Professor Duke was a notable at Duke University, a distinguished biology professor. Most of the pre-med students had his classes. He was not one of the Dukes, not one of the Buch’ Duke or James B. Duke, or old Wash’ Duke clan—he was from Heber City, Utah, and I suppose that he would be kin to Kathryn Duke. He had snow white hair and a white goatee on a full and pleasant face. He was a member of the Durham Ward, and had volunteered much of his life in Scouting, in the Church, but even more in the community. He was always quite affable, and admired by everyone.

 

His laboratory classroom had a little office space behind a partition, a bit like a carrel in the library, and above the desk, which abutted the partition, on the wall, under a bookshelf that was just over the desk, was a neatly lettered—if not printed—sign, five-by-seven, that said, “People are no damn good.”

 

I laughed when I saw it. I thought it was humorous—and profound. The most humorous thing about it was that it was put there by a man who was universally considered one of the nicest, kindest, most generous men of his time. Even though a transplant to the South, he was the epitome of a Southern gentleman: a generation earlier would have called him “colonel.” So very few people knew about the sign. I don’t believe I ever told anyone in the Durham Ward about it. But later, as occasion would arise, I would tell the story of a man I once knew—the name didn’t matter—who was not only perceived as saintly, he was indeed saintly; but he had a sign….

 

I was taken aback by people’s reception of my account. They didn’t laugh, or smile. They didn’t think it was funny. I thought they would think it was funny. They were struck by the tragic flaw in an otherwise good person. They were saddened that a good man had gone bad. They just didn’t get it. They didn’t see the humor in it, in the paradox. He had not gone bad. He didn’t have a tragic flaw. He had a sense of humor, along with a wise perspective on humanity.

 

Maybe I didn’t convey how the sign had not changed Brother Duke, Professor Duke, how it was a humorous expression, a paradox, from a wise, generous, kind, saintly man. I suppose it was my fault that people didn’t see the humor. I did. I still do. But beyond the anomaly of the sentiment on the wall of a saint, I saw and still do, a profound verity: People are no damn good, in general, even if in particular there are so many who are, like Brother Duke, good. Mir ekeln die Menschen. Where do you find the highest concentration of good people? In the United States? Why have they voted in a President and a Congress so bound to decimate our core values? Why do people support by their money and their consent the concupiscence of modern entertainment? And is there a more virtuous nation on the earth today? God gave Abraham the chance to save a city if He could find fifty—or twenty—or even ten good people. But they were not to be found. There must be some good people left in this country.

 

 

How can you write something that would intrigue you? How can you intrigue yourself? You write what you know, even if you write the wildest fantasy—so how could you surprise yourself? What great pleasure to read something absolutely intriguing and pleasing, that you had not thought of yourself. But suppose you could write something that, even though it is not intriguing, since you cannot surprise yourself, would be very pleasing, quite satisfying. There’s the satisfaction of having finished something, of accomplishment, but beyond that there could be satisfaction with what you wrote, not just that you wrote it. And much later, having let it slip from the ready shelves of memory, you could be pleased to read what you wrote because of what you said, not because it was you who said it. Ah, but------- what would that be?

 

I broke with regulations (self-imposed) here and put up two pictures that I did not take. 

 

 

 

We have a volunteer Armed Services. There are no conscripts. They are for the most part a decent group (a cross-section of what Americans are), and a committed group—and today, a group that realizes the potential to be called into combat. They know when they sign up what they are going to do. They have a high sense of patriotism. And tha should be capitalized on and developed, nurtured and cultivated.

 

Here is my proposal:

As a recruit goes through basic training, I strongly believe that an essential element in that training should be indoctrination in the history and guiding principles of the United States of America. Yes, I used the word indoctrination. I mean just that. It denotes teaching doctrines, and connotes winning the hearts and minds—and wills—of each troop who will wear the uniform of this country and put his life in the service of this country. He should know more about this country, and what it stands for, than the everyday citizen. He should not be called upon to give his life for something he does not completely understand and support. I believe the indoctrination, or training, should continue throughout the length of service. I believe active-duty troops who are not deployed to a combat zone should have this training once a month, and Guard troops should receive this training as a part of each month’s drill. I believe this training should be on the core doctrines of our nation, and on the history of our nation. The first elements of this training should be an understanding of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. These should be studied in basic training to a certain extent, then throughout the career of service. Other core documents such as the inaugural addresses of presidents; certain documents elucidating the philosophy of our Founding Fathers; certain documents from moments of great import, such as the Gettysburg Address; and prominent “doctrines” set forth by presidents that have guided national and foreign policy, such as the Monroe Doctrine and the Bush Doctrine. Our military should study essential moments and elements in our history. They should study the thought and actions of our Founding Fathers. They should know something, for example, of the setting and the efforts of the Constitutional Convention. They should study major military conflicts of our history, with a view to understanding how our nation is like no other.

 

I believe the training in “Americanism” should be intensive in basic training; but thereafter should be short and sweet, in the monthly sessions. That is, it should be an hour once a month, impactful, packaged and produced in the most interesting way, then delivered partly as a prepackaged presentation, with follow up discussion. Then there should be a reading assignment to be completed before the next month’s session. But with all this, the challenge is to keep it from becoming politicized, co-opted in any way by any faction with an agenda. The agenda is to be knowledgeable about the country they are defending. 

 

The real maker of poems will make a sonnet that obeys all the rules, that entices, enthralls, and overwhelms first by the sound of it, before anybody knows what it is “about.” Then, for those who search but don’t care, the meaning comes into focus: the first meaning, then the second, then another. And it will look like a sonnet. But it will take time to make this sonnet. Because it’s a real sonnet. The maker must be patient, searching for each word as a numismatist searches for that one coin to fill each slot until the collection is perfect. Each word will be chosen for its strength and speed, its ring and tenor, its size and shape, its cleanliness or patina, its endurance and its baggage, its sure-footedness and grace, its poise and athleticism, its clarity and obscurity. At last, the last word will be found, examined, fitted snugly in, and voilà, the sonnet.

 

 

 

We curse our pains and wish them gone, when in fact they are necessary to our development and our compliance to the laws and exigencies of our second estate. (I need to stop making little noises when I stand up, sit down, or whatever, and a little kick of pain grabs me. Just keep it to myself.) Pain can absorb and discharge the immoralities of our disobedience, sucking into itself our peccadilloes and ridding us of them, payment for our improprieties. Of course only sometimes, perhaps rarely, is that the reason or benefit of pain. Pain can simply force us into more humility, or drag us up before the tribunal of our own pride, to have us acknowledge our incapacity to do anything about it but to beg God to palliate it, or remove it. But why should He? Isn’t it one of His gifts, in mercy given, to help us on our way? His Son knew pain, more than we all could ever bear—and did He not learn to bear it from His Father—and ours? Come, pain; settle in; I will not resist more than just my normal grunts and groans.

 

 

 

What the devil?

blow it up and see for yourself...

What the devils? 

Yep, there he is, or there they is.

You knew there really was one. Now you know the secret—he has a double. Not exactly a double, but maybe a Doppleganger. Well, everybody knows there’s more than one. They’re all devils. And they come out on Hallowe’en.

I have the devil in me. I have a condition that if it worsens I will die. But if it doesn’t, I will die a little later. All bodily infirmities are caused by devils. So try as I may to get the devil out of me, there’s still one or two hanging on and causing myasthenia gravis. And one (don’t know their sex, or names, or anything about them) causing my neuropathy. Dang them. I got rid of the ones that were trying to get me to smoke. “Are you stupid?” I said to them. After a thousand times, they got the hint and left. But the ones that said to me, “Don’t get up this early, it’s just church, and it will be the same thing next Sunday,” them I had to chase away more than once. But by the time I got married, they had left me alone. The ones that cause me the most grief now are the ones that don’t say anything. They don’t try to get me to do anything. They just make me hurt and make me not see so good. The doctor said those black things that are in the corner of my eyes sometimes, that run away when I look that way, are just things in my eyes. But I know what they are. Really.

So someday I’ll be thinking, ‘I gotta get those devils outta here,” and I’ll slip up and say, ‘I gotta get the devil outta here.” And that will be the end. The End. 

  

Book burning in America

One of the most famous acts of barbarism by the Nazis (Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, or National-socialist German Worker Party) was the famous book burning ceremony.

 

The epitome of fascist brutality against humanism. (This is a fasces, the symbol of the Fascist Party in Italy under Mussolini….) 

 

 

 Who are the fascists in Amerika today? Who are the atavistic new bookburners of today? Well, today it’s books, and it’s DVDs, and who won’t let certain items get out, because they are afraid of what the public might learn, feel, do, after being exposed to the ideas.

 

How about “The Path to 9/11”? Why is that not out there for the public discourse, free speech, and all that?

 

It’s ABC-Disney, who under pressure gave in to censorship to appease the Clintons, when threatened with a lawsuit that would pull the broadcast license from all ABC affiliate stations if certain things were not deleted. Amazing that the show aired at all. And now under even more pressure, ABC-Disney refuses to release the show on DVD, when it is a guaranteed money-maker. The show when it aired had the highest ratings. The DVD would really make them money. But they won’t release it. Why? Afraid of ideas? What about free speech?

 

  And who is trying to stop people from getting on the radio to speak their mind about politics, culture, and whatever?

DENVER -- Sen. Barack Obama's campaign organized its supporters Wednesday night to confront Tribune-owned WGN-AM in Chicago for having a critic of the Illinois Democrat on its air.(Listen to the interview.)

"WGN radio is giving right-wing hatchet man Stanley Kurtz a forum to air his baseless, fear-mongering terrorist smears," Obama's campaign wrote in an e-mail to supporters. "He's currently scheduled to spend a solid two-hour block from 9:00 to 11:00 p.m. pushing lies, distortions, and manipulations about Barack and University of Illinois professor William Ayers."

Kurtz, a conservative writer, recently wrote an article for the National Review that looked at Obama's ties to Ayers, a former 1960s radical who later emerged as a school reform advocate in Chicago.

The magazine had been blocked in its initial attempts to obtain records from the University of Illinois at Chicago regarding a school reform initiative called the Chicago Annenberg Challenge, which Obama chaired and Ayers co-founded.

Obama critics were quick to suggest that political clout could be involved in seeking to protect Obama from embarrassment. The school later reserved its position and made the records available Tuesday.

On Wednesday evening, Obama's campaign urged supporters to call the radio station to complain.

"Tell WGN that by providing Kurtz with airtime, they are legitimizing baseless attacks from a smear-merchant and lowering the standards of political discourse," the note said.

"It is absolutely unacceptable that WGN would give a slimy character assassin like Kurtz time for his divisive, destructive ranting on our public airwaves," the note continued. "At the very least, they should offer sane, honest rebuttal to every one of Kurtz's lies."

Zack Christenson, executive producer of "Extension 720 with Milt Rosenburg," said the response was strong.

"I would say this is the biggest response we've ever got from a campaign or a candidate," he said. "This is really unprecedented with the show, the way that people are flooding the calls and our email boxes."

Christenson said the Obama campaign was asked to have someone appear on the show and declined the request.

 

So bookburning, welcome back. And who’s doing it? The people who want to make the “Fairness Doctrine” federal law. That would be a law that makes anybody who speaks their mind have to pay for their opponent to say whatever he wants to say. Fair?

 

Socialism is creeping up, creeping, it’s up to our necks.