Sunset In America

When I was in high school Soviet goon Nikita Khrushchev was fond of telling Americans "We will bury you".  Little did he know that JFK's "Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country" would give way to just doing the burying ourselves and sparing the rest of the world the trouble.  American values like hard work and living within our means has given way to "Where's mine?"

The fat, dumb, and lazy have foisted another four years of vapid and terminally clueless leadership upon the land and I'm wondering if we have it in us to persevere.  Our children and grandchildren are on the hook for nearly insurmountable debt and we don't seem to care.  It's immoral.  Food stamps, free phones, breakfasts and lunches provided by schools, student loans at below market rates are just a few of the myriad "freebies" politicians throw at the electorate to buy their votes.   Nobody seems to care that it's our own money and, by the way, WE DON'T HAVE IT.

Ben Franklin said, "When the people find that they can vote themselves money, that will herald the end of the republic."  Old Ben was a pretty sharp guy, invented a couple of things I believe.  George Bernard Shaw said pretty much the same thing when he opined "Robbing Peter to pay Paul will always insure the support of Paul."  The problem with this philosophy is that Peter--if he isn't already tapped out--has left town.  Hell, he's left THE COUNTRY!

So here is where we are:  BROKE!  Yet this past Tuesday we collectively decided to double down on the leadership of a man who has never run so much as a bake sale and can produce no plan beyond "tax the rich" who already pay the majority of our taxes.  Anyone proficient in elementary math can take about five minutes to conclude that confiscating the entire net worth of the wealthiest citizens of our republic would keep Washington's wheels turning for about two weeks.  This is no way to run a country.  Try navigating your household this way and get your ticket punched for the hotel with bars.

I take comfort in the fact that roughly half the population knows all of this and are as concerned as I am.  We have made it half way through this horrible wrong turn of an administration and can remain hopeful that new dynamic leadership will emerge.  Cerebral rectosis can be overcome.  After all, Jimmy Carter gave us Ronald Reagan.


"The pessimist complains about the wind, the optimist expects it to change and the REALIST adjusts his sails."  anonymous   

Something Fishy

The sign would read:  "In memory of hundreds of fish who suffered and died at this spot."

Beaufort T. Sea Bass, D.O.A.  in Irvine without tartar sauce

Well, that's what Dana Kourda, on behalf of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, wanted the city of Irvine, California to say on the sign she wanted placed at the site of a truck accident that killed 1600 pounds of fish a couple of weeks ago.  In a letter to the city, Ms. Kourda went on to say that "Research tells us that fish use tools, tell time, sing, and have impressive long-term memories and complex social structure, yet fish used for food are routinely crushed, impaled, cut open, and gutted, all while still conscious."  She neglected to mention that they are also damn good eatin'.

Saying you're a member of PETA and from California is like saying you're an alcoholic and an addict.  It is sort of implied.  This place has all the essential ingredients needed to support any full-tilt Bozo philosophy you espouse.  We even have a crankwank governor to make you feel right at home and he comes complete with a state assembly consisting of democrats with a fiscal bent just to the left of "Whoopee!".  There is NO idea or project too stupid to be considered here in the land of dependably entertaining loons.

To the surprise of many, "Shut up!" was essentially the response Ms. Kourda received from the city of Irvine.  No doubt they have explained to her that had the good Lord not wanted us to eat fish he certainly wouldn't have made them so gosh darn tasty.  After all, even Jesus knew that there was nothing like a few fishes to pass around with the loaves whenever unexpected company dropped by.

It's not that those of us who enjoy eating fish don't have second thoughts about it.  Who among us is comfortable with those limbless, vertebrate, cold-blooded eyes looking up at you as you roll them in cracker crumb?  That's why we lop off those cute fish heads and give them to the cat.  (How's that for animal love PETA?)

Having said this I should confess to once having had a close relationship with a beautiful oyster I'll call "Bernice". Granted, she was invertebrate but she was wonderful slice of sea life.  Oh, there had been others before her but Bernice was special.  She was plump and juicy with a delightfully salty personality.  An oyster babe of the first water and I adored her.

The affair had a rather bad end that was entirely my fault.  Bernice and I were spending a memorable evening at Davy's Locker, a little bistro just off the Strip in Las Vegas, when she blurted out what I thought was "Eat me". I was drinking in those days--we both were--and had undoubtedly become "over served".  Perhaps I did not hear her correctly.  We'll never know.  The little squeeze of lemon that she had splashed on and the dollop of horseradish were too much to resist.

I still feel bad about my behavior but, in my defense, she was DELICIOUS!  As a memorial, I have kept her empty shell for use as an ashtray.

I don't smoke but could start again if it would make the PETA people feel better.  Oh, wait…we shoot smokers in California.  Never mind.  

Bernice sports some bling.

I can resist everything, except temptation.

Really??

Really??!!

You're undecided?

What? You've been in a coma?  How the hell is it possible that ANYBODY with a cerebral cortex is UNdecided regarding their choice in the presidential race?  

My theory:  Nobody is truly undecided.  All of these clowns filling seats in TV focus groups are lying.  They know damn well who they're voting for but are willing to pretend to be vacillating just so they can be the center of attention.  I believe the moniker is "Attention Whore".

After each of the campaign debates I sit like a slack-jawed yokel as these half-wits offer up their silly see through observations and questions only to reveal their true preference via the context of a question or their lack of a poker face.  Why do the pollsters put up with this?  It's simple.  Network executives know that stirring up a big kettle of crazy is just good television; nothing more.

Look Ma!   I'm a moron, but I'm on TV!

How could a person sleep through the last four years?  Most Americans haven't.  They made up their minds months ago.  Leaving the country in the hands of a president with less executive experience than my high school shop teacher--Sorry Mr. Bomgarrs-- is unacceptable.  How about the guy who knows how to make a billion dollars?  Hmmm,  he would seem the logical choice for our national spread sheet.  It's in desperate need of adult supervision.  What to do..what to do?  If you haven't noticed that we're broke and are continuing to spend money like drag queens at a wig sale,  please seek professional help.  Or, maybe, if you seek  attention and money, find out what kind of cheese they're paying to undecided focus group pantloads these days.

In the words of that magical sage, Penn Jillette, "To find the road to Utopia take a left at sex and a right at money and you're there."  Works for me.

This thing can't be over soon enough.
REALLY!

There's always room for another focus group stooge.

A Couple of Good Reads

Often the best books are those that you have to talk yourself into reading.  

A good friend called me and insisted that I read Brothers, Rivals and Victors by Jonathan Jordan.  Naturally, I thought "yeah, maybe when I get some time".  However, he was insistent.  He told me to be sure to read it before we talked again.  

In spite of that kind of persistence, which usually flips my "make me" circuit breaker, I reluctantly began to read the book.

Wow!  This is something special.  Jordan has written not just another history of World War II but a superior glimpse inside the personalities of some of the most extraordinary leaders America has ever produced.  Eisenhower, Patton, and Bradley, West Point educated generals who saved the world from the Nazis are each analyzed with insight and compassion that offers them to you as never before.  It is impossible to read this book without coming away with an understanding of how very different yet complimentary their personalities were and how it all miraculously resulted in victory for America and the free world.  Gone are the cultivated public persona's of each man.  The fragile chemistry that saved us from Hitler's megalomania is in sharp focus here.  You will realize, perhaps for the first time, just how precarious the Allied victory was.  This is fascinating stuff.

Since I read books like I watch TV--guy style--I like to have six or seven books going at the same time.  That way, if I need a break from the war, I can pick another very different sort of read.  Monitor, take 2, is perhaps something only media burnouts will enjoy, or maybe you're old enough to remember enjoying a weekend radio program called Monitor on NBC.  Monitor was the creation of the broadcast genius of Pat Weaver the man who gave us TV's Today and Tonight, and also his daughter, Sigourney Weaver. 

  Monitor was forty hours of radio fascination that ran every Saturday and Sunday on the NBC radio network from 1955-1975.  Features, information, comedy, music, weather and some of the greatest radio talent ever to crack a mic came together as pure audio magic.  Dave Garroway, Gene Rayburn, Ed McMahon, Henry Morgan, Bill Cullen, Jim Lowe and eventually people like Big Wilson, Murray the K, Don Imus and Robert W. Morgan hosted what became the weekend soundtrack for millions of Americans.  It was radio at its finest.  Dennis Hart, a longtime broadcasting professional has put together an exceptional recollection of a "must listen" experience.

Dave Garroway and the 1955 Monitor crew

Gene Rayburn, Monitor's longest running host

Both of these books are available from Amazon.  

To A Grandson On His Third Birthday

Happy birthday Danny!

A boy who knows his way around an ice cream cone!

Three years old and one of the best pals a grandpa ever had.  I knew when you were just hours old that you and I were simpatico,  two guys destined to catch the laugh train to Fun Town and hit all the stops along the way.  You, my boy, were worth the wait.

For a long time your grandma and I thought that little guys like you were the province of our friends.  We hadn't really planned on grandchildren because we didn't want to be disappointed.

 Yet, here you are and we're now three years into the gift that is, well, you.  Already you have gone more places and done more things than grandpa did in the first TWENTY years of his life.  You've seen a palm tree,  traveled to New York City, flown on jet planes, been out of the country, sailed on a boat and visited Disneyland all before your third birthday.  Heck, we're even going to spend the whole day at Legoland this coming Monday to celebrate.  

Who needs cake?!  Oh, that's right your having that tomorrow when your mom and dad throw you a family party.  That will be fun.  Cousins, cake, maybe a couple of those radio controlled cars to play with, it all sounds like a honkin' good time, and you deserve it.

This may be grandpa prejudice, but I think you're a really good boy.  You are perpetually happy and friendly to most everybody.  You willingly share your toys, say please and thank you and readily obey your mom and dad.  When they tell you to do something or, as is often the case, to STOP doing something, you listen and do as you're told.  You may not know it yet but that kind of attention and obedience will serve you well in life.  Mom and dad will always have your best interests in mind.  Granted, there will come a time, probably ten years hence, when you will look at them as fossilized idiots from the planet DIP who know absolutely nothing worthy of your consideration, but that will pass and you'll spend the rest of your life thanking them for being so darn smart.  That's just the way it works. Trust me, I'm your grandpa.

So, here's to the first three years of a wonderful new life!  May you continue to grow, learn and appreciate all the gifts you have.  The future will bring many new challenges that will be far more complicated than those experienced by your parents and certainly by your grandparents.  Always remember that opportunity knocks once but temptation leans on the doorbell.  With luck, you'll be intelligent enough to know the difference.

Winston Churchill, a great man you will learn about as you study history, once said: "Words are the only things that live forever."  In the past year you have begun to express yourself more conversationally and grandpa wants you to remember that your words have the power to help or to hurt people.  Use them wisely.  No doubt, you will forget this advice from time to time, but try to keep it in mind and always do your best to make others feel good.

One more thing:  Grandpa has noticed that you are starting to take a real interest in things like airplanes and pool tables.  Remember as you grow older and start to think about an occupation it is important to choose work that you love.  Your grandpa fell in love with the radio business when he was a boy and spent nearly forty years getting paid for something he would have done for nothing.  You should do the same, though I'm fairly certain that given a choice between aviation and hustling pool the former is the one to choose.  And forget about broadcasting. Like grandpa, that business is going the way of the Pony Express.  Just remember that you'll be defined by the choices you make and the choice of a career is a really big one.

Now. let's have some cake.  Maybe later we'll play some pool.  Gramps will let you break.

Love,

Grandpa

A future in aviation?

Tonsorial Timing

Curly was ahead of his time.

I'm not really sure when I started losing my hair.  As a kid I always thought it would be a horrible tragedy to be sans a top mop and vowed to be first in line for a toupee' should my hair hit the hirsute highway.  Both grandfathers and my dad waved good-bye to their locks by the time they clocked forty and for no good reason I thought myself immune.

Others had warned me that baldness is stealthy.  All of a sudden you catch a glimpse of yourself in a downtown store window and wonder who that man is.  Later, when looking at pictures of Christmas or your kid's birthday, you're asking about the identity of the "bald guy" only to realize it's YOU.

Maybe you give the hair piece ploy some consideration or, more likely, you decide that the dome is chrome and a "hair hat" will fool nobody who matters.  After all, they have obviously been more aware of your ever expanding forehead than you have and, since you're already married, you don't need it anymore.
"I'm over fifty.  Who cares!" becomes your mantra.

Timing is everything.  These days it's cool to be bald.  Guys of my generation prone to male pattern baldness are accidentally in STYLE.  Most of us don't even own a comb anymore.  Heck, I merely run a little clipper over my cranial holdouts a couple of times a month and have probably saved enough money to open my own hair salon.  Sunscreen is the only "product" needed at my summit in this century.  PLUS, and this is a big one, a recent piece in the Wall Street Journal exclaims, "Bald is Powerful".   "A buzzed head can be masculine,  a touch aggressive and, as a new study suggests, an advantage in business." the article explains as it offers examples of company leaders who enjoy the business advantage of being bald and bold.  "People remember the bald guy."

I'm seriously considering a hostile takeover next week.  A bar maybe?  No, wait,  that's a bad idea.  Make it a Dairy Queen.

All bald guys look like movie stars.

So, I think we can all agree, it's a great time to be bald.  Baby boomers of the Y chromosome persuasion have never had it so good when it comes to follicle impairment.

Since pretty much every situation in life is a trade-off, it's only fair that I bring up skinny jeans and Speedos.  Zero percent of bald dudes over fifty look good in either.  Don't even think about it.  Although, you might want to think about it if you're trying to scare yourself in to losing about fifty pounds.  Put simply, it  AIN'T RIGHT.

Speaking of something utterly NOT right for the planet:  The new NFL jerseys have created a league of 300-pound fashion victims.  Have you seen them?

The league switched from Reebok made jerseys to new tighter, sleeker Nike duds this year and the players are NOT happy.  Guts are hanging out from New England to Seattle and it isn't pretty.  Alex Boone, a 300 pounder who plays guard for the 49ers, says that when his wife first saw him in the new garb "she said, 'It looks like you ate a baby."  (a fat baby at that)

Maybe if the players are patient the spare tire look will become fashionable like baldness.  Or, better yet, get the union to insist that league attire feature Hawaiian shirts.

Bald heads and Hawaiian shirts, it's a good look.

"Does this jersey make me look fat?"

Remembering Andy Williams

Andy Williams, one of America's top pop vocalists and popular TV show host, has died.  He was 84.

One of the benefits of a career in radio is, or maybe WAS, the chance to meet lots of celebrities needing to use your show to promote themselves or a project they support.  Usually you have enough notice to prepare for a famous guest and are ready with questions you think will provide some insight and fascination for listeners.  Naturally, like much in life, sometimes you get surprised…

In January of 1977 I was new to San Diego having re-located the previous August from the Tampa/St. Petersburg market.  As the afternoon drive guy on KOGO it was part of my deal to also host the Saturday morning show in place of the legendary Ernie Myers who had a contract that guaranteed him a Monday through Friday work week.  It was fun for me since I had primarily been a morning guy for most of my career. The show was my opportunity to establish a beachhead in the morning real estate if and when Ernie decided to retire.  

From 1968 to 1988 Andy Williams hosted the annual San Diego Open.  He was an avid golfer and the PGA loved having big names on the majority of their tournaments in those days.  Bob Hope, Glen Campbell and Dinah Shore had their own and the Torrey Pines course at La Jolla was the perfect venue for the Andy Williams San Diego Open.  

I was at the AWSDO that Saturday in January of 1977 and about half way through my 6am-10am show when an official from the tournament stuck his head in the door of the KOGO mobile studios set up for the event.  He said, "Andy is here and I'm bringing him in for an interview in a few minutes."  "Hummina hummina  hummina", I managed.  Immediately I thought I'm not prepared!  What the hell can I ask him??!!

At first I thought a sincere thank you for all the make-out music he had provided for my high school Romeo years. (The girls all loved him.)  Fortunately I realized that would fill about ten seconds of time, IF he laughed.  The only other subject that was rolling around in my cranium was the recent trial and conviction of his ex-wife, Claudine Longet, who had air-conditioned her boyfriend, professional skier Spider Sabich, to death with a pistol that just happened to fall into her hands.  That's ALL I had.  My mind couldn't stop thinking of wise ass cracks like Claudine wanting Spider to "listen to a 45" and other equally snide and insipid lines.

And then….HE WAS THERE.   

I rose to shake hands and was stunned to see how short he was.  I had no idea.  I'd seen him on TV for years and had always thought him to be of average height but here was a guy wearing Cuban heels who  barely touched 5'5", maybe less.  He was really short!  I'm certain that the surprise shown in my face.  In addition he gave every indication of being massively hungover and in no mood to "chat".  My career flashed in front of my eyes as he shakily fired up a large stogie, no doubt as an incentive for me to keep our meeting brief.

In my headphones I heard that we were nearing the end of a commercial break and I was "ON" in ten seconds.  Flop sweat enveloped my body as I lamely began introducing Andy.  A quick comment about us both having spent time in Iowa, he in Wall Lake and me in Spencer, went nowhere and I could tell by the look on his face he wasn't going to stick around too long if this was all I had.  I asked about his brothers and how their boyhood act evolved from singing on the radio in Des Moines and Cincinnati to backing up Bing Crosby on his big hit, "Swingin' On A Star".  And THEN IT CAME TO ME…

Somehow,  either by reading it or hearing about it, I recalled the little known fact that Andy, as a young boy, had provided the singing voice for Lauren Bacall in the movie "To Have and To Have Not", a picture that first teamed her with Humphrey Bogart.  I asked him if it was true and how it happened.

His eyes widened and he sat up with interest.  He was engaged and suddenly excited to talk to me.  I had turned the corner and we were headed for home!  He told the story of how he and his brothers, Dick, Bob and Don had been under contract to MGM and were on the studio lot playing ball outside Louie B. Mayer's window as Mr. Mayer was meeting with Bogie and Bacall.  The subject of Bacall's lack of singing talent had been the major topic since the picture required her to briefly sing a song.  Mayer, always anxious to utilize contract players, called out to the Williams brothers and ask them to come to his office.  Each brother was auditioned on the spot to see if there was a close match to Lauren's low pitch.  In his early teens, it was decided that young Andy's voice was just about perfect.   

Andy Williams became the singing voice of Lauren Bacall.  

Movie trivia had saved me!

If you have a chance, check out "To Have and To Have Not"to hear the voice of a young Andy Williams exit the mouth of the very sexy Lauren Bacall.

The rest of the interview went very well.  I relaxed and remembered questions about some of his hit records and his relationship with Bobby and Ethel Kennedy, even though he was a registered Republican.  In every respect it became a worthy interview.  He left the KOGO trailer in good spirits and I went home with a wonderful memory of a major singing talent with over twenty-seven charted hit records that continue to play on as the  soundtrack of my generation.

Andy Williams 1927-2012