The story goes that one morning Erich Heneker, East Germany's leader from 1971-1989, opens his window and says "Good morning, sun."
And the sun says, "Good Morning, Comrade Honeker."
At noon, Honeker says, "Good afternoon, sun."
And the sun says, "Good Afternoon, Comrade Honeker."
In the evening Honeker says, "Good Evening, sun."
Dead silence.
"Sun?"
More silence.
And Honeker yells, "Hey, sun!"
And the sun yells back, "GO **** YOURSELF HONEKER! I'M IN THE WEST NOW!
Erich Honeker spent the last five years of his life as a fugitive from justice... in exile...in the West. :)
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
For the Hate of God
For the Hate of God
One day in Bethel, I had a completely routine assignment to assist a teenage Yup’ik girl in pleading out to a charge of public intoxication so she could go home with time served. I seem to recall that she had double-digit priors. During our conversation, minutes before the judge took the bench, she mentioned that she was pregnant.
I then said to her in the most solemn, dead-serious tone of voice, “You can go home today, but for the love of God, don’t drink while you’re pregnant.” She let out a loud giggle and said, in a thoroughly silly voice, “You mean, for the hate of God.”
At that moment, my blood turned to ice. I repeated to her, in that same tone, “For the love of God, don’t drink while you’re pregnant.”
Once again, she let out a silly giggle and once again said, “You mean for the hate of God.”
I was beyond appalled, and not with her language. If anyone reading this doesn’t understand the depths of my disgust that she would endanger the health of the child she was carrying, perhaps you’ve never seen the all-too-common results of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which is quite common in Western Alaska. When the magistrate asked me if my client wished to enter a plea, I took a deep breath and said that I did not think my client was competent to enter a plea.
That young woman spent another day in jail. And I was admonished not to do that sort of thing again. As far as I know, she went home the next day. I have no idea what happened to that woman or her child. I like to think that I gave the kid a break at least for one day.
One day in Bethel, I had a completely routine assignment to assist a teenage Yup’ik girl in pleading out to a charge of public intoxication so she could go home with time served. I seem to recall that she had double-digit priors. During our conversation, minutes before the judge took the bench, she mentioned that she was pregnant.
I then said to her in the most solemn, dead-serious tone of voice, “You can go home today, but for the love of God, don’t drink while you’re pregnant.” She let out a loud giggle and said, in a thoroughly silly voice, “You mean, for the hate of God.”
At that moment, my blood turned to ice. I repeated to her, in that same tone, “For the love of God, don’t drink while you’re pregnant.”
Once again, she let out a silly giggle and once again said, “You mean for the hate of God.”
I was beyond appalled, and not with her language. If anyone reading this doesn’t understand the depths of my disgust that she would endanger the health of the child she was carrying, perhaps you’ve never seen the all-too-common results of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which is quite common in Western Alaska. When the magistrate asked me if my client wished to enter a plea, I took a deep breath and said that I did not think my client was competent to enter a plea.
That young woman spent another day in jail. And I was admonished not to do that sort of thing again. As far as I know, she went home the next day. I have no idea what happened to that woman or her child. I like to think that I gave the kid a break at least for one day.
Bill (Walton) and Hilary (Bacon)
Bill (Walton) and Hilary (Bacon)
This is a story about Bill and Hilary, but it has nothing whatsoever to do with the former President and First Lady. One of my classmates at Notre Dame Law School was a delightful lady named Hilary Conant Bacon. She is a sweet-natured lady possessed of an amazing intellect. (That intellect earned her degrees from Harvard, Notre Dame and Boston College.) There are, however, some fields of knowledge with which she has no familiarity. For example, anything having to do with sports is beyond her ken.
Once, at a party in Boston, she met a young man who happened to be white with flaming red hair and who happened to stand seven feet tall. No, that’s not a mistake: seven feet tall. Upon learning that his name was Bill Walton, she asked him what he did for a living. Readers outside the United States might not appreciate the humor; in America, anyone who is extremely tall is likely to be asked, ten times a day, if they play basketball. Mr. Walton was, at the time, one of the most famous basketball players in the world. I suspect he was surprised to encounter someone who didn’t know who he was. Hilary asked which team he played for. I suspect many onlookers had a giggling fit: at the time, Walton was a Boston Celtic.
Well, Hilary managed to charm Bill Walton, just as she charms everyone she meets. That includes Christopher Gabrieli, an investment banker who repeatedly ran for office in Massachusetts. Her five children are lucky to have such a mother. To me, the moral of the story is that Will Rogers is right: everyone is ignorant, just about different things.
This is a story about Bill and Hilary, but it has nothing whatsoever to do with the former President and First Lady. One of my classmates at Notre Dame Law School was a delightful lady named Hilary Conant Bacon. She is a sweet-natured lady possessed of an amazing intellect. (That intellect earned her degrees from Harvard, Notre Dame and Boston College.) There are, however, some fields of knowledge with which she has no familiarity. For example, anything having to do with sports is beyond her ken.
Once, at a party in Boston, she met a young man who happened to be white with flaming red hair and who happened to stand seven feet tall. No, that’s not a mistake: seven feet tall. Upon learning that his name was Bill Walton, she asked him what he did for a living. Readers outside the United States might not appreciate the humor; in America, anyone who is extremely tall is likely to be asked, ten times a day, if they play basketball. Mr. Walton was, at the time, one of the most famous basketball players in the world. I suspect he was surprised to encounter someone who didn’t know who he was. Hilary asked which team he played for. I suspect many onlookers had a giggling fit: at the time, Walton was a Boston Celtic.
Well, Hilary managed to charm Bill Walton, just as she charms everyone she meets. That includes Christopher Gabrieli, an investment banker who repeatedly ran for office in Massachusetts. Her five children are lucky to have such a mother. To me, the moral of the story is that Will Rogers is right: everyone is ignorant, just about different things.
The 45th Division Shoulder Patch
Each division in the US Army has its own shoulder patch. The 45th Division, made up of National Guard units from New Mexico and Arizona was one of the first unites to be shipped to Europe. They arrived in North Africa in May of 1943 and fought in Sicily, France and finished the war in Germany. Perhaps the 45th’s most famous member was Bill Malden, a cartoonist and creator of Bill and Joe, two archetypal infantrymen.
They did experience problems with its shoulder patch. Originally, they had chosen as their symbol an ancient Navajo good luck sign. However, the top brass suggested that they change it. They acceded to the brass’s request to remove the swastika, replacing it with a thunderbird symbol. I can only imagine what the reaction would have been in the closing days of the war, when the 45th liberated the Nazi death camp at Dachau. I can only imagine what the inmates would have thought had they seen their liberators wearing swastika shoulder patches.
The original 45th infantry insignia with the swastika is now one of the most highly prized bits of WWII memorabilia. On a similar topic, I have always admire the panache of an American soldier, Sergeant Paul Hitler. When he heard suggestions to change his name, Sergeant Hitler said, “Let that other guy change his name.”
The first design for the 45th's patch, and the redesign, from www.45thdivision.org/Veterans/Barnhart179.htm.
They did experience problems with its shoulder patch. Originally, they had chosen as their symbol an ancient Navajo good luck sign. However, the top brass suggested that they change it. They acceded to the brass’s request to remove the swastika, replacing it with a thunderbird symbol. I can only imagine what the reaction would have been in the closing days of the war, when the 45th liberated the Nazi death camp at Dachau. I can only imagine what the inmates would have thought had they seen their liberators wearing swastika shoulder patches.
The original 45th infantry insignia with the swastika is now one of the most highly prized bits of WWII memorabilia. On a similar topic, I have always admire the panache of an American soldier, Sergeant Paul Hitler. When he heard suggestions to change his name, Sergeant Hitler said, “Let that other guy change his name.”
The first design for the 45th's patch, and the redesign, from www.45thdivision.org/Veterans/Barnhart179.htm.
Indecent Proposal
I once dated a young woman who was a Christian Scientists. Based on that experience, I am of the fervent opinion that, while everyone should be able to worship as they choose, Christian Scientists should not have custody of their children. When I was a sophomore at Ohio State, I took up with a Christian Scientist named Donna. I did not have a particularly strong opinion about the faith, but that changed when I discovered that Donna had a lump on her left breast, and she intended to read Science and Health Mary Baker Eddies. I implored her in the strongest possible terms to get to a hospital and get the lump examined forthwith. I managed to convince her to do so. Happily enough, it was benign.
Sometime during our relationship, Donna said to me, “Let’s get married.”
Long silence.
Finally, I replied, “Let’s pop some popcorn.” We broke up shortly after that. I saw Donna with a man she described as a husband a couple years later. I checked for rope burns on his hands, but apparently, he had married her willingly.
Donna had a brother named Ron who was a Columbus Police Officer. I eventually came to the conclusion that I would very much like to have Ron as a brother-in-law, provided I did not have to marry his sister to do it. A few years ago, I was researching a point of Columbus Police procedure, so I looked up Ron’s number and we had an interesting conversation: the first time we had talked in more than 25 years. He informed me that Donna was married and had a child. One day, when the child had a high fever, she did not take him to a doctor. Instead, she read that stupid book. The youngster suffered irreversible brain damage. Donna is now pushing 60 and still lives with her mother.
I have made some egregious mistakes in my life, but I am grateful for the fact that I at least had the good sense to decline Donna’s proposal.
Sometime during our relationship, Donna said to me, “Let’s get married.”
Long silence.
Finally, I replied, “Let’s pop some popcorn.” We broke up shortly after that. I saw Donna with a man she described as a husband a couple years later. I checked for rope burns on his hands, but apparently, he had married her willingly.
Donna had a brother named Ron who was a Columbus Police Officer. I eventually came to the conclusion that I would very much like to have Ron as a brother-in-law, provided I did not have to marry his sister to do it. A few years ago, I was researching a point of Columbus Police procedure, so I looked up Ron’s number and we had an interesting conversation: the first time we had talked in more than 25 years. He informed me that Donna was married and had a child. One day, when the child had a high fever, she did not take him to a doctor. Instead, she read that stupid book. The youngster suffered irreversible brain damage. Donna is now pushing 60 and still lives with her mother.
I have made some egregious mistakes in my life, but I am grateful for the fact that I at least had the good sense to decline Donna’s proposal.
Lieutenant Eileen Finkel Hering, USMC
When I was at Fort Meade, I got to know a young woman Marine officer named Eileen Finkel, who I thought was an impressive young lady. She was smart, 5’11” and athletic as all get-out. I understand that she ran three or four miles a day and did serious time in the weight room. Furthermore, anyone who paid attention to detail could not help but notice that she had earned marksmanship badges, having qualified as expert with the automatic pistol and M-16. I think it would be fair to say I had a very polite crush on her. She got married to another Marine officer named Hering. As a wedding present, my dear friend Sue Miller and I purchased a couple of yards of camouflage material, some black lace and Sue was resourceful enough to sew it into a nightgown.
Before I left Fort Mead in June of 1984, I did give Lieutenant Hering a poem I had composed in her honor. (Predicting that, if she ever got into combat, she would be the first Marine officer to win the Congressional Medal of Honor.)
Lieutenant Eileen Finkel Hering
In combat proved bold, brave and daring
She took direct hits
In both of her tits;
But she was unharmed due to the Kevlar brassiere she was wearing.
Before I left Fort Mead in June of 1984, I did give Lieutenant Hering a poem I had composed in her honor. (Predicting that, if she ever got into combat, she would be the first Marine officer to win the Congressional Medal of Honor.)
Lieutenant Eileen Finkel Hering
In combat proved bold, brave and daring
She took direct hits
In both of her tits;
But she was unharmed due to the Kevlar brassiere she was wearing.
Societal Progress
In the past years, I’ve traded e-mails with a pleasant young man who lives in Singapore. He sent me the following YouTube clip, one of John Quinones hidden-camera shows depicting a shop worker refusing to help a young Muslim woman. Of the forty-two people they observed, twenty-two took no action, seven overtly approved of the clerk’s behavior and thirteen people reprimanded the clerk for his actions.
I want to make the point first that I’ve never witnessed any such behavior in my life. If I did, I would have approached the young lady and informed her that her being insulted and refused service was only a bad start of an extraordinarily lucky day because I would be delighted to assist her in suing the clerk and the store. That sort of discriminatory behavior is not just terribly rude. Ever since the Civil Rights Act of 1964, it is *illegal*. Had I been there, I would have presented her my card and counted the dollar signs.
I once had that experience when I tried to enter a restaurant and was brusquely shooed away, when the proprietor told me, “Japanese only.” I remembered that I was in Japan, and the Japanese can do whatever they like.
Several years ago, the Denny’s restaurant chain was sued for refusing service to black people. They won a huge civil settlement. I’m reminded that sort of behavior was quite common fifty years ago. Today, it is very close to being completely unheard of. I am also reminded of the immortal words of the New York Yankees’ Vic Power. Upon being informed that the restaurant he was sitting in did not serve Negroes, replied, “That’s okay. I don’t eat them.”
I want to make the point first that I’ve never witnessed any such behavior in my life. If I did, I would have approached the young lady and informed her that her being insulted and refused service was only a bad start of an extraordinarily lucky day because I would be delighted to assist her in suing the clerk and the store. That sort of discriminatory behavior is not just terribly rude. Ever since the Civil Rights Act of 1964, it is *illegal*. Had I been there, I would have presented her my card and counted the dollar signs.
I once had that experience when I tried to enter a restaurant and was brusquely shooed away, when the proprietor told me, “Japanese only.” I remembered that I was in Japan, and the Japanese can do whatever they like.
Several years ago, the Denny’s restaurant chain was sued for refusing service to black people. They won a huge civil settlement. I’m reminded that sort of behavior was quite common fifty years ago. Today, it is very close to being completely unheard of. I am also reminded of the immortal words of the New York Yankees’ Vic Power. Upon being informed that the restaurant he was sitting in did not serve Negroes, replied, “That’s okay. I don’t eat them.”
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