A Book for Boomers

One of the positive aspects of our continuing house arrest, at least for me, has been the chance to put a dent in the pile of books at my bedside.  Let's be honest, there are only so many hours a person can devote to catching up with shows on Netflix and Amazon Prime before your ass enters into a symbiotic relationship with the couch.  Forced marches around the neighborhood at regular intervals help your circulation but it'll be June before that adipose life ring forming around your waist will be of any use.  Blubber buoyancy is so important when it comes to summertime fun on the water.

A book that was long ago recommended to me by a friend has lately proven to be a most compelling read.  Dr. Mary's Monkey, by Edward T. Haslam, is the true story of an unsolved murder of a prominent doctor, the Kennedy assassination, and a disturbing connection between the development of the polio vaccine  and soft tissue cancers.  I know, it sounds like a lot of the usual conspiracy apocrypha peddled by opportunistic crackpots but it's not.  Since the 1960's Ed Haslam has been investigating undeniable connections between cancer research at Tulane University, the NIH, Lee Harvey Oswald,  the Kennedy assassination, a cast of Cuban patriots, the mafia and a most interesting correlation of soft tissue cancers to the polio vaccine.  He carefully presents factual documents, to include autopsy reports, previously withheld police and government findings all in a straightforward logical manner leaving the reader to draw his or her own conclusions.  There are also key interviews with people who offer inside knowledge regarding the web of characters involved in these events.  It is a "stay up late" book like few others.

Those of us old enough to remember summers where our mothers insisted we rest for awhile every afternoon lest we contract polio, only later to be followed by the enormous relief offered from Dr. Salk's vaccine, will find much to consider here.  The New Orleans connection to that life altering 1963 November day in Dallas also offers many points to ponder thanks to newly discovered government documents hidden from the public for years.  The book is extremely well researched and footnoted.  Government documents, police reports and pictures are present throughout the book to support the text.

If you, like me, still have many questions about some of the defining watershed issues of our lives, this is the book for you.  Dr. Mary's Monkey is available from Amazon and other book venders.  Knock off the Netflix and buckle up for a mind blowing read guaranteed to give you pause regarding much  of what we have long thought to be true.

Names Gone Viral

That's funny, these pants used to fit.

Maybe I'm using the wrong setting on the washing machine?  It couldn't be the incessant  
snacking required to keep up my strength for binge-watching Bilko, The Untouchables, Animal House and Blazing Saddles, could it?  Cheetos, Pringles, and mixed nuts along with an ample array of candy bars are all true necessities for real Americans confined to quarters by the Chinese Communist virus currently tap dancing all over our collective consciences.   No baseball, gyms, bars or restaurants for diversion has this country eating like we were all going to "the chair".  It was fun for a while, but ENOUGH ALREADY!  Next stop for this guy is the fat boy store!

I guess it could be worse.  I, and most of my friends, are retired and weren't doing much anyway, but watching the stock market tank every day and wondering if we'll be able to get all our prescriptions filled has limited appeal.  Heck, you can't even get a bet down on a sporting event.  Bookies have been reduced to taking bets on the weather.  An online sportsbook, Bovada, will take your bet for tomorrow's high temperatures in a host of North American cities right now.  Canadian city betting lines are quoted in celsius, of course. Those lousy sled dog drivers are always making trouble.  Only a compulsive gambler would be tempted to spend time on this site.  (I've got a c-note riding on the mercury hitting 91 tomorrow in Cain't Read, Kentucky and another  hundo on a sizzling 49-degree reach in Frozen Monkey, Montana.)

My youngest daughter is a lawyer, who spends her days dealing justice to deadbeat dads, is predicting a major baby boom nine months down the road as the result of boredom, close quarters, and booze.  A friend of hers, Dionne, also an attorney, has gone to the trouble of creating a list of names she expects to see in future custody cases.  Here are some inspired dandies:

Purell,  Covidleigh,  KoRona,  McCovid, Cohvy, Sharminar, Corona Lisa, 'Lil Rona, Quarentina, Kovyd, Koronalyn, Quaryntine, MyKorona, Pan-Demicah,  Mia Koronah, and Kaugh Demic.  Demented but damn good thinking, Dionne!

Keep an eye out for some of those beauties showing up in low-end zip codes near you in 2020.
Speaking of 2020, the one good thing about this annum is that it's nearly halfway finished.  That and the fact that all you need is really good gun simulation skills when next you find yourself holding up a liquor store. You already have the mask.

Good night, Corona Lisa, wherever you are.  I know a couple of good lawyers who can do the name change.

"I was hoping for Suzy."

Cousin Bill

We met in Las Vegas in the mid-1980s.  I was one of the owners of a brand new FM station in that city and, in addition to my management chores, I hosted the station's morning show.  One day as I exited the broadcast studio at 10 am and headed for my office our receptionist told me there was a guy in the lobby who insisted that he was a relative of mine.  Since my aunts, uncles, cousins are few and, according to Ancestry.com, only roughly seven-thousand people named Copper currently reside in the USA, this guest was either a sleazebag record promoter or a legitimate unknown member of my family tree.  Bill Copper was the real deal.

From the moment I stuck out my hand, it was apparent that Bill and I were related.  Cousins?  The shared gestures, close-set shifty eyes, and twisted cynical X-rated sense of humor all indicated that we had emerged from the same murky gene pool and funky family tree.  After comparing histories we determined that our grandfathers had been brothers, his the oldest and mine the youngest, of a large central Illinois clan.  Our fathers, being miles apart in age and geography, had not really known each other except by rumor.  My father's family had remained in downstate Illinois and Bill's had migrated to Chicago where Bill had grown up.

Bill, a star sales representative for Catapillar, had landed in Las Vegas a few years ahead of me and was enjoying himself immensely.  Never one to take anything seriously, he described his job as "driving around, cruising tunes and looking for guys standing by a pile of dirt" to whom he would then sell a fine Catapillar product.  It was even easier  than "sitting on your ass and blabbing for four hours a day to people you can't see."  The man did have a point.  He was a major character.  Always on, upbeat and ready for fun.  Just tell him where and when.

Over the years Bill and I became good friends.  After I left Vegas we stayed in touch and he even did an extended tour of Ireland with my wife and me.  He was a wonderful travel companion.  After Linda died three years ago I called Bill, now divorced, and suggested that we hit the road for a therapeutic road trip of some kind.  I could tell from his voice on the phone that something was amiss when he told me that there would be no travel adventures ahead for him as he had been diagnosed with a rather severe form of Parkinson's disease.  He was upbeat and as good-natured as ever and I knew that if anyone could shrug off this diagnosis it was Bill.  A few months later I heard from him that he was selling his house and moving to Guam to be near his only son, Matt, and his family.  He wanted to spend what he now knew to be limited time with his son.

Last week Matt wrote to tell me, and several others via email, that his father had passed away.  Positive to the end, Bill had gone out with a smile on his face and hope in his heart for his friends and very small family.  It was a pleasure to have known him and, as is often the case in these matters, replies to Matt's email began to come in from many who had a relationship with Bill and fortunately I was copied on several.  All expressed how likable he was and how "Bill's glass was always half full. what a funny happy guy."  All messages that had to have made Matt proud and Bill, wherever he may be, delighted with the best epitaph anyone could ask for.

My reason for sharing this is that, especially during this time of national tragedy, sacrifice, and monumental boredom we should all take comfort in the fact that America has an abundance of people like my cousin Bill.  We are a bootstrap nation that was built and continues to be maintained by "glass half full" types whose ancestors arrived here with "can do" personalities and a smile on their face.  There is no finer country in the world and, with our penchant for hard work, tempered by sarcastic ball-buster humor, we will all be healthy and wonderfully free once again.
Stay strong.  Together we'll be better and more appreciative of our freedoms and our fellow Americans than ever before when this is finally over.  Cousin Bill would expect no less.