When I was stationed at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California, one of my Navy shipmates was a gal named Victoria Sirker. She was nice, she was smart, and she was *very* nicely proportioned. (Filled out her uniform quite well :)
One day, I had just taken a seat on the shuttle bus that ran from the classrooms at the bottom end of the DLI up the long, steep slope to the Navy barracks, when Victoria climbed in, carrying a large grocery bag. I offered her my seat, which she accepted. When I looked down, I could not help but notice that Victoria had done some serious shopping- that bag was filled to the limit with just about every snack food the PX had to offer.
Aware of my gaze, Victoria said, "Uh-uh-uh, Kent! I see you peeking at my goodies!"
In a moment of pure inspiration, I replied, "Yes, and I've checking out your *groceries* too!"
Among many other fine qualities, Ms. Sirker had a sense of humor- she cracked up.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Chelsea Clinton
It is now official: Chelsea Clinton is engaged to be married next year. The lucky fellow is Marc Mezvinski, who was classmate of hers at Stanford.
Chelsea's future father-in-la is Ed Mazvinski, a former congressman who served a bit over five years in federal prison after being convicted of 31 felony counts of bank fraud, mail fraud, and wire fraud. (insert joke here)
The happy couple in 1996.
Chelsea's future father-in-la is Ed Mazvinski, a former congressman who served a bit over five years in federal prison after being convicted of 31 felony counts of bank fraud, mail fraud, and wire fraud. (insert joke here)
The happy couple in 1996.
Tiger Woods
Tiger Woods is still the world's best driver, but lately, he certainly has been having trouble with his putts.
Howard Cosell
For over twenty years, Howard Cosell was one of America’s most famous sportscasters. He initially achieved great fame by fervently championing Muhammad Ali’s right to fight. Toward the end of Ali’s career, he and Cosell developed a routine that went as follows:
Cosell: Let’s face facts. The spring has gone from your step. The sting has gone from your jab.
Ali: Well, I tell you what, Howard Cosell. I see your wife over there, and I’m going to go over there and ask her if you were the man you were ten years ago.
Cosell was noted for his braggadocio and his egomania. Once, while taking questions after a dinner, a young man said, “Mr. Cosell, I just want to say that you’re a great man and I agree with everything you say.” A second later, Cosell replied, “Young man, you are possessed of extraordinary intelligence.” It was quite some time until anything else could be heard above the laughter.
When I was in law school, one of my professors, Terry Phelps, was married to Notre Dame basketball coach, Digger Phelps. At a school function, she once mentioned she had met Howard Cosell. I asked her if, upon meeting her, Cosell had proclaimed, “What a world-class beauty, what an extraordinary intellect, what an amazing woman…truly, your parents must be absolutely devastated that you married so far beneath yourself.” Professor Phelps complimented me on my Cosell impersonation and told me that had been pretty close to word-for-word what Cosell had said.
In the past year of Cosell’s tenure broadcasting Monday Night Football, his partner was Al Michaels, who has related that Cosell’s bombast and egomania made him extremely difficult to work with. However, he also mentioned one occasion when Cosell managed to really impress him. Michaels and Cosell were in a limo, on their way to broadcast a game. Their driver that evening was a young woman named Peggy. On the way, while driving through a very tough neighborhood, they stopped at a light. On the corner beside them were two young men who were having a serious fistfight, much to the delight of a throng of cheering onlookers. To Michaels’ amazement, Cosell opened the door and got out of the car. (Howard was in his seventies at the time.) Michaels and Peggy did not even have time to scream at Cosell when he shoved his way through the cheering throng. In his loudest voice, he was proclaiming, “It is immediately apparent to this reporter that neither of these opponents has the skill to compete at the highest level of pugilism. This young southpaw’s jab is weak and ineffectual, whereas the other combatant’s skills are obviously in steep decline.”
At this point, the crowd was staring at Cosell. The man then bellowed, “I order this contest stopped forthwith!” A few seconds later, one of the dumbfounded onlookers said, “Howard Cosell!” The fighters and audience alike then took turns asking Cosell for his autograph. When Cosell got back into the limo, having restored peace to that street corner, Peggy said, “Howard, I don’t believe you. You could have gotten killed. “ Cosell sat back and proclaimed, “Pegaroo, I know who I am.”
He certainly did. Howard Cosell was one-of-a-kind.
Cosell: Let’s face facts. The spring has gone from your step. The sting has gone from your jab.
Ali: Well, I tell you what, Howard Cosell. I see your wife over there, and I’m going to go over there and ask her if you were the man you were ten years ago.
Cosell was noted for his braggadocio and his egomania. Once, while taking questions after a dinner, a young man said, “Mr. Cosell, I just want to say that you’re a great man and I agree with everything you say.” A second later, Cosell replied, “Young man, you are possessed of extraordinary intelligence.” It was quite some time until anything else could be heard above the laughter.
When I was in law school, one of my professors, Terry Phelps, was married to Notre Dame basketball coach, Digger Phelps. At a school function, she once mentioned she had met Howard Cosell. I asked her if, upon meeting her, Cosell had proclaimed, “What a world-class beauty, what an extraordinary intellect, what an amazing woman…truly, your parents must be absolutely devastated that you married so far beneath yourself.” Professor Phelps complimented me on my Cosell impersonation and told me that had been pretty close to word-for-word what Cosell had said.
In the past year of Cosell’s tenure broadcasting Monday Night Football, his partner was Al Michaels, who has related that Cosell’s bombast and egomania made him extremely difficult to work with. However, he also mentioned one occasion when Cosell managed to really impress him. Michaels and Cosell were in a limo, on their way to broadcast a game. Their driver that evening was a young woman named Peggy. On the way, while driving through a very tough neighborhood, they stopped at a light. On the corner beside them were two young men who were having a serious fistfight, much to the delight of a throng of cheering onlookers. To Michaels’ amazement, Cosell opened the door and got out of the car. (Howard was in his seventies at the time.) Michaels and Peggy did not even have time to scream at Cosell when he shoved his way through the cheering throng. In his loudest voice, he was proclaiming, “It is immediately apparent to this reporter that neither of these opponents has the skill to compete at the highest level of pugilism. This young southpaw’s jab is weak and ineffectual, whereas the other combatant’s skills are obviously in steep decline.”
At this point, the crowd was staring at Cosell. The man then bellowed, “I order this contest stopped forthwith!” A few seconds later, one of the dumbfounded onlookers said, “Howard Cosell!” The fighters and audience alike then took turns asking Cosell for his autograph. When Cosell got back into the limo, having restored peace to that street corner, Peggy said, “Howard, I don’t believe you. You could have gotten killed. “ Cosell sat back and proclaimed, “Pegaroo, I know who I am.”
He certainly did. Howard Cosell was one-of-a-kind.
The Terror of Influenza
As a lifelong student of history, I rarely read anything that surprises me anymore. An exception was John Barry’s book, The Great Influenza, written about the big outbreak in 1919. Influenza killed more people in a year than the Black Death of the Middle Ages did in a century. It killed more people in a week than AIDS has in 30 years. The thing that boggled my mind was understanding the horrors of the plague. It’s horrible to know that the medical authorities of the day were so far behind those of the present day. While the author did not write a polemic, it did occur to me that for all the heinous things John Rockefeller did in his life, he did manage to found the Rockefeller Institute. That body did great short-notice work to help mitigate the death toll.
I learned that the killer strain of flu emerged at the exact time when it would do the most horrific damage: during a World War, when millions of soldiers were living in close proximity. The U.S. Army was undergoing unprecedented expansion in 1917,-1918; barracks became death traps. Of all U.S. Army bases, the worst-hit was Camp Sherman, just fifty miles south of Columbus. In Philadelphia, the police were the first line of defense. During the week of October 16, 1918, 4,597 Philadelphians died from influenza. Nineteen police officers died of the disease. It took extraordinary courage for medical personnel to remain on the job. As bad as the death toll was in Europe and the Americas, in non-Western countries, indigenous people who lacked immunity to Western diseases experienced an unimaginable death toll. I lived on Guam for five months. 1999-2000. On October 26, 1918, nearly 95 percent of the U.S. sailors ashore caught the disease, but only a single sailor died. The same virus killed ten percent of the native population. The same virus would later kill another five percent of the native population. In Nome, Alaska, 176 out of 300 Eskimos died.
The most haunting bit: In the Labrador town of Okack, there was a population of 266 people and a whole lot of dogs. When a relief mission reached the village, only 59 people were still alive. What made the town something out too scary for a Stephen King book was that the town’s canine population outnumbered that of people. The dogs, without people to care for them, ate what they could. The Reverend Andrew Asboe, though deathly ill, survived by keeping a rifle near his bed. He personally killed over a hundred dogs.
The possibility of a renewed outbreak of influenza that would be as deadly as the 1919 strain is a horrifying prospect, particularly if someone is diabolical enough to use weaponized biological agents. While reading Barry’s book, I wasn’t interested in a political polemic, but I will make one observation: Why was the 1918 strain so deadly? It’s because the influenza virus evolves.
I learned that the killer strain of flu emerged at the exact time when it would do the most horrific damage: during a World War, when millions of soldiers were living in close proximity. The U.S. Army was undergoing unprecedented expansion in 1917,-1918; barracks became death traps. Of all U.S. Army bases, the worst-hit was Camp Sherman, just fifty miles south of Columbus. In Philadelphia, the police were the first line of defense. During the week of October 16, 1918, 4,597 Philadelphians died from influenza. Nineteen police officers died of the disease. It took extraordinary courage for medical personnel to remain on the job. As bad as the death toll was in Europe and the Americas, in non-Western countries, indigenous people who lacked immunity to Western diseases experienced an unimaginable death toll. I lived on Guam for five months. 1999-2000. On October 26, 1918, nearly 95 percent of the U.S. sailors ashore caught the disease, but only a single sailor died. The same virus killed ten percent of the native population. The same virus would later kill another five percent of the native population. In Nome, Alaska, 176 out of 300 Eskimos died.
The most haunting bit: In the Labrador town of Okack, there was a population of 266 people and a whole lot of dogs. When a relief mission reached the village, only 59 people were still alive. What made the town something out too scary for a Stephen King book was that the town’s canine population outnumbered that of people. The dogs, without people to care for them, ate what they could. The Reverend Andrew Asboe, though deathly ill, survived by keeping a rifle near his bed. He personally killed over a hundred dogs.
The possibility of a renewed outbreak of influenza that would be as deadly as the 1919 strain is a horrifying prospect, particularly if someone is diabolical enough to use weaponized biological agents. While reading Barry’s book, I wasn’t interested in a political polemic, but I will make one observation: Why was the 1918 strain so deadly? It’s because the influenza virus evolves.
PSH in CMH
Last month, a young man from St. Louis who had just finished serving a seven-year prison sentence for convictions for burglary, grand theft auto and weapons possession, decided to seek greener pastures here in Columbus. On October 28, he decided to burst into a hotel room and rob six people at gunpoint. One of his victims handed him fourteen dollars and the thief cursed the man for having so little. Another one of his prospective victims was a seventy-year-old great grandmother who had something else for the burglar, Mr. Winston. She pulled a .357 Magnum from her purse and shot Mr. Winston full in the chest. Winston managed to stagger out the door into the hotel parking lot, where the paramedics pronounced him dead on the scene.
Note: CMH is the National Transportation Board abbreviation for Columbus, Ohio; PSH is Public Service Homicide.
Note: CMH is the National Transportation Board abbreviation for Columbus, Ohio; PSH is Public Service Homicide.
The Ballad of Mike Lantry
Yesterday was a joyous time in central Ohio, as the Ohio State Buckeyes defeated their hated archrivals, the University of Michigan Wolverines for the sixth straight year by a convincing score of 21 to 10. OSU/Michigan week is an occasion for vituperation towards our archrivals, a time for telling nasty jokes about anyone or anything related to Michigan. Example: how to you get a U of M MBA off your front porch? Pay him for the pizza. What’s the difference between a U of M cheerleader and a hippopotamus? About fifty pounds. How do you eliminate the difference? Feed the hippopotamus? One of my all-time favorite musical groups is an outfit called the Dead Schembechlers, who have produced a number of albums. One of my favorite songs from their album is the song of Mike Lantry, commemorating his missing of a last-minute field goal in the 1974 game.
The Bucks were locked in battle
In the Fall of seventy-four.
The Wolverines would be the champs
If they got one quick score.
But who would win the game that day
To play the Bowl of Rose?
Schembechler bet his season
On Michael Lantry’s toe.
His toe, his toe, he bet on Lantry’s toe.
Well, Lantry was pure evil,
For he had sold his soul .
He sold it to the devil
To kick some field goals.
He strode into the Horseshoe
As seconds ticked away.
He planned to beat the Buckeyes
On the last play.
Last play, last play, upon the last play.
The snap, it came to Lantry;
He kicked it way up high.
The ball flew like an angel
Who swiped it as it flew by.
By the grace of God he hit it
For he was quick and deft.
The ball, it started spinning
And it sailed to the left.
Wide left, wide left, the ball, it went wide left.
The devil, he was angry;
The angel had him beat.
The Wolverines were defeated
Schembechler stamped his feet.
Mike Lantry, he tried suicide
Because he felt bereft.
But when he tried to shoot himself
The bullet sailed wide left.
Wide left! Wide left! The bullet went wide left!
p.s. Contrary to what the song says, Mike Lantry did not try to commit suicide after the game. He is a Vietnam veteran. Serving in Vietnam gave him perspective on how to deal with losing a college football game.
The Bucks were locked in battle
In the Fall of seventy-four.
The Wolverines would be the champs
If they got one quick score.
But who would win the game that day
To play the Bowl of Rose?
Schembechler bet his season
On Michael Lantry’s toe.
His toe, his toe, he bet on Lantry’s toe.
Well, Lantry was pure evil,
For he had sold his soul .
He sold it to the devil
To kick some field goals.
He strode into the Horseshoe
As seconds ticked away.
He planned to beat the Buckeyes
On the last play.
Last play, last play, upon the last play.
The snap, it came to Lantry;
He kicked it way up high.
The ball flew like an angel
Who swiped it as it flew by.
By the grace of God he hit it
For he was quick and deft.
The ball, it started spinning
And it sailed to the left.
Wide left, wide left, the ball, it went wide left.
The devil, he was angry;
The angel had him beat.
The Wolverines were defeated
Schembechler stamped his feet.
Mike Lantry, he tried suicide
Because he felt bereft.
But when he tried to shoot himself
The bullet sailed wide left.
Wide left! Wide left! The bullet went wide left!
p.s. Contrary to what the song says, Mike Lantry did not try to commit suicide after the game. He is a Vietnam veteran. Serving in Vietnam gave him perspective on how to deal with losing a college football game.
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