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In the end, it is all that is left to memorialize our passage through the world we live in.  For a few generations, there will be  personal things or a document or two in the hands of family members or friends, but over time they lose their significance.  I am speaking of the granite and stone that permanently reflect our very existence.  As a trooper, I was faced with irrational, puzzling and sometimes infuriating behaviors, with the destruction of property or vandalism at the top of my list.

Memorial Day, a day of remembrance originally established to commemorate the bloodiest war in our history, the Civil War, is upon us.  Depraved, simple minded folks, the kind that give mankind a bad name, have chosen this day to vandalize a Vietnam-Nam War Memorial, a memorial to the veterans who have fought in wars dating back to the Revolutionary War and a Civil War National Battlefield where more than 1,000 soldiers died, fighting on both sides of this great conflict.  Rational people, when they consider this aberrant behavior, shake their heads at such conduct, disgusted but resigned to the acceptance of such bone headed behavior by the miscreants who must get something out of their destructive behavior.

What possesses folks to vandalize?  I am not trained in the psychological aspects of vandalism.  I don’t need to be.  Folks that destroy property are simple minded, self loathing cowards who elevate their stature by defacing or destroying the monuments to others.  I am trying to be civil here, but believe me when I tell you how despicable this behavior is to me.  When I walk through a battlefield cemetary, I see more than a name chiseled into stone.  There is a story behind each name, in each mass grave, and each marker that stands against time and the elements to note something or someone who contributed to our great republic.

I have been involved in the rehabilitation of kids who spent an evening or two laughing their way through a nite of “wilding”, driving about and defacing or destroying property.  It was immensely satisfying to watch them wax patrol cars or reset mailbox posts, replete with new mailboxes paid for out of their own pocket.  Interestingly, time has dulled the memories of burglars that I was fortunate enough to grab, but the vandals still resonate in my mind.

Even skulking cowards, under the cover of darkness, enjoy Memorial Day…..but don’t look for them at your barbecue.  They will be sleeping in to be fresh for their late night crawling about, defacing the memories that will become a part of your legacy preserved in stone.

Mr. Trump is now the presumptive nominee and has moved squarely into the crosshairs of the most active component of the Democratic Party, the media.  My readers know that Mr. Trump was not my choice from the huge slate of Republican hopefuls, however I sensed early on that he was on a winning trajectory.  Mr. Trump correctly read America’s anger and tapped squarely into it………

Is he the perfect candidate?  Of course not…….let’s have a look.

He has allegedly alienated the Hispanic vote.  He has or will alienate the women’s vote.  His foreign policy positions are not grounded. He tends to bully.  He is publicly profane.  He references his endowment.  He is blustery.  He is belittling.  He has been inconsistent on the 2d Amendment.  He is insulting.  He is going to “make” Mexico pay for a wall on our border with them.  He touts his charm with women.  He brags about his personal wealth.  He has bragged about his IQ.  He has threatened other candidates wives.  He can be publicly obnoxious. His negative rating is sky high.

However………

He is a winner.  He genuinely appears to love our military and other uniformed services.  He obviously knows how to select a winning staff.  He has business acumen.  He appears to be fearless.  Barring a historical political tsunami, he will be the Republican nominee.  He is not a jaded insider and has skin just a little thicker than an elephant’s.  Most importantly, he is not Hillary Clinton.

Good luck, Mr. Trump.  Your formidable list of negatives makes you look like a Jesuit Priest compared to Hillary.  I am certainly willing to give you a chance…something I will never do for a Clinton….never.

 

It should come as no surprise that I enjoy reading.  I have a marked preference for non-fiction work, which of course spares me the burden of reading about the Clintons.  A reader asked me who my favorite writer is, and after much careful consideration I have narrowed the list to a fellow who knows a lot about a lot of things as opposed to my personal philosophy of knowing a little about some things, mostly inconsequential at that.  I am referring to the incomparable David E. Petzal, a writer for Sports Afield.  Mr. Petzal writes about guns, hunting, politics and the business of killing or “blood sport” to my liberal friends, (all both of them).  He does not suffer fools and is capable of answering a technical question with dexterity, clarity and a throat punch to anyone who might need this reality check.  When you have the time, Google Mr. Petzal and read his work.  You will be entertained and, I promise, informed.

Mr. Petzal is a realist.  He speaks glowingly of folks like Boxer, Feinstein, Schumer and Clinton, the folks who have never really gotten it.  Of Schumer he mentions a little known study by the Insurance Underwriters of America that revealed the single most dangerous act in the world is to get between him and a television camera……and you probably thought it was dispatching a wounded Cape Buffalo in the African bush!  Stupidity irritates Mr. Petzal, like the stamp on gun barrels: “Warning: This Firearm Is Dangerous”, yet another red flag for the PETA folks who may not have figured that out.  Mr. Petzal writes of the real code of the west, where Cowboys settled their differences just a tad differently than depicted in the movies.  This may be traumatic for those that read fiction, but real Cowboys shot the hell out of each other in the back……they weren’t stupid enough to square off in the street, thus practically guaranteeing their mutual demise!  These are but a precious few indications of the man’s genius.

David E. Petzal is the kind of writer that I would love to enjoy a summer evening on the deck with, sipping something long aged in a wooden barrel, soaking up his practical wisdom.  You would had to have a few too many of these libations to challenge him on his real business, guns and hunting.  I can only imagine his steely stare just before the throat punch…

Talent, knowledge and courage.  Mr. David E. Petzal.  Google him, he is that good.

 

Americans understand waiting in line.  There are a lot of us who have many interests resulting in our congregation at various “choke points” through which we pass after waiting in line.  I suspect we do not have the market cornered, internationally, on this phenomenon.  So please excuse me if I take exception to the commentary by the Secretary of Veteran’s Affairs relative to the wait at VA Hospitals for medical care by our veterans.  My contempt for the opinion of Mr. Bob McDonald, the aforementioned Secretary has not been tempered by a day or two wait to frame these issues.  Mr. McDonald, a West Point graduate and five year Army veteran, is a horse’s ass.

The quote.  “When you go to Disney, do they measure the number of hours you wait in line, or what is important.  What’s important is what is your satisfaction with the experience?”  This in response to veterans who have extraordinary waits in VA facilities for medical care……an issue I have written about before.  This from an individual charged with improving the timeliness and thoroughness of care to our veterans.

Wait lines, Mr. McDonald, can be characterized in several broad ways.  There are lines you “want” to be in, such as a concert or a ride at Disney.  There are lines you “need” to be in, such as applying for unemployment or obtaining a license for your vehicle.  Finally there are lines you try to “avoid”, such as a line at Auschwitz where you were graded for extermination……or laying on the floor of a VA facility too sick to finally hear your name called for care.  Mr. McDonald’s attempt at blurring these distinctions, relative to the life and death care of our veterans reaches new heights of callousness and flippancy.  Again, from a man who was specifically selected to reduce these waits, improve care and send a message of genuine concern for his responsibilities.

A last point.  Veterans are all honorary Missourians in that promises are viewed with skepticism.  They are, deep down, conditioned with a strong “show me” attitude, believing it when they see it.  In our history, well over one million veterans have required no follow up medical care as they died protecting this country.  Many more, in numbers, carry the physical and emotional scarring that accompanies this deadly business of protecting America.  Mr. McDonald’s remarks should earn him a one way trip back to Procter and Gamble, selling soap.  There are very few lines in the soap peddling business.

Cpl. Maxwell Q. Klinger was no stranger to the intracies of the United States Army.  In the Army of old, in his case the Korean War era, there was no room for folks who had a sexual identity issue.  Max Klinger was an elaborate cross dresser and spent his discretionary time trying to convince the officers in the 4077th surgical hospital to muster him out over his humorous attempts to convince them he was a transgender person.  We all sat back and laughed at his antics.  Few are laughing today.

As a rule, I seldom comment on matters of sexual preference, confusion or related issues.  I suspect most Americans are reasonably tolerant of these aberrations, choosing to ignore them as long as the issues aren’t forced into their living rooms.  While it is difficult to quantify, the best estimates are that about 0.03 percent of our population identifies as transgender.  If you’re into numbers that translates to around 700,000 folks out of 319,000,000.  Klinger wouldn’t make the list, his motives were rather obvious.  Had Klinger breezed into the ladies shower on MASH, it is likely the nurses led by Margaret Houlihan would have broken his obsession with an epic response.

What are we thinking?  I am long beyond being stunned by this President’s social engineering by executive fiat.  Are we going to disrupt our generally quiet tolerance of such personal issues by mandating the acceptance of the aberrations of a few folks who are genuinely struggling with a sexual identity crises?  Most importantly, how in the name of God are you going to manage this issue?  There are any number of creeps stalking our country fixing cameras in the furtherance of their voyeuristic inclinations……creeps that when caught, go to jail.  No need to sneak around now, just self identify as transgender and walk in to a public restroom…….the sign over the door indicating  gender means nothing.

The architects and builders will see green in the pursuit of this issue.  If I were building a new school today, I would construct a series of one user restroom facilities rather than large communal restrooms as is the custom today.  Expensive?  Yes.  It would not be as expensive as the societal costs associated with a cross dressing man entering a women’s communal restroom and walking out to the greeting of her husband, father or boyfriend who, in all likelihood, would respond with a different kind of “social engineering”.

Max Klinger, in later episodes was promoted to Sergeant and replaced Radar as the unit clerk.  He gave up on his attempts to earn a Section 8 discharge and returned to some degree of normalcy.  He famously quipped that it was useless to attempt convincing the Army he was crazy, as they were ALL crazy around him.  The characters in MASH were, indeed, goofy, however; America , as a whole, is not.  Again I ask, what are we thinking?

I was not raised in a sterile environment, with a mom chasing me around with an antibacterial wipe, ready to pounce on my face and hands in an effort to keep me from succumbing to a dread malady contracting by touching something “nasty”.  Indeed, as a kid, it was mandatory that I scrub my face and hands before taking my seat at the table, probably more from an aesthetic viewpoint than hygienic standpoint.  Yet, here I am, having survived thus far with only a isolated cold or case or two of flu on my record of pathogenic disease.

I will be the first to say that good fortune has been my co-pilot more often than not.  I vividly remember walking a line in Basic Training while medics, bathed in the July,  Ft. Polk, Louisana heat,  used pneumatic guns to inoculate us against typhus, malaria and God only knows what else we might encounter when  traveling abroad pursuing our soldierly obligations.  As I gain experience in the world, ( grow older) I make it a point to be very careful about tempting fate.  I keep alcohol gel in the door of my vehicles and am careful to liberally rub a glob into my hands after engaging in a variety of everyday tasks that involve touching stuff that less careful folks have handled.  Gas pump handles, grocery cart handles and bathroom door handles are on my list of prime locations for an errant flu bug or rhino virus to be lurking.  Bathrooms, in my mind, are wonderful incubators for any and all sorts of critters to live, all bent on adding me to the list of unfortunate souls who have died from things that are not usually fatal.  The gel follows a thorough hand scrub.

The cardio rehab facility that I visit daily during the week is located in a building also occupied by several physician offices.  They almost always are, there may even be a rule that a doctor’s office must be located near where folks who have suspect hearts go to strengthen these same hearts.  When I walk through the lobby of this complex, I note the miserable folks who are awaiting either a merciful death or timely intervention by the doctors occupying these offices.  They aren’t really interested in  where the various maladies plaguing them go from here.  They touch things;  doors, tables, magazines, pens and in the case of children, floors, walls and each other.  When I walk through, I smile and nod sympathetically, and stop just short of taking a bath in the hand sanitizer at the door.  I am too damned old to tempt fate around places where sick people congregate.

Deductive reasoning has led me to the conclusion the touch pad that opens doors for those who are honestly too infirm to pull or push a heavy door open alone is the location for a huge reunion of every vicious germ inhabiting our part of the world.  I don’t use them.  In fact I thank the Lord that I still have the strength to open the door, usually by leaning into it with my elbow or back……remember the handles are kryptonite for healthy folks.

This morning, I watched in shock, as a member of the staff in this clinic,  jabbering away on the cell phone, arms full of the armaments that staffers need, opened the door by kicking the pad with the bottom of her shoe!  Score one for the callous disregard for the norms of civility and a wasted education on the peripheral of medicine.  Pity the poor, miserable folks who have come seeking relief from a pathogen induced misery that must now contend with smearing their hands with the residue on the bottom of a shoe!  Nice touch……

Laugh, if you will, at my “alcohol gel in the car door”  fixation!  Today I am vindicated…….

 

 

Too many times as a Trooper, I found myself strangely cold on an early summer evening as I entered the back door of a funeral home, striding purposefully toward the door to the preparation room to conduct the business of identifying a young, fresh graduate of the local high school……ever mindful the killing season was underway.

Fellow Trooper Mike Mulholland and I could recite from memory the prom dates and graduation dates for every high school in our zone.  We concentrated our enforcement efforts in and around these rural Missouri towns as the annual ritual of graduation unfolded.  We knew, all to well, tragedy was lurking on the roads and highways around these towns and more often than not, our evenings would be spent, in part, dealing with the dark side of the celebration that accompanies this remarkable right of passage. My professional career was centered around seeing to it that folks left this world in a way that did not involve mechanized death.

Many emotions are put into play for me as my grand-daughter, Kaelin graduates this week.  I am very proud of her efforts, a good student who has earned every grade on her transcript. She is level headed, not at all risk prone and and she is apprehensive about the future.  Her maturity is comforting, however; I still worry.  The realization that my first grandchild is graduating is a reminder that time waits for no man and I am blessed to be standing at this point in my life.  Older I may be, but I have not forgotten the jubilation, make that exhilaration, that accompanies the night you don the cap and gown. There is a sense of accomplishment, freedom, and the adrenalin fueled high that most folks naturally allow to override their sense of caution……..a feeling of invincibility.  Experience and the cold grip of reality that is firmly riding my shoulder serves as a reminder that graduation week will be remembered differently for those that were visited by a Trooper standing on the front porch, feeling a chill, as he asks calmly if you are the parents of the young person he just left at the local funeral home.  Believe me when I tell you that for the parents who have endured this special kind of hell on earth, the mere sight of the funeral home they have driven by for years will be crushing for years to come.

The killing season is open.  I would ask that you talk with your senior and implore them to enjoy their accomplishment and celebrate within reason and certainly the law.  Remind them  there are numerous stakeholders in their accomplishment, folks who have, one way or another, invested in their success.  Automobiles have a way of enhancing the new freedoms……but can literally crush the hopes of everyone you know.  Their caution during the killing season will go a long way toward avoiding the back door of a funeral home for both them and the Troopers who go about the grim task of certifying the circumstances surrounding their death in a motor vehicle accident.  The reaper sharpens his scythe this time of the year……I can guarantee it.

Firstline supervision is where the rubber meets the road, a function that is absolutely critical to the success of a police organization.  In the Missouri State Highway Patrol, these line supervisors are called zone sergeants, and zones are usually limited to a county or two, which increases efficiency in terms of court appearances, coverages and the working knowledge of the people within your zone that you should know.  While I enjoyed my command experiences,  I am convinced the sergeant is the backbone of the profession.

My road career began under the tuteledge of one C.A. Pohle, an older sergeant who was level headed, calm in demeanor and handy with a pen or pencil. Cliff, as we knew him, didn’t raise his voice, was an excellent pursuit driver who when tooling around, not in pursuit, was an adventure to ride with. As I recall, Cliff began his career in 1949. He was old school, respectful and patient…..probably why I was relegated to his care.  Next was R.G. Plymell, who began his career in 1958. Bob was also old school.  He was not a journalist, was also very patient and respectful, and was difficult to understand on the radio as he always had an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth.  Bob would fool you.  He strongly believed you let the violator set the tone and you came in with just a pinch more dignity and respect than they afforded you.  He was methodical, thorough and had a work ethic that didn’t stop.  Bob knew a lot about a lot of things, and set the tone for guys like Mike Mulholland and me when we really needed tone setting.  Finally, I began the transition to Sergeant under the supervision of J.S. Gordon.  John was a shrewd individual, a strong writer and very capable investigator.  He was an excellent conversationalist, a skill that served him well in his career.  These three officers were a credit to the organization and developed many fine officers assigned to their watch over the years.

Interestingly, all of these officers were exceedingly respectful in their dealings with their subordinates and the public they served.  We were taught, early on, that the detection and apprehension of miscreants was not personal and that there is always room for dignity…..until the bad guy closed off that approach.  Like any well trained and seasoned officer, all three prefered the path of least resistance……..but would kill you if left with no choice.  It is the nature of the business.

Police commanders make judgements every day relative to the propriety of a given action or response by their officers.  After all, policing is delivered in a para-military fashion.  This being said, it is the sergeant who provides the real world guidance on those same actions as they unfold.  I remember my commanders with respect and, in some cases awe, but it was and is the sergeant you live with on a daily basis.

We must never forget the impact of the Zone Sergeant.  As the sergeant goes……so goes the zone.  The sergeant really IS the backbone  of the police world.  ( Photo: L-R, Sgt RG Plymell, Lt. WB Darnell, Marion Lucas, Fair Director, Sgt SR Johnson, Sgt PM Mulholland)

 

I spent a professional lifetime in search of turbulence.  It is what law enforcement officers do, whether the issue is discovered proactively or you are summoned to it.  The well adjusted individual, on his or her way to work, is of little interest to us beyond the obvious acknowledgement they were not requiring our attention.  In fairness, every generation can identify turbulence in their time…..but we are well into issues today that are polarizing beyond comprehension.

Take the public bathroom thing.  I can remember over sold events at the Missouri State Fair grandstand, designed for crowds half the size that were ticketed for a show.  We had to post a trooper in the men’s restroom to bring dignity to the undignified reality of women, whose restrooms were woefully undersized, relieving themselves while interested men, awaiting their turn in line, watched.  The fights between concerned boyfriends and spectators could really turn nasty.  We all knew the rules…..but necessity is the mother of invention and the resulting turbulence had to be dealt with.

Today, the rules are changing and the resulting polarization is going to get someone hurt….likely killed.  The whole transgender thing isn’t new….what is new is legislating and mandating their intrusion into the norms of our society.  A respectable aviation magazine that I read, in a recent issue, featured an article about Bruce Jenner or Kaitlan, who happens to be a pilot.  Why?  Was it because he, she or it is a terrific pilot with some unusual skill or because of the lack of definitive sexual orientation?  Here we go again, turbulence.  To me, the answer is obvious…..there should be three bathrooms, one for men, one for women and one with “confused” over the door.  If we are going to acknowledge this turbulence, then let’s work to minimize it’s affects.  I’m guessing there won’t be much of a line at the “confused” door………

Another bit of turbulence surrounds this Administration’s decision to change the picture(s) on our currency.  There is little point in arguing the contribution of Ms. Tubman as an abolitionist, she earned her acclaim.  Rather, the question is why, in these troubled times, would you go about creating additional turbulence.  Why would you, the President, make it a point to praise “Black Lives Matter”?  More turbulence?  Is the “right thing to do” always the right thing to do?  This election cycle is on track to be as derisive,  derogatory and generally unpalatable as any in recent history……talk about turbulence!

I suppose the transition, for me, is complete.  From a career of actively seeking turbulence to an existence that generally avoids it. Pilots know a lot about turbulence and the smart ones avoid it whenever possible.  It is all about comfort and…….safety.  I suspect most of us can understand the analogy between flying and living.

Think about it.

 

 

The folks who know a lot about a lot of things are promising rain today, much needed for our farming community and to fill the lake that we enjoy.  I am up early this morning, preparing to squeeze a fishing expedition in between the sunrise and promised rain.  The picture is what greeted me…..a gift from the Master.  I trust he won’t mind my tinting it blue from the beautiful red that suggests that “red skies at morn, sailors be warned”.

I chose blue to continue the remembrance of those in the uniformed services who continue to bet their lives on our well being and lose……

It seems as if this casual indifference is being extended from our law enforcement officers to fire fighters, with these folks increasingly being targeted by people who obviously do not get it.  For them, I have included the picture below, in glorious red, representative of their profession.

Yesterday, I discussed the unbelievable good fortune that most of us enjoy.  We cannot become complacent, nor can we take this good fortune for granted.  For the most part our existence, in a relatively orderly society, is because we have rules and folks who either enforce them or work hard to minimize the damage that results from either ignoring or challenging them.

Of course, I have no idea what the Master had mind when he sent these photo opportunities, but am fortunate once again to note them and bend them to my agenda.

To say thank you isn’t much, but today it is all I have…..with a couple of pictures for emphasis.