Way back in December of 1984, I participated in Notre Dame Law School's GALILEE program (Group Alternative Live-in Legal Experience). Basically, for several days, we got a guided tour of every do-gooder organization in Chicago. (In this case 'do-gooder' is not pejorative.)
Part of the proram was an 8-hour ride along with the Chicago police in the Second Division- the Chicago projects. My father once told me that the way you could tell you were in a bad neighborhood was that police worked in pairs. As the two cops I was assigned to ride with got ready to hit the street, I noticed that they were both wearing second chance vests, and both carrying *two* Glock 9mm *each*- with a spare magazine for each weapon. It went through my mind, between the two of them, they felt the need to carry a total of 136 rounds of ammunition- dang, why don't they just carry M-16 assault rifles and be done with it! I learned that both of the officers had on lawsuits against the city in disputes over pay- getting transfered to the 2nd Division as the city's way of punishing them. (I heard one cop say that getting a transfer to the Projects was the city's way of taking away your birthday.)
It was a *bitter* cold night with a lot of snow on the ground with a strong wind- I'd say the temperature was near zero Fahrenheit with a wind chill of maybe 20 below. We passed one street corner where there ere maybe two dozen people standing around. "*What*", I asked, "are those people doing out there on a night like this?"
"Waiting to score drugs" one of the cops told me.
During the ride along the two cops (both of whom were white) made some comments about the people of the community that I did not particularly approve of, but my sense of self-preservation completely overroad any considerations of political correctness. I figured if I ticked those guys off, they could just dump me out of the cruiser- and I'd be lucky if I made it two blocks.
About a year and a helf later, I drove into Chicago on the Dan Ryan Expressway, going to a job interview, and I had my galpal, Kathy, along with me. I was thinking, gotta get to the interview, gotta get to the interview, gotta get to the interview. And then my car developed engine trouble. I pulled off the Dan Ryan, and *lucky* *me*- immediately found a garage. And I'm thinking, gotta get to the interview, gotta get to the interview, gotta get to the interview, so I said to the owner, "Fix whatever needs to be fixed, and please call a cab for me."
Then the garage owner said the eleven scariest words I've ever heard in my entire life: "You think a cab is going to come into *this* neighborhood?"
And I was thinking, how do I get out of this neighborhood *alive*?
It was about two blocks to a bus stop, and about the longest couple of minutes of my life getting to the L station. After our train left the station, Kathy was teasing me because I was very close to hyperventilating. I did not get the job; however, I did make it home alive, so I had no complaints whatsoever.
Quite a few years I told that story to a friend who'd lived in Chicago. Somewhat to my surprise, her husband told me a story that topped mine. One day he was dressed up (for a job interview?) and for reasons I no longer remember, found himself in that same part of Chicago. A couple of the locals saw him, did a double take, and then asked him, "Are you a *cop*?"
"No."
"Are you a *doctor*?"
"No."
Pause. Looooong moment of silence. The two guys looked at each other, and then asked, "Do you know where the L station is?"
"No."
With that, the two gentlemen from the hood *walked* him to the L station, stood by him until a train arrived, and waved to him as the train pulled out of the station.
Is there a moral to this story? Hmmmm...how about, even in some *really* bad neighborhoods, sometimes you can be lucky enough to meet some *really* good people.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Vienna Mystery Revealed
I recently retold a story I read about in one of Viktor Suvorov's books: back in the late 60s, a huge package, several meters square, weighing several tons- with no radioactive or magnetic emissions- was sent from the Soviet embassy in Vienna back to Moscow via 'diplomatic pouch.' What was in the package?
Several years earlier, when Krushchev took power, some party flak had a bright idea: to publish a fawning biography of the new General Secretary. All Soviet embassies throughout the world received thousands of copies. Big problem: just about *nobody* would buy a copy. That was *not* what the foreign ministry back in Moscow wanted to hear- all the embassies were *strongly* encouraged to step up sales. The embassies soon learned that they couldn't even give away copies. Finally, the embassy in Vienna hit upon a brilliant idea- buy up thousands of copies of the Khrushchev biography, and stow them in the embassy attic- stacked floor to ceiling and wall to wall- and there they remained for many years, gathering dust. Until one day, the head GRU (Soviet Military Intelligence) officer asked the Ambassador for more space.
"How about the attic?"
"Uh...no, that's already taken."
"With *what*?"
"Thousands and thousands and thousands of copies of unsold Khrushchev biographies."
"No problem, we'll just put them out in the garbage."
"*Huge* problem- word will get out, and there will be a huge scandal, and the people responsible will have their careers ruined (or maybe imprisoned or even *shot*)."
"Okay, how about we just burn them?"
"No way- word gets out that a Soviet Embassy is burning documents- usually an immediate prelude to war- *huge* international incident- the people responsible will have their careers ruined- maybe even imprisoned or *shot*."
Soooo, the GRU officer finally came up with the bright idea of sending all those unused, unread, unwanted copies of Khruschev's biography back to Moscow by diplomatic pouch. (By this time, the Communist Party of the USSR had a new General Secretary- and Khrushchev had long since breathed his last).
All things considered, I'm *really* glad the West won the Cold War.
Several years earlier, when Krushchev took power, some party flak had a bright idea: to publish a fawning biography of the new General Secretary. All Soviet embassies throughout the world received thousands of copies. Big problem: just about *nobody* would buy a copy. That was *not* what the foreign ministry back in Moscow wanted to hear- all the embassies were *strongly* encouraged to step up sales. The embassies soon learned that they couldn't even give away copies. Finally, the embassy in Vienna hit upon a brilliant idea- buy up thousands of copies of the Khrushchev biography, and stow them in the embassy attic- stacked floor to ceiling and wall to wall- and there they remained for many years, gathering dust. Until one day, the head GRU (Soviet Military Intelligence) officer asked the Ambassador for more space.
"How about the attic?"
"Uh...no, that's already taken."
"With *what*?"
"Thousands and thousands and thousands of copies of unsold Khrushchev biographies."
"No problem, we'll just put them out in the garbage."
"*Huge* problem- word will get out, and there will be a huge scandal, and the people responsible will have their careers ruined (or maybe imprisoned or even *shot*)."
"Okay, how about we just burn them?"
"No way- word gets out that a Soviet Embassy is burning documents- usually an immediate prelude to war- *huge* international incident- the people responsible will have their careers ruined- maybe even imprisoned or *shot*."
Soooo, the GRU officer finally came up with the bright idea of sending all those unused, unread, unwanted copies of Khruschev's biography back to Moscow by diplomatic pouch. (By this time, the Communist Party of the USSR had a new General Secretary- and Khrushchev had long since breathed his last).
All things considered, I'm *really* glad the West won the Cold War.
Bernie Madoff
I learned that, contrary to earlier reports, apparently Bernie Madoff is *not* in the hospital as a result of his fellow inmates beating the hell out of him. This might be a bit mean-spirited of me, but I think it would be quite fitting if the other convicts got in the spirit of the season- and used Bernie as a pinata.
Mink Farming Question
My father once told him that a distant relative of his once had a mink farm many years ago- and the question they always got was "How many pelts can you get off a mink?"
After hearing that same question a few too many times, they finally came up with the answer "Only two, because after you skin a mink that *second* time, the mink gets *so* irritable, they're just about impossible to work with."
After hearing that same question a few too many times, they finally came up with the answer "Only two, because after you skin a mink that *second* time, the mink gets *so* irritable, they're just about impossible to work with."
Washington Wizards
For the benefit of anyone who does not fellow the National Basketball Association, for about thirty years, there was a team in Baltimore, called the Baltimore Bullets. Until 1996, when the team's oner, Abe Pollin, moved the team a few miles down the road to Washington D.C., and renamed the team the Wizards. Political correctness strikes again. Of course, naming the team something other than the Bullets would solve the problems of crime and violence in the nation's capital. (A note to my non-American readers: try looking of the rates of violent crime in the District of Columbia for the past fifty years. Your eyes are likely to pop out of your head. So much for the effectiveness of strict gun control laws- for over three decades DC had the nation's strictest.) Of course, some smart alecks pointed out that 'Wizard' is usually the name given to a leader of the Klu Klux Klan; pretty ironic in a city that is overwelmingly black.
A few days ago, two of the Wizards, Gilbert Arenas and Javaris Crittenton, got into an altercation in the locker room, and although reports differ (dispute over a gambling debt?), the two reportedly drew guns on each other. *sigh* The thing that amazes me about this is that Mr. Arenas recently signed a 6 year contract- for $111 *million*. If I was that rich, making $18.5million a year, would I let *anything* bother me enough to pull a gun? I think I'd manage to settle any gambling debts- and if I had concerns for my safety, I think I'd hire a whole bunch of bodyguards. (It's a very good bet that Mr. Crittenton is a multi-millioniare too.) It remains to be seen what action the District Attorney and the NBA will take.
In view of those two gentlemens' maturity, good sense and generally exemplary behavior, perhaps the Pollin family should borrow a phrase from the UK...and rename their team the Washington Wankers.
A few days ago, two of the Wizards, Gilbert Arenas and Javaris Crittenton, got into an altercation in the locker room, and although reports differ (dispute over a gambling debt?), the two reportedly drew guns on each other. *sigh* The thing that amazes me about this is that Mr. Arenas recently signed a 6 year contract- for $111 *million*. If I was that rich, making $18.5million a year, would I let *anything* bother me enough to pull a gun? I think I'd manage to settle any gambling debts- and if I had concerns for my safety, I think I'd hire a whole bunch of bodyguards. (It's a very good bet that Mr. Crittenton is a multi-millioniare too.) It remains to be seen what action the District Attorney and the NBA will take.
In view of those two gentlemens' maturity, good sense and generally exemplary behavior, perhaps the Pollin family should borrow a phrase from the UK...and rename their team the Washington Wankers.
Yale Limerick
On the chest of a barmaid at Yale
Were tattooed all the prices of ale
And on her behind
For the sake of the blind
Was the same information in braille.
Were tattooed all the prices of ale
And on her behind
For the sake of the blind
Was the same information in braille.
Rommel
As a student of Military History, I started reading about Erwin Rommel when I was quite young. I find it impossible not to admire him; but it would be a *huge* mistake to admire him too much.
Rommel's physical courage, and tactical skill, his "fingerspitzengefuhl" (feeling at the fingertips) was the stuff of legend: in the First World War, He led troops against the Romanians, Italians, and French- he was wounded three times; captured- he escaped; he won the Iron Cross second class, Iron Cross first class, *and* the Pour le Merit (most of *those* were won posthumously). He had to have had *amazing* luck to have survived until Nov. 11, 1918.
Rommel's physical courage, and tactical skill, his "fingerspitzengefuhl" (feeling at the fingertips) was the stuff of legend: in the First World War, He led troops against the Romanians, Italians, and French- he was wounded three times; captured- he escaped; he won the Iron Cross second class, Iron Cross first class, *and* the Pour le Merit (most of *those* were won posthumously). He had to have had *amazing* luck to have survived until Nov. 11, 1918.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
