The End of Democracy

 “Never give a sucker an even break!”

“There’s a sucker born every minute!”

“The rich get richer and the poor get poorer!”

“Nice place you got here. Too bad if something was to happen to it!”

“We’ve been trying to notify you your extended warranty is about to expire.”

“If you want to be rich you have to work harder!”

“Greed is good. We need more greed!”

“Survival of the fittest!”

“If you need insulin to stay alive, It’s going to cost $960 a month.”

“No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.” - H.L. Menken

These are the mottos, the bywords, of capitalism.

All through my school years they taught me about the wonderfulness of capitalism, contrasted with the awful horrors of socialism.

Now at 78 years old, and seeing the end of democracy in our country, brought on by capitalists who value money more than people, I believe I was filled and fooled by propaganda.

I was fooled by the time in which I grew up, when the country was benefiting from FDR’s New Deal. They told me it was capitalism, but they were wrong. Then it was highly taxed and tightly regulated capitalism, with a lot of socialism thrown in to keep the country from embracing Russian style Communism.

Social Security, Rural electrification programs, unemployment insurance, Government work programs, and free high schools were all part of the socialist additions to capitalism to ameliorate the brutality of Darwinian “dog eat dog” market forces.

Capitalists were held in check seventy years ago with marginal tax rates above 90% and strict anti monopoly laws to prevent corporations from gaining too much power over the people. Unions were given the right to organize and collectively bargain with employers, which raised wages to a level with which one person could raise a family.

We now approach the end of the capitalist cycle, where a few of the most avaricious people gather most of the money, and the rest of the country descends into abject poverty. It has happened in scores of other countries to our south, and now it is our turn. Where hope fades, democracy dies.

Leaders of both Democratic and Republican parties have abandoned the working class, and are actively threatening Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, unemployment insurance, and any other programs that might benefit any but the elite rich. 

In order to prevent the mass of people from rising up and killing the rich people, the government will by necessity have to become more militantly aggressive and authoritarian. 

A huge part of the problem is schools have been “dumbed down” so that supposedly educated people are no longer capable of sorting facts from fiction. The elite rich have taken over radio and TV and much of “social media” and now there is a constant stream of “alternative facts” and outright lies. Reagan got rid of that old rule years ago that required broadcast facilities to put out “fair and balanced” news.

I astounds me to know that about half of our population is convinced that vaccinations are “bad” things. Do schools even mention such names as Jenner, Salk, Sabin, Cox, or Pasteur any more? To produce such abysmal ignorance, our school system must have seriously missed the boat somehow. It makes me wonder if it was intentional.

It looks to me as if we have four more years of government stasis, in which millions more will become discouraged, despondent, and enraged. 

To see our future, we just need to look to Guatemala, or El Salvador. Or Peru, or Venezuela, or Bolivia.  We made those countries the way they are. Every time the people try to take power, we try to find a military general we can push in there to smash down the populist rebellion with soldiers. 

Our chickens may be on their way home to roost.  

Election Day 2020

 Election Day 2020

It was still dark at five o’clock on election day as I quickly combed my hair, shaved and grabbed a bite of breakfast. My car started up and soon settled down to a fast idle speed as the engine warmed for a few seconds.

I backed out of the driveway and drove into the town of Mead, OK, where I was scheduled to work at the polling place for Precinct 25 in Bryan County this day. 

About halfway to town, I noticed a slight pull to the left and then my low tire alarm came on. I was just a couple of blocks from my destination, so I rocked the steering wheel to make sure there was still enough air to get me in the parking lot without rolling on the rim. After I stopped and looked at the tire, it didn’t look low at all, but I knew it would be flat when the day was over.

This year I requested a mail-in ballot due to COVID-19 concerns. When it arrived, I had other concerns about the attacks on the post office efficiency, so I took it into the Election Board office the first day that was allowed.

 I had voted the ballot, sealed it in the white ballot envelope, signed the Yellow Affidavit envelope and attached a photocopy of my OK Voter ID to the outside of that envelope, put the ballot envelope inside the Affidavit envelope, and then inserted those envelopes into the return envelope provided. 

The instructions were not easy to follow, as they were on three separate pieces of paper, some white and some orange. Nowhere was there a bullet list of the instructions and proper procedures to meet the detailed requirements of voting by mail. I am afraid many ballots may be thrown out due to failure to follow the instructions to the letter.

Not that it matters much in this state. I’m in Oklahoma, reddest of the red states.

When I turned in my ballot at the Election Board, I also volunteered to work at a polling place it they needed me. I have over ten years experience  as a poll worker in Nevada, I told the woman behind the desk. She almost laughed!

“Boy, do we need workers!” she said. ”A lot of our regulars can’t do it this year. They’re all getting too old.” She swiftly got me a form to sign up, and asked me if I had a car and could drive to any polling place. I said yes, so she gave me my first assignment in the town of Colbert, about ten miles south of Durant.

I asked if the regular poll worker had decided not to work this year because of COVID-19. She said, ”No, she died of the virus two days ago.”

She asked again if I was still sure I wanted to be a poll worker, and I told her sure, I’ll risk it.

I’m 78 years old, I’ve had a marvelous life - most of those years with a wife that loved me greatly. She died two years ago with Alzheimer’s disease, but we shared many pleasant times exploring the country and taking care of each other. If I die tomorrow, it’s been a hoot!

A week later, the lady from the Election Board called me up and moved me to Kiamichi Tech Center, near the Durant Airport. She asked if that was OK, and I said sure. I know right where that is. I’ve flown into the Durant airport many times on family reunions here. And it’s a little closer than Colbert.

After about a week, I got another phone call from the Election Board. She wants me to work at the polling place in Mead, OK, just a couple of miles from my house. It’s at the Baptist Church on Main street, Hwy 70.

After I agreed, she called Jean, the lady that has been working that poll place for years, and we introduced ourselves, and looked forward to working together on election day, starting at six in the morning, so we could set up and get ready for opening at seven.

I helped carry some of the boxes of voting material inside, and since I was now a Judge, my job was to check for valid ID, and look up their name in the big book of registered voters, and have them sign in. No signature for comparison as in Nevada - this was just to ensure you only vote once. 

Once they have been found in the book and signed in, I direct them to the next person, who hands them the paper ballot, and instructs them on how to mark the ballot properly, by filling in the box beside your choice. No check marks - no exxes. The ballots are fed into a scanning machine to be counted, and it is critical that the box looks black to the machine.

From seven until seven I checked IDs and found the names for over 790 voters. As the day wore on, the book loosened up, and I got familiar with about where the alphabetical names were located, and it got faster and easier. Except that sometimes my eyes would glaze over, I guess, I couldn’t see the name right there in front of me. A couple of times the voter would point to their name as I scanned the page, so I thanked them profusely for the help. Several people thanked me for volunteering to do this. It’s amazing how good a simple thank you makes you feel. 

I also had some that had to remove their hats, cover their shirt with a coat, or turn their tee shirt inside out before they could vote. The rule is campaigning is over, this is a voting place, and no candidate  or party name are allowed within 300 feet of the polling place. Most of them complied without too much grumbling.

As for IDs, that was interesting, to say the least. I had already studied the list of acceptable IDs, which included valid driver’s licenses, Voter ID cards (best), University student ID, (must be from a state school), Firearm Permits issued by OK. Two people used their Choctaw Tribal ID card. I also had two Passports and one Oklahoma Medical Marijuana card with a picture on it, which seemed good to me.

We only had two or three people of color that showed up to vote. That is to be expected in Mead, where there are few of them living out here. In Colbert I bet there were many more, since that town was largely populated by black people when Durant warned them to be out of town by sundown sixty years ago. Colbert was close to the Red River, where they could support themselves by fishing and hunting if nobody would hire them.

That is the only problem I have with the voter ID requirement. If you are black, over sixty years old, and can’t drive anymore, it will be almost impossible to get a valid ID, since when they were born, the white hospitals wouldn’t allow a black to enter, so subsequently most black babies were born at home, many with no record of birth or government certificate. How do you prove citizenship? You can’t, even though everybody knows you’ve lived in Bryan County, Oklahoma, all your life.

At the polling place, a line was already formed before we opened the polls, and the line went around the block and across the street at one point. There was not a break in the line of voters until late in the afternoon. We covered each other, for quick bathroom breaks during the day. One of the workers brought in a crock pot of black eyed peas and vegetables, so we all got to break for a quick lunch, one at a time. It was a delicious break at noon. 

That was probably the first time anybody saw my face, since we all wore face coverings all day. 

After we closed the polls at seven it took almost an hour before the last voter got his ballot completed and scanned, and we picked up the voting materials, boxed and sealed the ballots from under the scanning machine, and took down the signs we had posted on the wall for voter directions. 

It was late and dark, and my tire was now completely flat. But I always carry a small 12 volt air compressor in the trunk. (That’s from many years of living far from town in the Nevada desert.) So I hooked it up and stood there waiting for the tire in inflate, and talked to the pastor of the Baptist Church, who was very friendly. He explained that the old voting place was old and small, completely inadequate, and he convinced them to use the back rooms of his church. It worked well.

As far as separation of church and state issues go, he didn’t offer any prayers or curses, and I didn’t even see an invitation to come to church on Sunday, so I guess we’re all good. In Nevada, it’s all done in schools or convention centers.

When I had 25 lbs. of air in the tire, I disconnected and drove home. I went to bed and slept like a log. 

I got up late, did not turn on the radio, and did not turn on the TV. There will be no change in my life no matter who wins the election. There will be no help with medical bills or drugs, and life will go on for me as it did before. 

I’m checking my temperature morning and evening, and I’m still running low, so far. 

It’s been a good week. 

 

 

Trump missed his chance

 I have been reading an article in the November 2nd New Yorker magazine entitled “The After-Party.” The author is Nicholas Lemann, and it is an in depth survey of the two political parties in the US. 

He discusses the big switch in sides, which he calls the Reversal. For one hundred years or more, the Democrats were the party of the working class and the poor, and the Republican party was the party for business, bankers, and rich owners of industry.

Since Trump took over the Republican party, the working class has become solidly Republican, due to the policies Trump espoused, such as trade protectionism, border protection, and opposition to “Obamacare.”

He has been unwilling or unable to follow through on many of those promises, even though he has the old business wing of the Republican party thoroughly cowed into disavowing the old GOP platform. The only Republican platform this year is whatever Trump wants.

Meanwhile, The Democrats, having learned nothing from the last election, have lost the working class. They are now all in for helping loan companies screw students if they need money to go to college, all in for bailing out bankers who want to foreclose and evict homeowners who run short on the mortgage payment, and especially all in for pharmaceutical companies screwing people with chronic needs and medical insurance companies extorting people who need medical care.

It occurred to me that here’s where Trump missed his chance. For one time in US history, all the indications were in his favor, and he was too ignorant to do it.

In 2001, Congress passed the PATRIOT ACT, which cedes total power to the president if he declares a national emergency. He can use Executive Decrees to enact any policies he deems necessary to fight the War.

What War? Why, the War on COVID-19. When this country was first attacked by the virus, rather than ignore it or downplay it, he could have declared war on the pandemic, and immediately committed government money to pay for all medical care for everybody in the country, in exchange for some temporary distancing measures and mask requirements. The pandemic could have been stopped, just as they did in Taiwan and New Zealand, and then he could have kept his promise to replace “Obamacare” with a better plan that covered everybody.

Trump’s base would have accepted the restrictions, for the most part, because their own beloved president would be showing leadership such as we haven’t seen since Franklin Roosevelt instituted Social Security back in 1935.

Those other Republicans are so afraid of Trump, they would have enthusiastically caved to his demands, just as they have on all the other old GOP policies. They don’t care about those policies - they just want to win!

Millions of Independents and populist Democrats would have swung to Trump as someone who finally felt their pain and was actually doing something for them, other than empty promises. 

I truly believe if he had used the pandemic to solve the problems with medical access in this country, he would have easily won a second, or even a third or fourth term, just as Franklin D. Roosevelt did. 

If Trump loses, he has only himself to blame. He had his one chance to follow through on at least one campaign promise, and he blew it. 

If Biden wins, and continues the previous Democrat strategy for siding with Wall Street crooks against the working class and poor people, then the election in 2024 will be a Republican blowout, if they can find somebody with the political instincts of Trump combined with the smarts to understand the populist wave that is still building in this country. 

Perceptions and Expectations

 Perceptions and Expectations

Oct 24, 2020

This week has been one of the most stressful in my life. Last weekend I spent many hours and drove many miles to help my daughter get a vital prescription she needs for bipolar disorder.

She was totally out, and sudden withdrawal could lead to psychosis, so our first stop was the ER, since I didn’t find out until after drugstores closed on Friday night. They gave her an immediate dose and a prescription for more in the following weekend. 

On Monday she filled her monthly prescription at the Choctaw Clinic here in Durant, OK. I thought we were done with the crisis for now. 

Then she called me to say her electric power was cut off due to non payment. She was out of money due to her trip last month take care of her father while she thought he was going to have a hospital stay due to a blood pressure spike. Yes, she has two fathers. More on that later.

Turns out the power bill was for two months plus restoration fees. Over $395. 

She can’t drive, due to her vision, and even though she passed the test for certification as a CNA, public transport is shut down due to COVID-19 and she obviously can’t afford to take a taxi every day to work.

So, after contemplating solutions to her problems making her tiny little monthly check stretch to cover her expenses, I finally came to the conclusion that living alone in an apartment in town is driving her crazy.

I have a guest bedroom and another bathroom in this house, and we started moving her into the other side of the house yesterday. 

The inevitable question is, “Why didn’t you do that sooner?”

That is where perceptions and expectations rear their ugly head.

I married Darlene’s mother Carolyn when Darlene was eight years old. So yeah, I’m her stepfather, with all the baggage that comes with that appellation. I have been made aware of the reputation that some stepfathers have created, and have gone out of my way all my life, all of the nearly fifty years I was married to Carolyn, to not even allow the appearance of impropriety to intrude on our relationship as daughter and dad. 

I am afraid that many times I held back from a hug that I now know she needed. 

And yet there are those who see evil where there is none, and spread suspicious rumors anyway.

I used to say I don’t care what other people think. That’s not entirely true.

I care when it causes trouble and pain to those I love and care about.

Part of the perception is that I am open about not believing in an external God up there somewhere keeping track of my sins. Allow me to explain.

I believe God is in me. If I am true to my God, I will have love for everyone, and do harm to no one. 

I like the words of the Gospel of Thomas verse 3, 

“If those who lead you say, “Look, the kingdom is in heaven,” then the birds of heaven will precede you. If they say, “It is in the sea,” then the fish will precede you. Rather, the kingdom is within you and outside you. When you know yourselves, you will be known, and you will know you are children of the living Father. But if you do not know yourselves, you live in poverty, and you yourselves are the poverty.”

Verse 113 says:

“His disciples said to him, “When will the kingdom come?”

He said, “It will not come when it is expected. They will not say, “Look here!” or Look there!” Rather the kingdom of the Father is spread out on the earth and people do not see it.”

That is not in the New Testament, but it should be. The Gospel of Thomas was written about the same time as Revelation, but when the Catholic Church chose which books would be included in the Bible around 400 A.D, they left this one out. The priests and bishops wanted you to depend on the church, not yourself, for salvation.

I have been practicing Buddhism since I was in Japan (Okinawa) in 1966. It is the study of finding the right path that leads away from pain and suffering and to peace and knowledge. I find immense comfort in knowing that it is all up to me to pick the right path. 

I don’t worry that someone up there in the sky is going to punish me for my sins. I don’t need to worry that the sheriff is going to haul me away to jail for anything I do. My only fear is that I will not live up to my own expectations of who I am.

So Darlene will be sharing this house with me from now on, it seems. It will save her a lot of rent on that lonely apartment in town, and the high utility bills there. She will also get free WiFi out here, such as it is. We may have to take turns online through that narrow satellite broadband.

I will save many gallons of gasoline every month I don’t have to drive into Durant and back. That’s fifteen miles round trip each time I do that. 

As she visits her sister and other dad in Texas, the trips will start in Mead, OK, which will save time and gas, also. 

Carolyn and I tried to tell Darlene that she was twice as lucky to have two sets of parents. She still is that lucky. 

She has two dads, and that won’t ever change.

 

Hardball

Sept. 29, 2020

It is obvious that Republicans are playing hardball to win at any cost, while Democrats are playing slow pitch softball with one hand tied behind their back.

The Constitution does not specify the number of justices on the Supreme Court. So if the Republicans toss out the rules they made four years ago and confirm another Supreme Court Justice, the Democrats have every right to change the rules, too. Whether they have the gumption to do it is another matter.

“…Congress has changed the size of the Supreme Court seven times, from the original six justices to as many as 10 in 1863. After the Civil War, Congress in 1866 reduced the number of justices to seven to prevent President Andrew Johnson from appointing new members to the court. In 1869, after Johnson left office, Congress raised the number of justices back to nine, which the court has numbered ever since.

During the Great Depression, conservatives on the court struck down several New Deal programs during President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s first term. After his sweeping re-election in 1936, Roosevelt proposed in 1937 that Congress increase the number of judges to as many as 15 members.

FDR relented when one of the justices moderated to allow the laws to take effect, and another conservative judge retired, prompting a humorist to quip, ‘A switch in time saved nine’.”

James M. Cullen, in an editorial in “The Progressive Populist” 

10/15/2020

I would have expected such a threat from Bernie or AOC. I have my doubts about Biden or Pelosi or Schumer.

But the option is there, if they take the Senate and the Presidency. 

That Was Quick!

 That Was Quick!

Sept. 27, 2020

It’s been cool and cloudy all day, so after the church service was over on Facebook, (the technical aspect went great, and the speaker was wonderful), and we had a short chat session on ZOOM, I signed off.

I made a tossed green salad for lunch, and the avocado was just perfect, along with bell peppers, tomatoes and lettuce, with a dash of Olive Garden Italian dressing. I’m still trying to lose that liver fat the doctor is worried about.

My blood pressure is down in the normal range now, and I’ve lost about 15 lbs, mostly around my waist. I would have lost more, but my bike riding puts on muscle to replace fat, so although I have taken up a couple of notches on my belt, and I no longer have to exhale to get my pants to button, I have been maintaining weight for the last month.

I haven’t been out to visit my wife’s place at Pleasant Hill Cemetery in a few weeks, and I decided to clean up my mountain bike, oil the chain, air up the tires, and ride from Wilma’s house (she’s my sister-in-law) to the cemetery. If you have ever been to Wilma’s house, you know why I left the racing bike at home and brought the mountain bike.

I parked at her house, unloaded the bicycle, and left her the car keys in case it got dark or I had trouble. 

I donned my helmet, orange riding shirt, and turned on the red tail light.

Things felt great as I turned onto McLean Rd. and pedaled south. I coasted into the bayou, past the new gate I installed this summer. It’s funny, because I have been expecting to come back and level the gate after the post finds its final tilt, but it hasn’t moved at all.

When I am going past it to the north, it looks like it’s sagging a little bit. When I am coming by it going south, it looks like it is high and needs let down a little. But it has stayed level - I carry a carpenter’s level with me in the car and I’ve checked. That ten foot power pole I hung it on must have been big enough.

I geared down to a lower gear and started up out of the bayou. I have measured that hill, and it’s an eleven and a half percent grade on dirt and gravel. I made it to the top without going to the lowest range on my front gearset. I was huffing and puffing, but pulling hard all the way. That’s what I’m going for!

As I crested the top of the hill, I shifted back to the high range on my front sprocket and clicked up a couple on the rear sprocket as I started down a fairly steep grade. I was probably speeding along at about 15 miles per hour, not even thinking about the dirt road surface. 

Rookie mistake!

All of a sudden I found myself being battered by some terrible washboard ruts across the road. My wheels only touched down every now and then, and when they did, the seat broke. I guess that means my ass needs to lose some more weight.

I thought I might catch it, but in an instant I came down at an angle which steered me right into the ditch on the left side. I went down on top of the bike, luckily, but crashed through a tall stand of Johnson grass and into the reddest mud I’ve ever seen. 

By the way, Oklahoma is an old Indian word for “red mud” I think.

It was a soft landing, and the only thing I hurt was my pride and dignity. Those were smashed up pretty bad! I had to stand up in the mud to drag my bike back to the road, and it went over the top of my shoes and halfway up the side of my pants. 

I slowly rode back to the house, got my car keys back, excused my self to drive home and shower up and throw my clothes in the washer. I scrubbed my arms where I might have brushed up against some poison ivy as I crashed through the brush beside the road. I still have a bar of Fels-Naphtha lye soap, and I put it to good use.

I don’t feel any bruises at all. The only physical injury was some small grass cuts on one arm from the Johnson grass. 

I’ll live to see another day, I guess. I’ll find out in the morning if there were some banged up places that haven’t announced themselves yet. 

Some days luck is better than common sense. I could have hit a tree!

Year of Living Dangerously

 The Year of Living Dangerously 

Sept. 17, 2020

I am the first person in Bryan County, OK, to turn my ballot into the Election Board. 

I followed the scattered and various directions on the multiple pieces of paper that came with the ballot, and I’m pretty sure I followed all the directions correctly. I am also sure that many people won’t and their ballots won’t be counted.

Nowhere in the package was there a clear numbered set of instructions on how to do it. They could use lessons on directions from IKEA. They did make it clear that the postmark doesn’t count - it must be received by election day to be counted. With the present Postmaster General of the US doing everything in his power to hobble speedy mail delivery, I suspect many ballots won’t get there on time.

I walked into the Election Board and handed mine to the lady there. She said I was the first one.

I also volunteered to work at a polling place if she needed me. She almost laughed. 

“Yes,” she said. “I sure do. Can you drive to anywhere in the county”

“Yes, I have my own car, and I can go where you need me.”

She said,”I just lost a poll worker yesterday in Colbert. Would that be OK?”

“Sure, not a problem.” I replied. “Did they quit for fear of the COVID virus?”

“No, she died of COVID yesterday. We knew she was sick but thought she was getting better, and then she took a turn for the worse.”

“That is sad. My Schwans food delivery guy got the virus, and missed a delivery while he was home sick, but he got over it in a couple of weeks.”

The lady told me they would have a training session next Friday at 9:30 AM if I still wanted to come.

“I’ll be there, not a problem.” 

Yeah, it’s has a risk, but not so much for me. I know people who are doing it in spite of diabetes, high blood pressure, and other things that increase the chances of death. Some of us old folks still understand the concept of obligation, as well as freedom. 

We are about to lose our freedom, because we have a whole generation of people who only believe in freedom, but reject any notion that something might be required of them in return. 

Not only do they not draft people into the military for service anymore, these kids can’t be bothered to put on a paper mask to protect the people around them. Not just kids, either. 

So, on election day I will be hanging out at the polling place in the little town of Colbert, OK, wearing my mask, keeping as much distance as I can, and doing my part for democracy.

As they say down in this neck of the woods, “Hold my beer!” 

 

Sonora Pass 1950

Sept. 7, 2020

Back somewhere about 1950, our family was trying to get back to Merced over Sonora Pass. We may have gone east over Tioga Pass earlier that day. My mother had a friend from her college days, Esther McMaster, who was the telephone operator in Yosemite Valley then, and we went up to visit her several times. She would give us suggestions on where to drive and what to see. Tuolumne Meadows was one place we visited a couple of times. 

Our father, Vernon Rogers, ran the Kaiser-Frazer Service shop in Merced, and we drove a black Kaiser sedan. Dad liked to take unscheduled trips on weekends, and we toured much of California and Oregon on these trips. It was a wonderful education for us kids, and we learned to appreciate the world around us. 

Bill and I spent many hours kneeling on the back seat at night as we traveled. John rode in the front and slept on long trips in his mother’s lap. He was two, Bill was six, and I was seven years old. Nobody ever heard of seat belts or child seats in those days. 

Our Kaiser was running rough on this trip due to to high altitude. Carburetors couldn’t compensate for altitude and put too much gas into the mixture at high altitudes. The car just didn't have enough power left to get us over the top, and the top of the road was still gravel in those days. About a quarter mile from the top, the road got very steep, and even in low gear the wheels just spun in the gravel. 

Dad had us all get out and walk to the top, in the night with a full moon for light. He backed down a mile or so, and with just him in the car, pedal to the metal, he just barely made it over the top. 

John was just a toddler, and he held Mom’s hand as we hiked to the top. Mom worried aloud about bears and such, but there was none to be seen. The only noise was the sound of the car roaring up the road behind us, drifting around the gravel curves, and finally getting to the top with the momentum collected.

 

I remember as we walked to the top, my mother's sweater collected enough static electricity to have sparks playing around on her as she moved. She tugged on the tail of the sweater and the whole thing crackled and sparkled in the high and dry night air.  

We were all so fascinated by the electric show we forgot to be tired or scared.

We climbed back into the car at the top of Sonora Pass, and went on down the mountain back home

The Gas Pump Debate

 It’s been a wonderful Saturday morning here in Southern Oklahoma. I was driving into Durant to give my daughter a ride for groceries, and I noticed my gas gauge getting close to the bottom, so I pulled into the line of pumps at the E-Z Mart on Washington Street to fill up. 

The sun was shining on the pump screen, so I goofed it the first time and had to start over to get my card to read properly. I finally got the nozzle in the tank filler and was about half filled when a small blue car pulled up on the other side of the pump.

I didn’t even look up until I heard somebody say,”I’ve got a question for you!”

The older fellow who was driving had his window down, and he was the one hollering at me. I’m not used to strangers hollering at me in the pump line, so my guard was up immediately. 

I said, “I haven’t lived here long, but I’ll try to answer your question.”

He wasn’t asking for directions. He asked, “If you had two friends, and your wife was fooling around, and one of them told you about her, and the other didn’t so as not to make you feel bad, which one is your friend?”

Well, that was a surprise! A pleasant one, I have to say. There are so few people left who actually like to start a great debate. 

I have some Facebook friends who start posts with “I don’t want anybody to argue with me, but I’m going to post this anyway!” Such comments betray their lack of confidence in their beliefs. 

Just to see how fervent this guy was, I answered, “Sometimes it’s good to be a widower!”

“No, I’m serious,” he said. “Which one would be your true friend - the one who told you, even knowing you might get mad, or the one who didn’t tell you just to keep the peace?”

“Since you insist,” I said, “I would take the first guy as my friend, since I value truth above all, but I wouldn’t get mad.”

“You’re not like most people I know, “ he said.

“Thank you. I try hard not to be like most people.”

He smiled and nodded his head. He realized I had given him permission to continue the discussion without making me mad.

We were two of a kind, in a random meeting at a gas pump, in deep Oklahoma. I don’t know if he invites Mormon missionaries into the house for talks, or discusses the Bible with Jehovah’s Witnesses, but I do. Life is so much easier when you don’t mind listening to other views, comparing other beliefs, and increasing mutual understanding.

“Well, what do you think of the situation in this country today?” he asked.

Oh, it’s not religion, it’s politics. Great! Game on!

“I’m really disappointed and discouraged. I fought hard for Bernie Sanders, but the Democratic machine ran him over, and anybody else that wanted to see real change happen.”

I could see his mind working, trying to find a way to insert Donald Trump into the debate, I think. I may be wrong, though. I didn’t give him much room to maneuver.

He said,”Somebody once told me that the people aren’t in enough pain yet - that when enough people are desperate enough, they will make change.”

“I think you are exactly right. But I am beginning to see the pain increasing exponentially, due to this pandemic. Millions out of work, lost their medical coverage, about to be evicted from their homes.” 

“What kind of change do you see coming?” he asked.

I looked at him and said, “I don’t know how old you are, but you look to be about my age. If so, you remember living when Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal still applied in this country.”

“Whoa, that was way back in the Fifties!”  he exclaimed. “I remember taxes being awful high back then. income tax was 30 or 35 percent, wasn’t it?”

“Not even close,” I said. “Top tax rate under Roosevelt, Truman, and Eisenhower was over 90 percent. Nobody was allowed to be a billionaire. That was considered evidence that you were robbing somebody - your employees, your customers, your competitors. Companies actually vied to be the best employer, with the best wages, and the best benefits in the land. Those were bragging rights.”

“I don’t remember it that way. We were pretty poor back then.”

“So was I. My father abandoned us when I was just eleven and my mother raised us three boys by herself, with help from family and church friends. But I have since studied a lot of history - read a lot of books - and I remembered when the government put thousands of GIs through college for free, built many thousands of new schools to educate the baby boomers, built a country wide network of high speed freeways, and sent men to the moon and back.” 

“So what going to happen now?” He was listening intently, and seriously seemed to want to know my opinion. That’s all, just my opinion.

“I think it is 1932 all over again,” I said. "Either we will become a Fascist country, where the rich corporations control the government and force us to do their will, or we will turn to Socialism again, where the government is run by the people, to benefit the people. Bernie was the only one who offered the latter, so I don’t have much hope right now.”

Another car pulled up behind him, waiting for the pump there. I said, “ That guy wants your pump, I think. I’ve enjoyed talking with you.”

“I’ve enjoyed it myself, Guess I better move on, Bye!”

“Have a great day” I yelled as he left. I squeezed the pump handle again and topped off the tank.

After he left it occurred to me that he didn’t call me a Libtard, or an idiot, or a Commie. And I hadn’t called him any disparaging names, either. There should be millions of discussions all over this land like this, and maybe we could figure this thing out, without going to revolution or civil war.

Wouldn’t that be great? But I don’t have much hope. There are so few people who relish a real debate on the issues. Wish I had gotten his name.

I think I’ll go out on the porch and take a nap. 

Masks?

 I have to laugh when I listen to all the young people whining and complaining about wearing a simple mask over their face to protect those around them from the Covid-19 virus. 

Maybe we should reinstate the draft.

On April 7, 1965, I got a letter from Lyndon B. Johnson ordering me to report to the induction center in Fresno, California to be conscripted into the U.S.Army.

In just a couple of days I found myself in Ft. Ord, California, with about 250 other guys my age, with brand new serial numbers proving you now belonged to the Government. Government Issue - GI.

After getting all new uniforms, fatigues, and boots, we were issued gas masks. They were worn on the right side of your waist on the belt, inside a canvas bag with a snap cover. They were black rubber, and covered all of your face, including the eyes, and had strong rubber straps across the back of your head to prevent any leaks on the front side around your face.

In the cheeks were filters made of activated charcoal, which would remove lethal gasses, at least for enough time to get away from the area. They were quite heavy and awkward to use, but seemed worth it to save your life.

We lined up in rows to practice putting them on fast, when the instructor yelled “GAS!” You were expected to have the mask on, cleared, and ready in nine seconds. 

We got to watch films of goats somewhere on a test range being gassed. As the seconds counted up at the bottom of the screen, the poor goats would start shaking and then fall down, kicking for a few seconds before they died. 

The instructor noted that those of us wearing glasses would probably die anyway, because the extra couple of seconds to rip those glasses off before the mask went on might mean the difference between life and death.

In another exercise, we got to put on our masks, enter a small room single file.and stand around the wall while they set off tear gas canisters in the middle of the room. It wasn’t just a test to see if there was a leak in the mask. 

After a couple of minutes, we were ordered to remove the masks and stow them in their bags on our waist. Then we stood around for a minute or two until we were coughing, gasping, and choking on the CS tear gas. Some lost their lunch, but you were not allowed to leave until you marched up to the officer at the door, saluted, and gave your name, rank, and serial number. Then you could go outside and suck in some clear air for awhile.

When all had passed the tear gas test (there was no flunk - if you didn’t do it right the first time, you got to go back in and do it again) we donned our masks again and got to crawl on our bellies under a net of barbed wire for about fifty yards, carrying our rifles. The barbed wire was on short poles about 16” off the ground; just high enough to crawl under if you stayed low and were slow and careful. You had to get through that course without losing your mask or getting your rifle dirty.

Later we went through the Assault Course at night, carrying our rifle on our elbows again, crawling under the barbed wire with live tracer rounds from a couple of machine guns going overhead about 30” up. Halfway through the course there were sandbag bunkers with explosive charges that felt like they would blow you over. We were warned to not climb into the bunkers for refuge. 

When we got to the end of the course we had our rifle inspected, and if you had any dirt in the barrel, you got to clean your weapon and go do the course again.

None of this will be news to those of my age who were drafted into the armed forces during the Vietnam era. Thousands were trained this way, and this was all before we got orders for our duty overseas.

I can’t imagine any veteran who got the same training we did to whine about how uncomfortable a simple cloth mask is.

Maybe we shouldn’t tell them they are to protect the people around them. 

We should just point out that those cloth masks are to defeat the computerized facial recognition software the government is using to spy on them.