Curiosity didn't Kill the Cat - I did

Many years ago I visited a children's home in another country. I had some amazing times, and fell in love with the country and the kids. A memory-building trip, for sure. One of the kids had found a small, tired kitten and brought it home. About eight weeks old, he was dirty and skinny and spent his nights in an eight by eight garden enclosure. The kitten - he was a boy cat - had been there for a week or so. He certainly wasn't a mascot for the place. He received a little attention and little food. The only thing I saw anyone giving him was bread, but I suppose he must have received other food. There wasn't a lot of extra meat in the place. I think he was barely getting by. The staff shrugged when I asked them questions about the little guy. Don't know, don't care was how they thought of him. In short, he had a pretty low profile. My heart reached out for the little kitten, so when we next went to the grocery store I picked up a small bag of cat food. Up until this point, I think the staff could think of him as just passing through, a transient. But a bag of food meant that he was going to stay, one more resident in a crowded place. And every resident of the place meant work and expense. When I looked for him a few days later, he was gone. I found one of the staff to ask about the missing kitten. "What happened to the kitten?" "Oh, him? He's gone." "Where did he go? What happened to him?" "He's just gone. You won't see him again." Wink. "I took care of him." From his tone and demeanor, I don't think he meant that he had found a home to adopt him. I was afraid to ask for more information. And that was that. With a well-intentioned act of kindness, I think I killed the cat.

The Thought Police Have Arrived...

George Orwell's 1984 posits a world where thought police protect the country by punishing people for what they think.  Sounds pretty bizarre, doesn't it?

He was off by 30 years, but Mr. Orwell had it right:  The thought police have arrived. 

I'm thinking of Donald Sterling, of course, the owner of the Los Angeles Clippers, a pro basketball team.    The media and many players are abuzz with suggestions of suitable consequences for him for uttering racist comments to his girlfriend.  Or maybe his ex-girlfriend by now. 

"Make him sell his team." 

"Make him go out for counseling."

"Fine him."

"...the players trust that the new commissioner, on the job for less than three months, will find the right penalties for Sterling, who has owned the Clippers for almost 30 years"

"They don't think he's worthy to be an owner..." 

First of all, before I get hate mail, note that I find this guy to be reprehensible.  He's a fool, and an idiot, and living with racist attitudes that suggest a level of enlightenment that most of us don't run into often. He grew up in the 1940's, which may explain it, but that doesn't excuse him.

But being stupid or racist isn't a crime.  And it shouldn't be, any more than saying racist comments should be a crime - no matter what the race of the person being stupid.  Thoughts are not criminal.  And the First Amendment of the Constitution promises free speech for all of us.  Even stupid, bigoted speech.

I suppose this is a natural extension of the bizarre role to which we have elevated athletes.  They are supposed to be role models,and to stand up for all that is good and right.  Excuse me?  These are athletes.  I'll find my role models someplace else.  There are real heroes out there, some in uniform, some in public service.  Some teaching in public schools. 

So, what about this guy, running around with a girlfriend who is 49 years younger than him.  Is he "qualified" to own a basketball team?  Excuse me? Would you ask that about a stockholder of IBM or Westinghouse? 

How about Raytheon, McDonnell Douglas, or Lockheed?  Those are three of America's largest producers of munitions.  Should there be different qualifications to own stock in those companies?  Let's see, maybe only mean men should own stock in arms manufacturers, and nice ladies should own things like pet hospitals and stuffed animal companies. 

C'mon, people, he's an investor.  He's not even - or shouldn't be - the spokesman for the Clippers.

Now, what about consequences?  Leave the thought police, I mean, the NBA and the media, out of this.  If you find his speech offensive - and I do - what can you do?  I suppose you could boycott the Clippers, but be careful.  You will end up punishing innocent people, like the players, hot dog vendors, and parking attendants that are part of the Clippers machine. .  

I don't have an easy answer.  But that's okay.  This isn't my problem - or yours.  Haven't we each got enough of our own problems without wasting time on this?  By my math I may have another 262,656 hours to live, and a third of those will be spent snoring.  I won't waste another minute on this bigot.

The U.S. Air Force Academy has decided that it has the right to forbid a cadet to write a verse from the Bible on his personal white board for inspiration. 

I disagree.  I don't think that they have that right. Nor does, I believe the United States Constitution. 

I sent this letter to the Superintendent of the academy today.  If you agree, pass it on, and do the same, in your own words.  I'd love to see a million letters on her desk.  Please be respectful and polite, and give your communication to a Major General in the Air Force the thoughtfulness that it deserves. 

===========================

William G. Leslie

100 West Powell Blvd.

Gresham, OR 97030

(503) xxx-xxxx

williamleslie99@gmail.com

March 28, 2014

Superintendent, United States Air Force Academy

2304 Cadet Dr., Ste. 3300

USAF Academy, CO 80840-5001

Attn:  Maj. Gen. Michelle Johnson

Dear General Johnson:

As a patriot, I cannot let the recent actions by the United States Air Force Academy to stifle religious freedom among the Corps. of Cadets stand without a personal response. The Constitution of the United States does not provide for freedom of worship.  It is much broader than that.  It says, in part, Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech…”  By forbidding the cadets to freely express themselves, and to demonstrate their faith, you are ignoring a document that you have sworn to protect. Do you take your oath so lightly?

It is not difficult to see that the writing of a personal message of inspiration on a cadet’s personal white-board is a protected form of communication, under both the freedom of expression clause of the Constitution, and under the freedom of speech clause.  

Please take a moment to review the Constitution.  It has stood up well for more than two hundred years.  Shall one of our nation’s finest institutions toss it aside carelessly?

Sincerely,

William Leslie

The Thought Police Have Arrived

Not long ago, a University of Oregon professor announced a writing assignment.  Students were told to choose an issue that was controversial, and write an argument in favor of either side of the issue. Students were told that they must choose a topic that had two valid sides.  The professor announced that some topics, like gay marriage or abortion couldn't be chosen, because there is only one valid argument or side to these issues.

Does this make you cringe?  It should.  One would think that a liberal arts college would encourage a diversity of opinion.  In this case, the professor forbid even a discussion of two of the most controversial - indeed, divisive - topics that our nation is dealing with today.

What are we teaching our students?  Certainly not to think.

The Heritage Foundation recently posted what follows.  Our liberal institutions of higher learning no longer even allow a diversity of opinion:

One student from Swarthmore said: “What really bothered me is, the whole idea is that at a liberal arts college, we need to be hearing a diversity of opinion. I don’t think should be tolerating conservative views because that dominant culture embeds these deep inequalities in our society.”

It is time to speak up.  Get involved.  When you hear things that disturb you, tell others. 

If you Disagree, Just ignore your Promises

I watched with interest as Oregon Attorney General Ellen Rosenblum announced that she would not defend the 2004 amendment that Oregonians passed in which they stated that marriage consists of a union between a man and a woman.  This places our Secretary of State in the positon of announcing that she will not respect, not be bound, by the oath she took when she was sworn into office.

Some will applaud her stance.  "Good for her.  She is standing up for what she believes in."  I see it differently.  When the founding fathers found that they could not serve a distant crown because their conscience would not allow them to enforce unjust laws, they resigned their positions. Rather than take the honorable step of resigning, which I could respect, our Secretary of State dishonorably chose to ignore her oath.

In a press release Ms. Rosenblum announced that "there is no rational basis for Oregon to refuse to honor the commitments made by same-sex couples."  I can think of a rational basis - in fact, I can think of 1,028,546 rational reasons.  That's how many Oregonians voted in favor of the amendment to our constitution, which Ms. Rosenblum swore to defend.

She stated that she also swore an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States, but that Constitution has no amendment regarding marriage, and the opinion of the U.S. Supreme Court has yet to been heard.  In contrast, the Oregon amendment is clear and explicit.

I felt a similar twinge when our governor announced that he would not sign any orders for the execution of any death row inmates for as long as he is in office.  Upon reflection, I realized that that's different.  Our own statutes require the governor's concurrence before an execution can be carried out.  That may be a good plan, or a bad one, but it is clear that it is the governor's prerogative, and there is nothing in any statute or ordinance to require his concurrence.  His decision may defy the will of the people, but it is certainly honorable and lawful, and within the structures of laws that we have established.

The Secretary of State's stance is akin to to the employee who steals from his employer because he believes that he is not being paid enough.  The employee's own opinion allows him to justify his action.  When each of us does what we want to, and ignores the laws by which we have collectively agreed to be bound, that's lawlessness.

Some will say, "Ah, the author is anti-gay," but they are missing the point.  I am not anti-gay.  I am pro rule of law.  If the Supreme Court of the United States rules that the states should allow gay marriage, that will be the law of the land, and it would be wrong for our Attorney General to defy that law.

And it's wrong for our Secretary of State to ignore her oath because she, in her own mind, has decided that the Oregon Constitution is not "rational."

Our World Sure Has Changed: Banks and Credit Unions

On Monday I called my credit union to check on CD rates.  I was transferred twice and put on hold twice before I got to the right person.  I think I had to answer seven questions about my identity before she would quote me current CD rates. Who else is on your accounts? (Easy).  When did you open your first account?  (Hard.  It was thirty-nine years ago.)  What branch did you open your account at?  (No clue.)  When did you open your home equity line of credit?  (No clue.  We've never borrowed a cent on it).  The questions went on and on.  In the end, convinced that I was who I claimed to be, she quoted 0.21 % for a twelve month CD.  In a year I would earn about what it would cost her to mail me a confirmation for the new CD.  I told her I would pass.

I called my business bank today, and got the same sequence of events.  I think there were eight or nine questions to prove my identity.  My date of birth?  (Gee, I'm not sure I should trust you with that.  What's your date of birth?  Oh, you aren't allowed to share it, because it isn't safe?)  This conversation was made more difficult because I was talking to someone overseas, to someone with a heavy accent.

My bank encourages me to make deposits via eDeposit, which involves taking a picture of the check with my cell phone.  To make a deposit I have to provide my log in, my password, my pin, and the name of my best man.  It's supposed to save me time.  I think it takes ten minutes for me to log in and deposit one check.  If my time is worth anything, I'd be better off mailing the check.

I passed my lovely wife an envelope over coffee this morning.  It contained directions on where to dig in our front yard after I die, to get to our savings account.  It's in a mason jar.  It took me less time to dig the hole and write the note than it did to call the credit union.  While I dug, I listened to the birds tweet, and to the wind in the fir trees.  And when I was done digging, my blood pressure was lower than when I began.

Our world sure has changed, hasn't it?

What was your favorite toy when you were four years old?

When I was about four years old (about a million years ago) my favorite cartoon was called The Quick Draw McGraw show.  McGraw was a gun-totin' horse.  I don't remember much about the show, but he had a buddy on his adventures, a little Mexican burro called Baba Looey.  Baba Looey was my favorite, and for  Christmas when I was four I was given a little stuffed Baba Looey, who became my pal.  I packed him around everywhere.

Flash forward a decade.  I somehow managed to hang onto the little burro, but in 1971, following a divorce,  my family moved from a big place in the country to a small apartment about a block from what would become my high school.  There just wasn't much room in the apartment, and Baba Looey didn't make the cut.  I placed him a pile of stuff to be discarded.  He was pretty worn.  And what high school guy needs a stuffed burro?  As I recall, it wasn't a big deal.  I was just getting rid of a little kid's toy.

There may be a photo of me and Baba Looey someplace.  I'm not sure.  Other than maybe seeing a photo, I don't think I gave the little stuffed animal another thought for many years.  For 25 years, to be exact.  I thought about other favorite toys, and I wished that I had them to share with my own kids.  I loved my Johnny Seven (a plastic assault rifle that shot seven ways, including a grenade launcher and a derringer hidden in the stock) and favorite books, like A Wrinkle in Time, and From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and Black and Blue Magic.  Many of my favorite belongings were books, and through the years I've managed to buy them for my own kids to enjoy. 

My sister Toni was three years older than me, although we were separated by more than years.  She ran away regularly from about the time she was fourteen years old, and by the time she was 16 she was gone more than she was home.  She had a tough life, tougher for living much of it out of a bottle. I don't think I saw her more than once a year from the time I was eighteen until I was thirty-five, although she lived just 100 miles away.  And for seven years, while I lived two thousand miles away, in Pittsburgh, I don't think I saw her at all. 

To my surprise, when I was 39, I received a Christmas present from Toni.  We didn't exchange presents much, mostly because we didn't know whether she would even show up for holiday celebrations.  But this year, when I was 39, she did show up.  And brought me a carefully wrapped present.  Inside was my old stuffed burro, Baba Looey.  The memories flooded back.

Although she was just seventeen, Toni had some perspective at that age, and she realized that what I didn't care about when I was 14 might have a different significance when I was older.  She had pulled him off the pile and hidden him away, just this occasion.  I must admit I got choked up.  I hadn't thought of him in 25 years.  What a thoughtful gift.  What I discarded as meaningless at 14 became a small treasure of memories.  I don't know how she managed to retain him.  She raised two kids during the intervening years.  I would have thought that her kids would have found him and used him up.

Toni is gone.  She passed away less than a year later.  I never really got to talk to her about her thoughtfulness, about what motivated her, or about whether anyone else knew what she had schemed.  I'll never know.  The gift of a tattered stuffed animal was a special moment in time.  Toni and I connected in a way we hadn't in a long time.  I learned a little bit about myself, and about my sister that Christmas morning.

Yes, Toni is gone.  But I still have tattered burro tucked away, out of sight.  And he means a lot more to me today than he did when I was a preschooler, because of a Christmas morning when I was thirty-nine. 

Surrealism: A Ten Day Indoor Frog Hunt.. in the Winter.. Sweet Success

I had to look up surrealism to remind myself what it means.  "Surreal" isn't a word that I use everyday.  I don't know for sure whether what I have been doing meets the definition.  But it works for me.

About ten days ago, a frog came to visit our basement.  He didn't have a room reservation, so he settled into the space where our sump pump sits, below grade.  It's a sixteen inch cube of space, lined with boards.  The bottom is small round rocks. He announced his arrival in the usual frog way.  It's strange to sit in your living room in the winter, reading, or working on the computer, and listening to a frog in your basement. This has happened once before, perhaps a year ago.  I think they crawl under the basement slab to get out of the cold, and then they keep crawling.

Despite the wonderful melody that he adds to our home, we made a concerted effort to get him out of there.  The sound is a distant sound, and not all that disturbing.  We try to get him out so that he won't die.  The idea of a frog slowly dying of starvation, or thirst, in our basement doesn't sit well with us.  It's the furnace room, so its pretty warm there. 

I am sure that he (she?) both sees me coming, and feels the vibrations in the floor.  By the time I get to the sump pump, he's out of sight almost every time. I began mentally develop a frog trap, but gave up because I wasn't sure how to catch live insects that would interest him in the middle of the winter.  In a way that was acceptable to me.

I tried to reason with him, to talk him into surrendering, but there is a fierce independent streak in small amphibians.  He wouldn't listen.

Last night, he began to serenade us again.  I quietly slipped down the stair and threw on the lights.  There he was, out in the open.  It was a moment's work to catch him in a cup.  He's now outside, where frogs belong.  Coincidentally, he changed quarters just as the snow melted.  Good for him.

I wonder what kind of stories he tells the other frogs.  Was his trip to our basement more like an Alfred Hitchcock movie, or more like Disneyland?

Feel Good or Do Good - You Decide!

A couple of weeks ago a retired Oregon Dept of Fish and Wildlife employee went hunting and killed a cougar.  He back tracked the cougar's footprints and found three cougar kittens.  It's not legal to kill a mother with kittens, but these things happen.

The State of Oregon immediately went into action to save the poor little critters.  They were rescued and are being cared for at the Oregon Zoo.  Eventually they will be moved to another zoo, I think in North Carolina. I don't know what it is going to cost, but it won't be cheap.  Saving nice kitties makes us all feel good.  That's the only rationale behind this decision.

Hunters around the State groaned.  Since hunting with dogs was outlawed, our State has been overrun by cougars.  Rumor is that some State employees have encouraged hunters to use the Three S method if they see a cougar:  Shoot, Shovel, and Shut up.

Why would we do this - spend thousands of dollars to save an animal that we have too many of? An animal that has a population that is exploding? 

Because we want to feel good about what we are doing.  Never mind that the money could be spent on doing some real good.  We spend to feel good, rather than to do good.  The same thing happens when we have an oil spill.  The news media flashes images of birds soaked in oil on our TV screens, and volunteers and various state agencies rush into action.
But is rescuing animals caught in an oil spill a good investment?  Studies on survival rates suggest that each effectively saved otter from the Exxon Valdez disaster cost around $153,000. The same math applies to seagulls.  Each bird effectively saved from the Exxon Valdez cost something in excess of $60,000.

What would you think if I told you that the State of Oregon was buying seagulls to populate our beaches for $60,000 each?  You'd be outraged. 

Is this the best that we can do?  The millions of dollars spent on cleaning photogenic animals could be spent on a permanent set-aside of land for wildlife refuges. Or perhaps to feeding hungry humans.

Don't get me wrong.  Wildlife is great, and oil spills are an enormous tragedy.  And I hate the thought of an animal suffering.  But can't we spend the money more effectively?  On something of lasting value, instead of on something that temporarily makes us feel good? 

It's the same with hunting cougars with dogs.  Bad, right?  No animal should be chased by dogs and then shot down from a tree, right?  Since hunting cougars with dogs was outlawed in Oregon, the job falls to State employees.  Well, guess how the State of Oregon hunts cougars?  With dogs, of course.  What we have accomplished is that instead of allowing private citizens to pay for the privilege of hunting cougars, we pay government employees to do the same thing.  But, hey, we can at least feel good about it, right?

Anyway, think about it.  Let's all stop trying to feel good, and focus a little more on doing good.

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What I learned at the Portland Comic Con Convention

I spent a few hours at Portland's Sci Fi and Fantasy convention on Sunday.  I wondered whether I'd feel out of place.  I mean, after all, isn't this a kid's event?  For those who haven't been, there are dozens of booths with people selling art, books, comics, toys, costumes, etc., from everything from Lost in Space, to The Invaders, to Star Wars, to the Hulk. I can't name the more modern stuff, because I don't know it.

Here are the five things that I learned, in reverse order of importance.

5) Comic Con is not for teenagers.  The mean age of attendees was probably 28. There were fewer teenagers by far than I thought would be there.  Perhaps the cost kept them away.  It's not a cheap event.  The median age was probably a few years less.  Demographics were skewed by old guys like me, and toddlers.  There were lots of both kids and people with gray hair.

4) If you put on a costume, you don't feel self-conscious.  Everyone in costume was having a blast, and posing for pictures.  They were too busy to feel strange.  I wish that I had had a costume, just for the grins that the little kids would pass my way. 

3) Comic Con means big grins.  At least, it did for me.  No matter your age, it's still fun to see the stars of the movies you enjoyed years ago.  Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams) was there from Star Wars.  He looked old, but was smiling and having fun.  I remember him from the old mini-series Chiefs.  I just watched that a few weeks ago.  Adam West, known for Batman, was there, looking really old, but he had long lines of people waiting to see him.  And not just people my age.

My favorite was Summer Glau, from Firefly, who, well, she looked terrific.  She should, at 32. Can it be eleven years since Firefly went off the air?   The volunteers said that she seemed to be the nicest of the stars.  She had a kind word and a smile for everyone, and she seemed to genuinely be enjoying herself.  Good for her!  And thanks for coming to Portland.

And if you don't smile because you saw Batman, then smile for PackMan, or for giant lizards, or for Wonder Woman, or for the Hulk, or for the Mario Brothers, or for the Dark Shadows vampire. There was something for everyone.

I didn't see William Shatner.  He was on break when I was there.  Perhaps next year.

2) Comic Con means tights and cleavage.  I hadn't realized how important skimpy clothing are to these genres.  How did these people walk to the event?  It was cold outside yesterday.  So, gentlemen, avert your eyes.  (By the way, Princess Leia, that costume probably looked amazingly cute when you were 16.  And when you were 26.  But you aren't 26 any more.  You might want to check out Wonder woman, or Cat woman.)

By the way, there were plenty of men of various ages in tights (without the cleavage). But you won't see me in tights.

1)  You can have fun at  Comic Con, even if you are over fifty.  The Back to the Future car was there.  I saw a Lost in Space robot.  R2 D2 was there, talking to the kids.  At every corner there was something that made me smile.  So, relax, and enjoy. You deserve it.

By the way, I'm looking for a good Malcolm Reynolds Browncoat costume.  Contact me if you have any of the components. 

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A Flicker In Eternity: World War II Internment Camps and Japanese-Americans.

In the spring of 1942, more than 110,000 Japanese Americans began to report, as directed, to centers from which they would be taken to internment camps.  Note that Hawaii, which was filled with Japanese-Americans, was ignored in this edict.  Although a few German-Americans and Italian-Americans were interned, this group was largely ignored.  Why?  Because they looked like the rest of us, and because

Theoretically done for the sake of national security, in hindsight it is clear that the motives for the program were less than honorable.  White farmers cheered as their competitors were hauled away.  In some cases, infants as young as one month old were subject to relocation.  It is hard to see how their forced internment could improve national security.  Some Americans with as little as 1/16 Japanese blood were interned.  In any event, there is not one documented case of espionage by a Japanese American.  Not one, even in Japan.

A recent documentary called A Flicker in Eternity tells the tale of Stanley Hayami, a bright and talented young Nisei (second generation Japanese American) whose family was interned.  When his country called for his service in the Army, he went, and he served in the famous 442nd Regimental Combat Team, which became one of the most decorated units in World War II.  I recommend the film which may be difficult to find.

By the way, the U.S. government offered reparations of $20,000 to each internee.  Some internees refused the payment.

I have done the math, and it appears that during my lifetime, if I am granted enough years, the last World War II veteran will pass away.  Join me in thanking those you know who were part of The Greatest Generation, while you can.

Being Mean to Children is Never Funny

I stumbled over this small flurry of news about Mitt Romney and Melissa Harris-Perry.  Perhaps you missed it. 

The short version is that Melissa, who is apparently some sort of comedian, tried for a cheap laugh because a Romney family Christmas photo included a small adopted grandson, who happened to be black.  It didn't sit well with some people, and rightfully so.

We all know who Mitt Romney is.  Melissa apologized, stating:

“My intention was not malicious, but I broke the ground rule that families are off limits, and for that I am sorry,” she said:

I never heard of Ms. Harris-Perry before, so I have no particular bias against her.  But the problem isn't that she broke some unwritten rule that the families of politicians are off limits.  Her apology suggests that the joke would have been fine if Romney hadn't been a politician, or if the infant hadn't been part of a family.   Lady, the rule you broke is that "being mean isn't funny."  And it's always mean to pick on children, whether they are the kids of politicians or not.

Romney graciously accepted the apology.  He's a nicer guy than I am, I think. If you want to see me being angry, pick on a kid of any color when I'm around. It brings out the worst in me.

Bad form, Melissa Harris-Perry.  

So far, to the best of my knowledge, MSNBC hasn't been heard of.

Bad form, MSNBC.  

Shame on both of you.

You keep on using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means.

“You Keep Using That Word, I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means”

That's a quote from the fictional character Inigo Montoya from the 1987 romantic comedy film The Princess Bride.Funny movie, funny phrase.  When you say "freedom of religion," it doesn't mean, in America today,  what you think it means.

Here's another one:

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.


In case you didn't recognize it, that's the Fourth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.  I thought it meant what it said, but apparently it's okay for all of my first class mail to be imaged, for my phone bills to be compiled, and for my email to be read.

Sad times for America.

An armed society is a polite society.

Robert A. Heinlein, Beyond This Horizon