pretty good way for a foodie to burn calories and fight the muscle loss that challenges all older people. One of the many advantages of life in a urban environment is a plethora of restaurants and shops delivering table fare of all descriptions. My route to the gym takes me past one such wonderful outlet known for gastronomical excellence, the Supreme Bakery, located across and slightly north of the Meyer Center where it rests in seclusion in the middle of a strip mall along National Avenue. Trust me when I suggest patronizing this bakery. You will thank me later.

First, I should explain the title of this piece, a line borrowed from the Lord’s Prayer, our Christian mantra. I am sure that Jesus, the original author of the prayer, as described in the Gospel of Mathew, had in mind a number of temptations to be avoided, and probably a good bakery wasn’t one of them. It is worth noting, however; the Bible also teaches us to honor our bodies, and if you hang around the Supreme Bakery scarfing up their incredible array of confections, cakes, cookies, pies, fritters and tarts, you will not be honoring your body. Their offerings are as addictive as anything known to man, that is if you enjoy sweets in any form. They present a temptation every time I drive by them evidenced by my weak attempts to ignore their presence save an occasional drop in for a Kringle, a favorite of both Sharon and I. This morning I popped in and picked up one of their signature offerings, a truly wonderful peach and creme cheese Kringle. For the uninitiated, a Kringle is made of some 39 layers of dough and filled with any number of delectable fruits, and/or nuts and cheeses. In every sense of the word, their Kringles are decadent temptations. With all due respect, a Supreme Kringle will never be confused with a day old Wal-Mart doughnut, ever.

If you have occasion to visit our fair city, and manage to survive our ill mannered drivers along this busy corridor serving the medical mile, swing in and visit the ladies in their crisp white bakers uniforms and peruse the several cases of offerings that rival those of any city in America. They smile broadly at new customers, enjoying the confusion that accompanies the selection process from a huge assortment of fresh baked goods. If you are sufficiently confused, opt for a Kringle, but only if there is at least two of you to share these big guys. A cup of good coffee is an absolute necessity when enjoying this treat. They are located at 3314 S. National, and enjoy a brisk morning trade, with lot’s of folks dropping in who are medical providers of one sort or another, and like me, should know better. Too much sugar? You bet….but oh so good!

Have a great week!

SR

I make no apologies for what today is called a “point of origin”. I was the son of a company grade mustang officer and a sharecroppers daughter, both from the South Carolina low country. I was raised to appreciate nature, taught to handle a sporting firearm safely and introduced to fishing at a very early age. Our tackle in those days, 60 years ago, consisted of a couple of long shanked hooks, a few split shot and a cane pole, all procured at a local shop that sold crickets for a penny apiece. The best of the cane poles were varnished and one selected just the right one with the care that today’s angler bestows on the finest rods made from exotic epoxy’s and synthetic materials. In a sense, I am returning home to enjoy the excitement of a day on the river as in my first days as a fisherman. Reconnecting with one’s past holds the promise of high adventure.

Since those early days, I have owned and fished from a selection of boats, from aluminum Jon boats to sleek and very expensive full dress Ranger bass boats. With fearless resolve I have blasted up and down the big lakes in Missouri including the tree filled Truman Reservoir that has claimed an untold number of lower units on boats piloted by folks who lacked the prerequisite experience to master this lake. Often the boat riding superseded the fishing, with occasional boat races thrown in for good measure. Age is slowing me down, and the expense of owning and maintaining today’s Uber fast bass boats stretches credibility. In today’s economy, it is hard to justify a boat that costs house prices, and that burns 4 dollar gas at an alarming rate…at least on the income of a teacher and trooper who are both getting long in the tooth. This summer has seen us become reacquainted with the Missouri rivers we love, sitting on a kayak. This conveyance is not unlike the carefully handmade, one man boats I enjoyed in Carolina, catching a mess of “bream” and dropping them into a live well built into the bottom of the boat. I don’t remember ever seeing alligators, but vividly recall snakes as thick as your arm, gliding by as they monitored our intrusion into their kingdom, a backwater swamp.

I own three kayaks, an inflatable guaranteeing portability and two plastic marvels, one of which I took delivery of yesterday. In a concession to technology, this boat is equipped with sonar, a blue tooth controlled trolling motor, and a 360 degree swiveling seat. It is a mini bass boat in a lot of respects, but can still be managed with a kayak paddle when not pulling a long eddy into the wind, where the drop down, lithium powered troller save a marginal back and arthritic hands. The primary means of propulsion is the river current, as it should be, however, if one chooses his launch location carefully, you could easily snatch a crappie or two out of one of our reservoirs. My daughter, who has forgotten more about boats than I ever knew, reintroduced us to the joys of fishing from a one man conveyance, a simple and profound pleasure. If you even think you might enjoy nature from a few inches above the water, slip down to one of our float streams, rent a kayak or canoe, and spend a few hours communing with our greatest treasures, our clear Ozark streams.

Today’s float boats (kayaks in this case) are mostly made from roto-molded plastic, are virtually indestructible and relatively light. They can be fast and tippy or slower and stable, you will have to find your own sweet spot. My latest acquisition will easily handle a 600 pound load, with plenty of room for Tazzy to provide his guide service and observational skills. You won’t have 6 or 8 rods arrayed on the deck as in the old Champion, nor will you need them. If you still have a competitive nature, there are a number of Kayak tournament trails that you can complete in. At my age, competitive fishing holds little interest, replaced with a deep appreciation of the water I am on. The transition from high powered bass rigs to a one man boat has been a blast and is perfectly suited to a man whose blue flame has been extinguished by Father Time.

Have a great week!

SR

Insurance companies and drug manufacturers exist in an inflation proof world. When times get tough, they raise prices and there is little you can do about it beyond trying to stay healthy and eliminate hazards around your home and vehicles. Like many folks, every two years or so, we assess our current expenditures with an eye toward fiscal responsibility and select quality insurers who offer a more competitive rate. This was our year and we selected a nationally recognized insurer and began our association with them. They asked if we would place one of those little plastic electronic devices in each of our cars that reports on our driving habits, a consideration that could result in an additional and substantial reduction in premiums, already very competitive. We said yes. After all, if you can’t count on a retired state patrol officer and his primary school administrator to drive properly, then who can you trust? Now the fun begins!

Each trip behind the wheel produces a report card that assess your skills. Speed, cornering, braking, acceleration and cell phone use are closely monitored and your grade is produced on a 100 point scale. I am amazed at the accuracy of this little white demon. We are doing very well, but the demon doesn’t like how I corner, and even hands free cell phone use can be a problem. Along with your score, the company produces a empirical dollar amount your next premium will be reduced if your grades are good enough. Has it changed our habits much? Yep, I’ll explain.

In todays urban traffic pattern, a careful and compliant driver is either going to get his butt run over or suffer a middle finger rebuke. I have always stopped at stop signs, which is not popular with following traffic and speed limits today are merely advisory in nature, with folks routinely busting the limits for their “convenience”. The demon will give you 8 mph over before sending you to the principal’s office. The smoothness of your stops is assessed, and if you are in the habit of hard braking just before impact with the car ahead of you….the principal’s office again. Ms. Sharon brakes hard (there is just so much her trooper husband can do). She is, however, adapting. The demon does not like my cornering, the precise reason I drive a European car renowned for it’s cornering ability. It wants me to corner as if Ms. Daisy is enjoying her tea in the back seat as I drive around. In Springfield, when negotiating a right turn on yield at an intersection, you had better be hauling (butt) when you make the turn or you’ll become a grill ornament on the front of a Lexus piloted by a soccer mom late for work. So it goes when you hand your conscience over to an insurance company for evaluation.

Here is my take on the experience so far. The best driver examiner that I have ever known was Highway Patrol Senior Chief Examiner Dale Shikles who I was associated with back in the day. He presided on one of the biggest days in the life of new driver’s who were about to wet themselves making the examiner happy during their drivers’ license test. The guy could measure inches from his position in the right front as you tried to squeeze your car into a parallel parking space and could feel a tenth of a mile an hour in the seat of his pants as you approached the speed limit. We have named the demon on our windshield “Shikles” in Dale’s honor. We actually like the challenge. Where, in life, can you see a financial reward for consistently obeying the law and driving reasonably?

So far, it is all good, however, I haven’t recently been challenged by a 18 year old in his mom’s Taurus who thinks I am just another old man in a Beemer. I am thinking that Shikles won’t care that once upon a time, I drove like a bat out of hell, catching folks who thought little of traffic law. I’m old but not dead behind the wheel!

Have a great week!

SR

In the late 70’s there was a place in Missouri where I could return to my beginnings as an avowed outdoorsman. Once a year a few of my Patrol friends and I would load into a vehicle and make a trip to Bass Pro Shop in Springfield, Mo. It was a candy land for us, a place where even the limited budget of a new trooper could enjoy shopping and spending a precious few dollars. I never lost the feeling of excitement that envelops folks when they enter this Mecca for hunting and fishing enthusiasts and am blessed to have settled down in a home just minutes from their front door. Much has changed with the addition of America’s favorite aquarium, fabulous firearm displays and a plethora of boats, fishing tackle and clothing. Johnny Morris’s retail genius has resulted in a multi-billion dollar empire that supports nature all around the world.

This past week I dropped the Beemer at our local garage for an oil change, hopped in with Sharon who then dropped me off at the doors of Bass Pro. I had with me a bag full of handguns and ammunition for an early morning session on their range where active and retired LEO’s are made welcome. Before heading down to the range, I sat back with a cup of coffee and drifted back to the day when 25.00 would buy a credible rod and an additional ten spot would cover a spool of fresh monofilament and handful of crappie jigs in colors that likely attracted far more fishermen than fish. Bass Pro has morphed into a destination where you are sure to find the tackle you need, or not, as I still own hundreds of dollars worth of terminal tackle that has never been opened.

On this beautiful early fall morning there were few customers roaming the store, save for a gaggle of young Amish boys who were obviously enjoying their visit. The smell of freshly made fudge and sugar coated nuts wafted through the air, and I was positioned so as to watch an aquarium full of crappie doing things crappie do around cover. I silently thanked them for the hundreds of their kin that have taken their last swim in my livewell before being turned into a cornmeal coated, peanut oil fried delicacy fit for royalty.

Life has served up a reversal of fortune, but I am not complaining. Back in the day, I could only lean on one of the aluminum boat packages that was a cornerstone of Morris’s success. My early beginnings didn’t allow for such an extravagant consideration. Today, I have owned the finest Bass Boats that exist, still own a wall full of rods and have enough terminal tackle on hand to open a Bass Pro annex. All of this when age and arthritis has made a casting rod difficult to operate and my reflexes a are just a little behind blasting up Truman lake, dodging timber and cutting channels with ease. My fishing today has dwindled from a few days at a time to a few hours at a time however my enthusiasm has not, nor has my appreciation for nature and particularly nature in Missouri.

My experience this week marks the culmination of a search for just the right micro 9mm pistol for concealed carry. After owning a half dozen of the little guns, I finally found the right combination of conceal-ability and good trigger to suit my purposes. I enjoyed a productive range session before quaffing that all important second cup of coffee and heading home. Thanks Bass Pro for the ride along in life. I hope that every hunter and fisherman (woman) can enjoy a day in the Grand-Daddy of outdoor stores, where dreams come true. When it is my time, I hope Miss Sharon will slip my urn into a cart and wheel me through the aisles of rods and such on the way to my final resting place. It would be a fitting end to a dream fulfilled.

Have a great week!

SR

Last week Sharon and I enjoyed two great days floating the Niangua river in central Missouri. It was a rather traditional float, even as I was breaking in yet another kayak designed for river fishing. The weather was terrific and the late summer folks enjoying the river were in abundance, particularly the younger crowd drifting along on big inflatables, rafted together enjoying music, Fireball liquor and other adult beverages. What was new was the pungent purple haze from marijuana, now legal in Missouri, but still not federally, surrounding these rafts. They were well behaved and appropriately mellow given their mind altering drug of choice. This experience prompted me to ascertain where we stand in regard to the impact of cannabis on health in the short time since it’s approval for recreational use in Missouri. Uh oh……

The legalization of this drug followed a predictable and proven trajectory. Open the door medicinally and push through a referendum after that door is cracked open. There may well be legitimate medical applications, but they have not been broadly accepted by the medical community. In fact the impacts of marijuana use on the cardiovascular system are beginning to surface, and the news is not good. Dr. Zara Latif, who is a Harvard affiliated physician, in a 2020 review in the Journal Of Clinical Medicine, has succinctly addressed these issues. He notes a major concern with the strength of today’s strains of the stuff which eclipses that of 30 years ago when we were cracking heads over ditch weed, stuff you would have to smoke a bale of to get a buzz, or so we are told. The latest concerns are enumerated below.

Cannabis contains over 500 chemicals. That is a lot of chemistry to wade through. Using the stuff alters how your body metabolizes prescription medicines, thus affecting the blood levels of these legitimate medicines with predictable results. Cannabis has been implicated in heart attacks, especially in younger men with no cardiac history. Case studies are strongly suggesting that cannabis use triggers heart rhythm disorders including atrial fibrillation and is precipitating stress cardiomyopathy. (This is brought about by the rush of adrenalin, which, in turn, causes heart muscle damage). High dose cannabis use has been linked to arteritis, an inflammation of the walls of arteries. Studies have shown that tokers are 34% more likely to develop coronary disease compared to non users. Another big finding is that cannabis users are enjoying between 17% and 24% more strokes than non users, (American Heart Association). A recent Canadian study has shown a dramatic increase in emergency room admissions among medicinal cannabis users and in Amsterdam, folks who showed up at ER’s with cannabis intoxication often presented with heart issues including chest pain and fainting. All of this so you can enjoy the high of a drug we really don’t know much about. You’ll notice I shortened this sermon so as to not bore folks with the awful stats states are racking up related to criminality and the carnage on our highways caused by users who “mellowed” a bit before hitting the road.

As a guy who has never smoked or ingested anything illegal, (not to be confused with demon rum……) and who has had a valve job and timing adjustment on his heart, I have to wonder why anyone would challenge their cardiovascular health with this stuff. The fact remains, though, the tokers and tweakers prevailed at the polls and it is, after all, their hearts to do with as they please. It is interesting to note that folks floating our rivers and lighting up (and/or drinking) are not drowning, probably as much due to their pulling one another out of the water as anything. If you are one of my friends who surreptitiously fires up an occasional fat boy, be careful. The stuff is not good for the heart, and trusted friends are in short supply.

Have a great week!

SR

The evolution of policing in America is an interesting story. It is a profession desperately needed as a buffer between a peace loving people and elements of our society who seek to interrupt daily life with behaviors that range from middling nuisances to life threatening actions with little regard for consequences. Often the officer finds himself or herself in circumstances that are called into question by the public, his superiors and our court system. In spite of this scrutiny, officers soldier on in an environment where every action is subjected to instant review and evaluation. Officers are, after all, trained observers.

The day you are sworn in to a police agency is a day of pride after successfully surviving a complex training regimen and demonstrating a basic level of competency and familiarization with the tools of the trade. It also marks the beginning of a slow but sure process transforming everyday folks from a philosophy suggesting the glass is half full to one that sees the glass as half empty. This thought occurred to me while driving to the gym this week and watching the usual early morning traffic in Springfield drive as if there were no laws governing the movement of cars, and certainly no fear of traffic enforcement. In short folks have dispensed with common courtesy and the need to properly license their vehicles. There is little significant traffic enforcement these days, partly due to the shortage of officers and the accompanying lack of discretionary enforcement time, where traffic work gets done. Specialized traffic units don’t exist in numbers necessary to deter bad behavior, with the exception of a few Highway Patrols, such as the superlative Ohio State Patrol, always visible and engaged.

When you are commissioned and hit the streets, your life revolves around illegal and or dangerous activity. You begin morphing into the habit of viewing virtually every circumstance in life through the filter of propriety or legality. In short, you are constantly looking for what is wrong or ugly with what is in front of you with little regard for what is right and beautiful. After years of viewing virtually every aspect of life looking for something wrong, illegal or simply out of place, you are hopelessly scarred. I am entering my 24th year post retirement and have still not shaken that mindset. It is a way of thinking that is ingrained into your very being and damned hard to quell. It has taken me over twenty years just to realize my jaundiced view of life is like a proverbial albatross hanging from my neck. I call this phenomena the “Curse of the Commission”. This curse is exacerbated in retirement by your inability to do anything about the aberrations around you. No wonder police officers do not enjoy the retirement longevity of folks wearing rose colored glasses especially those professions that revolve around the good in life as opposed to the bad.

Hopefully, now that I have acknowledged my jaundiced approach to observing mankind, I’ll be able to overcome the tendency to look for a defect and see the good side of folks and circumstances. I would warn my friends, though, the odds of me becoming a Pollyanna are not good. Retired police officers are all candidates for an intervention, but then again, they have earned the right to acknowledge the imperfections in our society. I’m working on it……but have a ways to go. Meanwhile, I am not talking to myself when behind the wheel…..in fact you wouldn’t want to hear the oaths and offers of in flight adjustments that are crossing my lips. If only I could accept that it is no longer my circus out there…….

Have great week!

SR

This week saw the first Republican debate with the field being limited to 8 hopefuls vying for the nomination against the elephant in the room, Donald Trump. Trump, with a commanding 40 point lead sat this one out, and while arguments can be made for and against this strategy, he enjoys success as a matter of routine when the odds are stacked against him. Rather than suggest a winner and loser, I thought I would take a different approach and drive over to Lightning Ridge and see what old Uncle Remus thought about the debate. Here is how he saw it from his porch with his dog, Biscuit, laying by his chair.

1. Gov. DeSantis had a good outing. He was as keyed up in the beginning as cousin Ed was the day he got caught by the missus on the back porch of Ms. Sally’s gentleman’s club. He has solid conservative creds, was definitive in his standing on several key issues, and wiggled a bit when pinned by the moderators. He conveyed strength and is now raising more money than Hunter at an art sale.

2. Gov. Burgum, standing on a freshly torn Achilles tendon, looked and sounded like he was standing on a torn Achilles tendon. He appears to be a good guy but failed to branch out much from the obvious safe conservative talking points. He will likely not generate enough cash to stay in the hunt. Sad as it is, folks in Chicago don’t care much for what a Governor from Dakota says.

3. Gov. Chris Christie is a good debater, but is snarky and mean spirited. His experience in this forum shows, but he hit a wall castigating Trump. This was not the place to bash the Donald, there will be plenty of time to do that later. He did however do a good job on the asinine question about UFO’s. He’ll be around for awhile, but needs to chart a different course in terms of strategy. His pomposity about New Jersey and his success there is laughable. The state is, was and always will be a train wreck. Remus doesn’t trust him……..

4. Gov, Nikki Haley played well. She is experienced and was reasonably tough on a stage full of testosterone. She has solid foreign policy creds, was thoughtful and articulate, but her snarky, condescending tone with Mr. Ramaswamy hurt her, probably an attempt to show how high she can pee on a post with the guys. She’s in it for awhile……time will tell.

5. Gov. Hutchinson will be able to tell the grands and great grands he ran. He is low key, was considerate and shot himself in the foot lambasting Trump prematurely. When you are in a scrap, DeSantis will have your back, old Hutch will hurry like hell to find someone else to have your back. Not an enviable place to be in todays violent political environment. Remus remembered that a fella named Clinton was from Arkansas………

6. VP Pence is filled with self admiration. Had Brett Baier not all but threatened him, he would still be talking. He learned a lot of things from Trump, pomposity was one of them. He also learned to attack when threatened and all but slapped poor Ramaswamy from the stage. How dare a successful businessman hold forth on a political stage. Pence forgot from whence his old boss came. He will hang around for awhile, but is going to run out of gas (and cash) soon enough. He came across as self righteous……….enough said. (Remus didn’t like his haircut….says it tells you a lot about a man…and ole Biscuit growled)

7. Sen. Scott is a MUCH more capable version of Jimmy Carter. He has a keen understanding of America and it’s needs, is considerate and should make it to the final stages. I am afraid his admirable demeanor is going to get him in trouble. Reagan was capable of eliciting a warm response while going behind the curtain to get the job done (can Scott?) Remus thinks he has more ability than of any of them to reach across the aisle, unfortunately Congress doesn’t play that way today. He is absolutely perfect Vice presidential material, but then again, a setting hen would make a better VP than the old chrone in there now.

8. Mr. Vivek Ramaswamy is whip smart, articulate and able to mix it up in the Boardroom. He didn’t amass a fortune by not understanding folks, motivations and realities. He has already loaned his committee 15 million dollars and is not a politician……endearing qualities to everyone but politicians who, unfortunately, don’t make outsiders welcome. He is a new rooster who needs to be damned careful around the old roosters in the barnyard. Old roosters are hell to pay when you step onto their barnyard says old Remus. Biscuit liked him…….

Uncle Remus sees it this way. Change is coming, unless the 30% of Americans who allegedly think Joey and his Cabal are on the right track, suddenly morph into a majority at the polls next year. I’ll check in with old Remus from time to time, when he is not busy thinking about fishin’ or delivering a fresh watermelon to Miss Sally’s Gentleman’s Club. He’ll know….and is hard to fool!

Have a great week!

SR