Resolutions Made and Kept

On New Year's Eve day in 2008, I made a resolution that I've kept for the last eight years. I came close to breaking it a few times, but I didn't cross that self-imposed line.

More about that one further down the page.

There's another I made three years ago, though I put off enforcing it until February 1st of that year. Since that date in 2013, however, I've stuck to it: I haven't bought a cigar since then. That one is huge, and if you've known me for a decade or two you're aware of how attached I was to Tampa Sweet Perfectos. My wife is very happy about my rejection of cigars; she'd be ecstatic if I could give up Skoal Extra Mint Blue dip pouches, which is what I used to wean myself off the cigars. Now I gotta find something to replace the dip. Until I find that substitute, I can't make that resolution.

One of my resolutions for this year will be not to gloat about Donald Trump's presidential election victory over Hillary Clinton. I don't want to act or behave as this nation's Democratic party did after Barack Hussein Obama's ascention to the presidency of this country in 2008 and again four years ago.

Back in 2008, I didn't wish that someone would assassinate Obama, nor did I openly call for public disturbances and protests during his inauguration ceremony. I didn't wish ill towards those who performed during that event, didn't want any vote recounts or the elimination of the Electoral College. Nope, I just accepted what had transpired.

And I endured the next eight years of Obama, knowing and hoping that America would eventually come to its senses and right the ship.

That is what I want today's liberal social justice whiners to do ( I refuse to call them 'warriors'; it would be insulting to our armed forces )....just endure. If that's not enough for them, they can refrain like I did the last 8 years.

I NEVER used the words 'President' and 'Obama' consecutively in a sentence.

On January 20th, however, I'll happily say 'former President Obama'.

That day can't get here soon enough.

Have a Happy New Year, everyone!

'What Were They Thinking?', the College Bowl Game Edition

Hundreds of thousands of high school athletes aspire to play college football and, eventually, on Sundays in the NFL.

Jeremy Sprinkle was halfway through the dream when he crashed into his own roadblock Tuesday.

Sprinkle, a senior tight end for the Arkansas Razorbacks, was scheduled to start Thursday night for Arkansas in the Belk Bowl against the Hokies of Virginia Tech.

Belk, a large chain of retail stores, sponsored the game in Charlotte, NC; along with that sponsorship, Belk gave each player from both teams a gift card worth $450 for use in one of their Charlotte stores during a ninety-minute shopping spree, which occurred on Tuesday. Apparently, Jeremy Sprinkle overindulged.

To the tune of $260 dollars' worth of merchandise.

The Arkansas tight end bought all he could on his gift card, then decided to shoplift what his card's limit wouldn't cover. Store security caught him in the act, called Charlotte-Mecklenberg Police and has him arrested and charged.

Razorback coach Brett Bielema, who suspended his starting tight end for the bowl game, told the media "Throughout his career...Jeremy has displayed numerous times the qualities we want to represent our program. We have standards...that must be upheld on a daily basis, and unfortunately...he failed to do that."

Sprinkle, according to NFL draft analyst Mel Kiper Jr, is the number 7-rated tight end in the upcoming NFL draft. Prospective draftees undergo rigorous background interviews by NFL front office personnel prior to the draft, and his shoplifting incident is sure to garner intense scrutiny from interested teams. Though the incident isn't a certain death blow to his chances of being drafted, Sprinkle's stock will surely take a hit...which might lead to his going undrafted, costing him a large chunk of money from whoever he may sign with.

All for two-hundred-sixty dollars' worth of merchandise.

Arkansas lost to Virginia Tech, 35-24.

Jeremy Sprinkle

A Legend Departs Us

Bunk Harper was a legend.

A man among men. A trailblazer.

He was the city's first black police officer, its's first black Captain and the first black Chief of Police.

Lawrence Harper dropped out of Mansfield Senior High School and enlisted in the Marines on D-Day, 1944. After completing his 4-year enlistment and coming home, Chief Harper finished high school...and became a policeman for the City of Mansfield in 1948. Bunk Harper walked a beat in the city's north end which, back then, was a pretty rough section of town. From what I've been told over the years, Bunk kept order on his beat, one way or another and by whatever means necessary.

Retired Mansfield Police Chief Lawrence 'Bunk' Harper passed away Thursday, December 22nd, in a Galion nursing home, having spent fifty-four years of his working life wearing a badge. He was 90 years old.

I cannot imagine, in this day and age, a city police officer lasting over five decades on the job.

'Bunk' was a Major when I was sworn in at MPD in 1984, and I'll never forget meeting him; even at his then-age of 57, I knew he was an old-school cop; a man who commanded respect, who had a presence about him I hadn't experienced since I was a cadet/dispatcher at post 70 with the Ohio State Highway Patrol.

The man I worked for back then was Lt. J.D. 'Jack' Moore who was, simply, the best cop I ever knew.

Not long after I started at MPD I had occasion to run into Major Harper on the city building elevator. I was about as nervous as a man dressed in a steak suit walking into a lion's den; I think he sensed it.

"How's it going, Clark?"

He remembered my name! I was stunned.

I don't recall how I answered him, but I knew simply having him remember who I was cleared a hurdle with Major Harper; there were some officers who'd worked at MPD for years longer than I whose names he didn't know. Even years after he retired I ran into him a couple of times, and I'd always get that same question: "How's it going, Clark?"

During my years at Mansfield PD, Major...and then Chief...Harper would prove to be a steady, thoughtful commander of his police officers, a real leader who stood up for his people...whether they liked it or not. I'll readily acknowledge that some of his decisions didn't always resonate within the ranks of the police department but, looking back, its easy to see that Chief Harper always had the best interests of the city's residents at heart.

I respected him immensely.

I remember working many a midnight shift and seeing Lawrence Harper, dressed in sweats, jogging the city's darkened streets. He'd run for miles, no matter the weather...rain, snow...it didn't matter. He was a common sight for us graveyard-shifters, slogging along and throwing up a hand when he'd see us pass by.

That was Chief Harper.

And now he has left us.

Heaven's streets are a little bit safer with Bunk Harper, retired street cop and Marine, walking a beat.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!

Here's hoping you and yours celebrate the Lord's gift to all mankind this day, the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!

Merry Christmas !

Common Sense vs. the ACLU

'So a guy walks into the BMV wearing goat horns...stop me if you've heard this one.'

No, really. He did.

It's not a joke, but it should be.

Phelan Moonsong, 56 years old and a self- procalimed pagan 'priest', entered the Bangor, Maine Bureau of Motor Vehicles office to obtain a state identification card...while wearing goat horns strapped to his head, held in place by fishing line. After telling a clerk what he needed, Moonsong was told he'd have to remove his horns; BMV policy states customers cannot wear any head covering for their operator's license or state I.D. photos...with exceptions.

One of those exceptions is for religious reasons.

Moonsong, who considers the horns his 'religious head dress', refused to remove them; the BMV clerk took his photo anyway, but said Moonsong would have to provide documentation to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles where the wearing of the goat horns was required before his identification could be released.

It seems a member of the 'priest of Pan' men's group had given the horns to Moonsong in 2009 after the member's goat had died, a gift Moonsong deems his 'spiritual antennae' and part of his religious attire. That being the case, Moonsong sent Maine's Secretary of State a personal letter requesting the exemption, along with a pamphlet concerning diversity training for pagan religions. When Moonsong didn't hear back from the Secretary's office, he called them...and invoked the ACLU card.

In my world, 'ACLU' stands for American Crybaby Liberals Union. That wasn't the case for Maine's BMV, however; even though their photo guidelines state that religious headwear must be '...required and does not obstruct or shadow...' the person's face, they issued his state identification card a few days later.

In other words: they buckled. They gave in. They folded. The operative word in their guidelines is 'required'; the BMV should have demanded pagan organizational documentation that Moonsong's horns are mandatory head gear, that he can't practice paganism without their utilization.

But they didn't.

Instead, they gave in. I'm sure Maine's BMV will state that they wanted to avoid costly litigation and thus save the state's taxpayers some money. They issued the card to Moonsong ( not his birth name; he legally changed it this past summer ) without the hint of a whimper and then scurried away, collective tails between their legs.

The American circus rolls on.

Another Episode of 'What Were They Thinking?'

You've been out on the town with friends, enjoying the night life. Eventually, after the bars close, you decide to stop at a decent restaurant and grab a bite to eat before heading home.

You and your friends walk into Fortunato's Italian Market, a popular eatery in St. Petersburg, get seated and order your meal. About halfway through, just before another fork full of spaghetti enters your mouth, a ceiling tile lands on your table.

Followed shortly by a falling man.

James Donald Olsen, age twenty-four and roaringly drunk, fell through the ceiling of the restaurant as patrons dined inside, causing over $1,000 worth of damage.

Police nor management have any idea how Olsen got into the ceiling, as there is no attic space in the restaurant, but police did have space for Olsen inside a jail cell. He was held on charges of criminal mischief and public intoxication.

No patrons were injured.

James Olsen

'Victimless' Crimes and Presidential Pardons

There is no such thing as a 'victimless' crime, nor is there 'non-violent' crime.

Regardless of what the Office of the President may think, for every action there is a reaction. So-called 'white-collar' crime, in which an actor seizes control of property belonging to another through means of the manipulation of intellectual or financial information, is in itself non-violent; however the losses inflicted have very devastating effects for the victims. Driving someone to suicide because they lost everything they have is an indirect consequence of white-collar crime in some cases and, believe me, suicide can be very violent.

Likewise with convicted narcotics traffickers, only in their cases the results are much more visible. Not only is the blood of overdose deaths on their hands, so too is the blood of every murder committed by addicts in the act of robbing a victim in order to feed their addiction, of every murder victim killed in a drug turf war, of every person who loses their life in a traffic crash caused by someone under the influence of drugs.

The list is endless.

The predominance of crime in the United States is driven by illegal drugs and acts associated with addiction; the aforementioned nurders and robberies, the break-ins, thefts, credit card misuse, bad checks...again, the list is endless. Drug trafficking and drug addiction have taxed police and fire resources to the limit; the health care system, from hospital emergency rooms to addiction treatment centers, are stretched to their breaking points.

Yet the current President sees fit to release from prison these purveyors of death and crime, crime that directly affects each one of us at the very least through skyrocketing insurance rates, by way of his powers of commutation and pardon. According to a study completed by the respected Pew Research Center, almost one-third of federally-sentenced drug traffickers commit new crimes related to trafficking after release, some while still on post-release supervision.

It is a pattern that must change.

It will be a monumental task, hard labor on the part of law enforcement, the court and corrections systems. It must go hand-in-hand with educating the public on drug addiction, an increase in the numbers of federally-funded addiction treatment centers and real sanctions against those countries whose criminal elements continually flood drugs into our nation. It will not be easy, it will not be cost-effective but it must be done; it must be done before we lose an entire generation to addiction and its consequences.

Because, after that generation is lost, so will we lose our nation.

A Maverick Spoke But No One Listened

“…a date which will live in infamy…”

President Franklin Roosevelt opened his speech requesting a declaration of war vote from Congress against the Empire of Japan with those words, words more closely associated with FDR than any others he had ever spoken during his tenure as President.

Roosevelt made that speech before Congress on December 8, 1941, the day after Japan’s infamous attack against military installations on the island of Oahu…an attack that had been predicted by at least one officer in the United States Navy as early as the end of March, 1941.

That officer’s name was then-Captain Ellis Zacharias, a man who knew of whence he spoke.

Zacharias, you see, had twice been posted as Naval Attache in Japan during his two tours of service as an intelligence officer; during his time there, Zacharias developed numerous contacts within the Japanese military and intelligence community, most of whom regarded the young officer with great respect for having learned their native language and becoming fluent in it. Captain Zacharias, a skilled poker player, had on occasion played cards with the man who would one day conceive and develop attack plans for Pearl Harbor.

That Japanese officer was Isoroku Yamamoto, a man who would become the Empire’s most beloved war hero.

Captain Zacharias also tasked himself with learning as much as he could about Japanese culture and its military mindset, a project that would culminate in a meeting with Admiral Husband Kimmel, Commander-in-Chief of the United States Navy’s Pacific Fleet, a full nine months prior to the unannounced attack that would have completely decimated America’s Pacific sea power had the aircraft carriers Lexington, Enterprise and Saratoga been in port.

During that meeting, Captain Zacharias told Kimmel that rising tensions between the United States and the expansionist Japanese Empire would precipitate a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor “…on a weekend, probably on a Sunday morning…” by using carrier-based aircraft positioned north of the Hawaiian Islands because of the prevailing winds. Zacharias expanded on his theory by telling CINCPAC Kimmel that the attack could be prevented by conducting daily patrols using aircraft and fleet vessels out to a distance of 500 miles from the islands; Kimmel’s response that it would be an impossible task due to manpower and resource limitations caused Zacharias to respond: “Well, Admiral, you’d better get them because that is what is coming.”

Nine months later, as Captain Zacharias steamed into Pearl Harbor as commander of the heavy cruiser USS Salt Lake City the day after the attack, the profound destruction that greeted him was no surprise. In addition to Admiral Kimmel, Zacharias had also warned a staff member of then-Chief of Naval Operations Adm. Harold Stark in November, 1941, that an attack on Pearl Harbor was imminent. However, based on Zacharias’ perceived maverick attitude amongst naval hierarchy, his warnings fell on deaf ears.

Ellis Zacharias would go on to earn commendations and battle stars for the ships he commanded during the war, in part prompting his promotion to Rear Admiral upon his retirement from the Navy in 1946. His aspiration to the office of Director of Naval Intelligence, however, was never met, having been passed over for that position due in part to his ‘loose cannon’ reputation amongst Navy brass because of, among other things, the revelation of warnings he’d issued prior to December 7^th, 1941.

As in the business world, you can’t make your superiors look inept and expect a promotion.

Ellis Zacharias died in West Springfield, New Hampshire, due to complications after suffering a heart attack, on June 27, 1961. He is interred at Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia.

                           

Rear Admiral Ellis Zacharias

We Must Be Vigilant

I wanted to wait a couple of days before broaching this topic, which in retrospect turned out to be a good idea.

I wanted facts, not rumors and innuendos.

Abdul Artan, a Somali-born student at Ohio State, intentionally rammed his car into a crowd of students outside the school's engineering building Monday, then exited and started slashing them with a butcher's knife. In all, eleven students and one OSU professor were injured before Artan was shot and killed by a campus police officer. None of those injured in Artan's attack sustained life-threatening injuries; two of the victims underwent surgery to repair orthopedic damage caused by Artan's vehicle.

What's missing in this story? There is means, in this case Artan's car and large knife; there is opportunity, that being a crowd of students and instructors standing on a sidwalk, exposed and in the open; there is intent, as illustrated by Artan driving over a curb to complete the act of inflicting harm.

Where is the motive? What would drive this young man to harm total strangers?

Islam.

Before anyone accuses me of being an 'Islamophobe', I'd like to point out a few things. First, a 'phobia' is having an unreasonable fear of something. I don't fear Islam; I fear the cause-and-effect of radical Islam. Secondly, nowhere in the first part of this post did I mention the words 'Islam' or 'Muslim', yet this incident would not have happened without them. Artan said so in a Facebook post just minutes before his attack.

'...if you want us Muslims to stop carrying lone wolf attacks, then make peace with Dawla in al sham...by Allah, we will not let you sleep...you will not celebrate or enjoy any holiday...'

Dawla in al sham. Who are they?

They're the peace-loving members of ISIS...you know, those guys who rape, torture and sell non-Muslim women; drown, hang, burn alive and cut heads off non-Muslims. They are also the tolerant, peaceful people who throw gay men off the roofs of tall buildings for being homosexual. ISIS also kills othe Muslims for not being Muslim enough.

Yeah, those guys. We're supposed to make peace with them.

I don't think they know what the word means.

Artan's attack, in terms of actual infliction of damage, was a failure; however, in terms of propaganda, he hit a home run. Radical Islam has claimed his actions as their own, an attack they will use to recruit and inspire other fringe-radical Muslims here in the United States. We must be prepared.

We must pray for peace in our land...but we must also be prepared to defend her.

'50s In The Rear-View...

As today dawned, so did my foray into the world of being a sexagenarian.

On reflection of the past five decades in my life I realized several things, chief among them being how much our world has changed.

I remember when school lunch boxes were metal, along with highway construction traffic barrels,  and seat belt laws didn't exits...nor did car seats for kids. I remember our home phone being on a party line...meaning we shared the line with several other families in our neighborhood.

I remember getting on the school bus and being greeted by the driver, Jerry, who always seemed to be smoking a cigarette. I remember my first grade school, Raemelton, conducting bomb drills during the Cuban missile crisis. Not tornado drills, but bomb drills...as in 'nuclear'.

I remember being in class at Raemelton when the principal announced over the loudspeaker that President Kennedy had been assassinated. I remember several teachers crying, too. I also remember being upset that television coverage of the Kennedy assassination preempted Saturday morning cartoons. No Huckleberry Hound or Deputy Dawg for me that morning.

I remember Dad teaching me how to box with boxing gloves when I was six years old...and nailing him square in the nose when he wasn't looking, he being on his knees in our living room as he gave me instruction. I also remember the wild ride to Mansfield General Hospital when I ripped my hand open trying to climb onto the garage roof that same year, Dad behind the wheel, horn blaring at every intersection. The surgeon, Dr. Myron Reed, told Mom and Dad he'd stopped counting sutures at number sixty while repairing the damage. I also remember going to his office to have the stitches removed several weeks later, the Doc smoking a cigar as he worked.

I remember watching Walter Cronkite delivering the evening news on TV, always commenting somewhere along the way about the war in Viet Nam. I also remember his closing line at the end of every broadcast...."and that's the way it is, (insert date)...". I also remember watching live coverage of the 1968 Democratic Convention riots in Chicago, where thousands of anti-war protesters clashed with police in the streets. Today's anti-Trump protests pale in comparison ( thankfully ).

I remember when people were ashamed to be on welfare or public assistance; now, two generations later, for some it has become a way of life. I remember abortion being illegal, the Cold War dominating the news, the Rolling Stones being banned from the Ed Sullivan Show for song lyrics; I remember when patriotism was a thing to be proud of and those who burned our flag reviled in the media for it. I remember a girl wearing a paper dress to Mifflin School in sixth grade...and it promptly getting torn. Female students having to call a parent for a change of clothes because their skirts were too short. Corporal punishment administered by teachers when a student misbehaved. I remember when we carried our books by hand; no book bags or back packs. I NEVER remember school shootings happening when I was growing up, and seemingly every home having a firearm.

I remember going 'Trick-or-Treating' with my sister Joyce...without our parents... and it being dark outside as we did so, because no one feared for the safety of kids in our neighborhood back then. I remember kids riding bikes without wearing helmets, toy guns that didn't have orange-tipped barrels and being able to buy a Hershey bar for ten cents.

I remember gasoline being a dollar per gallon, when $500 was more than enough for a week-long vacation as we traveled out West...by car. I also remember sleeping at night along the highway in our brand-new 1962 Chevy Bel-Aire station wagon somewhere in New Mexico near Albuquerque, and seeing the Grand Canyon during that trip.

When I was growing up, we weren't wealthy in terms of possessions and money by any stretch of the imagination, but our family never went hungry, we always had clean clothes and a roof over our heads. There were plenty of kids my age in our neighborhood, we had woods behind the house that had a creek running through it and parents looked out for not only their own kids but every kid their children played with.

It was a happy life, a childhood I'm thankful for.

Here's hoping the next sixty years are just as happy.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Columbus...

Friday, I had my yearly check-up with my cancer/kidney surgeon in Columbus. All is well for another year.

However, just as Stacy and I were walking into the lobby of his office my cell phone rings; it was an unusual call.

It was Representative Mark Romanchuk's office.

I met Mark a few years back while working a football game at Lexington High School before I retired. Mark was making his initial foray into politics and was out meeting people as part of his campaign. He and I chatted for a few minutes and I found Mark to be a pretty affable, friendly guy; he got my vote that year, and has every election since.

A few weeks ago I emailed Rep. Romanchuk's office about the growing heroin overdose problem we are facing, expressing my frustration over heroin traffickers receiving probation on a first conviction even though they may have knowingly/unknowingly caused a death which law enforcement couldn't charge them with. People die because of this drug, mainly because in recent years its been 'cut' with other, more potent drugs. A user can lose his/her life the very first time they ingest heroin, and traffickers getting mere probation on a first offense is unacceptable.

First offenders can get prison time if there are enhancing qualifications, such as selling within a thousand feet of a school zone, in the presence of juveniles, selling bulk amounts or possessing a firearm during the transaction; many times this is the case but most offenses are not. Along with the email I included the post I wrote about attacking the traffickers with harsher sentences.

I couldn't stay on the phone long last Friday, but I did call back yesterday and spoke to his legislative aide, Beth Florence. I learned that Mark is currently formulating legislation to address the issue of heroin trafficking and enhancing penalties for trafficking convictions, which pleased me greatly; he also scheduled a meeting with me in a few weeks to explain the framework of proposed legislation.

Being personally affected by opiate abuse has made me passionate on this issue; I am not a Great Crusader on too many things but this is one of them. If you, too, feel strongly about opiate addiction and stronger sentencing guidelines for convicted traffickers, I urge you to contact your legislators and express your concerns and views.

I'd also like to say that my beliefs are not an indictment of our judges, probation or judicial systems; most of those involved are very good at what they do in spite of the difficulties they face; I just want them to have a sharper sword with which to dispense justice through our legal process.

Another Episode of 'What Were They Thinking?'

You're a burglar; you've got your black mask, clothes and gloves on. You're carrying a flashlight, screwdriver and a wrench.

Your target? A jewelry store, inside of which riches await you. You park your car on a suburban side street and walk to the store's back door. You pry away at the door but, try as you might, it won't budge. Frustrated and in a state of despair, you trek back to you vehicle while deciding what to do next.

Just as you're about to enter your car, you notice something alarming: you parked in front of a house that has exterior security cameras! The jewelry store owner will most certainly see the damage you caused to his door, and now a homeowner has your car on camera! What if the police obtain the security video? They'll identify your car as having been in the area! So, you do the only (il)logical thing....

Eric Michael Stevens of North Charleston, SC, who has a history of burglary arrests and convictions, was taken into custody by NCPD early yesterday, marched out to police by the armed homeowner whose house Stevens had broken into. It seems Stevens, in an effort to enter the home and destroy the security video recorder, had pried open a bedroom window and climbed inside...falling onto the bed where the homeowner had been sleeping. However, hearing the noises at his window, the homeowner pulled his gun out of a drawer and was waiting for Stevens.

After firing a shot at Stevens and then holding him at gunpoint, the citizen called police, who arrived to find Stevens being marched out of the house by its armed occupant.

Stevens was charged with first-degree burglary of the home, attempted burglary of the jewelry store and possession of burglary tools, all of which are felonies.

It is unknown if the security cameras caught footage of Stevens or his car.

Eric Stevens

Social Justice or Stupidity?

Oberlin.

Ever been through it? If you haven't, Oberlin is a sleepy little town of just over eight thousand residents and a hair under 5 square miles in size, located in Lorain County southwest of Cleveland.

It is also home to Oberlin College.

On the ninth of November a student from the college was in a small 'Mom and Pop' store close to campus, Gibson's Market. It's a family-owned business which has been in existence for decades, due mainly to the college's student/customers. The student, 19-year-old Jonathan Aladin, decided to buy a bottle of wine, which in itself would have been illegal since he's not twenty-one; an additional problem was, Aladin had concealed two other bottles of wine under his shirt in an attempt to steal them. The clerk told Aladin that he knew there were concealed wine bottles under his shirt and, as the clerk attempted to take Aladin's picture with his cell phone, the suspect slapped it away, causing it to strike the clerk in the face.

The clerk came around the counter and attempted to stop Aladin from leaving with the shoplifted  wine; Aladin threw the bottles to the floor, began struggling with and striking clerk Allyn Gibson, the owner's son, managed to break away and flee across the street, where two female Oberlin students were waiting. Gibson chased Aladin and was then assaulted by all three students. As Oberlin police arrived, they observed Aladin on top of Gibson, punching and kicking him; the two females were also still engaged in assaulting the victim.

Jonathan Aladin was arrested for robbery, which was a result of using physical force while committing a theft offense. Robbery is a felony. The two female students were also charged with assaulting Allyn Gibson, a misdemeanor offense.

A simple case, right?

Not so, according to the Oberlin Student Union. Several other students were apparently in the area outside the store and witnessed Allyn Gibson chase Jonathan Aladin across the street. It was Gibson, they say, who was the aggressor, never mind the beatdown Aladin and the two women were administering or what had occurred inside the store. They claim Aladin was just a victim of racial profiling because he is a black man, that Gibson had no right to stop Aladin for the theft from his family's store.

Since the afternoon of November ninth, the Oberlin College Black Student Union and their sympathizers have been protesting outside Gibson's Bakery and Market, holding signs and chanting slogans denouncing Gibson's as being racist.

Gibson's cashier Trey James had this to say about the incident: "The guy got caught stealing and got arrested for it. It was a pretty clear-cut case. If you shoplift, you get prosecuted, regardless of your orientation, race, background, political viewpoint or anything else."

Trey James is himself a black man. He gets it.

The Oberlin students protesting still today do not, choosing rather to play the 'race card' without knowing the facts or the law. According to a source out of Oberlin...and this is mind-blowing to me...the protesting students are getting class credit for missing class to protest.

Unbelievable.

I am seriously considering making a trip to Gibson's Bakery and Market this coming week, just to buy something from them as a show of support. Included in that purchase will be, of course,...

...a donut.

The Aftermath

I do believe that Hillary Clinton finally understands what difference, at this point, it makes.

Donald Trump's shocking victory in the presidential election, one which virtually no major news network deemed possible ( aside from Fox News ), has this country's LibLeft spinning, crying out to the heavens, "how could this happen??!!"

It's very simple, if you think about it: America is fed up.

Fed up with the Obamacare fiasco, which announced 25% rate hikes two weeks ago. Fed up with our border floodgates being cranked wide open. Fed up with a twenty trillion dollar ( and rising ) national debt. Fed up with the presidentially-encouraged influx of Islamic refugees who in no way can be 'vetted' by the Department of Homeland Security. Fed up with eight years of circumvention of Congressional powers via executive orders from Obama's office, blatantly telling America that he would enact his decrees "...with or without Congress...". Fed up with the Clinton Syndicate, otherwise known as a 'foundation', which accepts enormous foreign donations of cash supposedly to be used for humanitarian reasons; Bill and Hillary's daughter's wedding was paid for using funds from the Clinton Foundation, as well as paying the newlyweds' expenses for the next ten years.

All that is just the tip of the crooked crony iceberg we've endured for the last eight years.

And now, just this evening, I read that some college mid-terms were postponed due to students being so distraught over election results that they just couldn't bear the effort of taking an exam. Another university has activated crisis counseling for its collegiate cream puffs because they can't handle the reality of a national presidential election that didn't quite turn out the way they wanted.

Donald Trump said and did many things during his campaign I didn't agree with; I said before that he wasn't even my THIRD choice as a presidential Republican candidate but there was no way I wanted Hillary Rodham Clinton leading this country further down the path to socialism/globalization.

On another note, U-Haul's business should soon be picking up, what with all the celebrity threats to leave the United States if Trump was elected. Now that it's happened, I'll gladly stand at the border and wave goodbye to them.

But we all know they will never leave.

 Just ask Alec Baldwin.

Just Wondering...

...how a presidential candidate can be a self-proclaimed champion of women's rights, yet align herself with the likes of Shawn Corey Carter; how she can constantly hammer her male opponent over remarks he made twenty years ago that were very disparaging of women, yet have a husband the likes of Bill Clinton, a philanderer of epic magnitude?

I know, you're still wondering who Shawn Carter is. Well, he's the fella that rapped these lyrics:

'You know I thug 'em, (expletive) 'em, love 'em, leave 'em
Cause I don't ( expletive ) need 'em
Take them out the hood, keep 'em lookin' good
But I don't ( expletive ) feed 'em'

The rest of the lyrics are just as bad or worse, so I won't waste the space printing them; the point is, Mrs. Clinton plays both sides of the fence. Carter, known by his stage name Jay Z, and his wife Beyonce performed at the Wolstein Center in Cleveland last night, being joined onstage at the end by Mrs. Clinton in an obvious play to gain black votes.

'Hillary digs Jay Z and Beyonce!'

Next time you see one of her commercials deriding Donald Trump for remarks he made in 1996, just remember who she used in attempting to sway certain segments of the voting public.

She is a phoney.

Mind you, I am NOT a fan of Trump. I'd much rather vote for Mike Pence if it were possible, but Trump is the conservative horse in this race so I'll hold my nose while voting. Trump shouldn't even be in this election due to those remarks so long ago.

Then again, he didn't indirectly cause the deaths of Ambassador Chris Stevens and three other Americans in Benghazi, by ignoring repeated pleas for increased security a month or more in advance of the attack that killed them.

As then-Secretary of State, those deaths ultimately land on Hillary Clinton's doorstep.

Time Goes By

Has it really been over three years since I last took off my uniform, gun belt and badge? It seems like just last week I was sitting in my cruiser, in the lot of Richland Bank in Lexington at 0300 hours, amazed that the bank's time/temp sign displayed '-9' degrees.

It seemed much colder.

I don't have to do that anymore. Now, when it gets that cold, I'm snoozing away in our cozy home at Ram Field Ranch, snuggled in with an extra blanket as my redheaded angel slumbers next to me. Well, not right next to me because Roscoe, our lovable pit bull, prefers to sleep between us.

Under the blankets.

Early in the morning, and 'early' usually means around 0430 hours or so, I dress, creep out of the bedroom and begin my day, punching the 'start' button on the coffee maker first thing. Tim Horton's black gold gets things rolliing.

After breakfast is when I do the bulk of my writing, both for this blog and another I have that concerns my other passion: metal detecting. You can find that link here:
https://searchingforhistoryblog.wordpress.com/

I browse news websites, mainly concerning items about law enforcement and crime, formulating a blog entry as I go. This morning was no different...except I couldn't find a topic that jumped off the laptop at me. So I sat, thinking and remembering events that took place just this past week and several decades ago, running endlessly through my mind, events that I will forever remember...or forget tomorrow.

I've written about my pal Troy Weaver, now a Captain at Lexington PD and my partner on night shift for the last six years of my career. I had the opportunity to spend about an hour with him a few days ago at LPD's pistol range; Troy is a firearms instructor and it was time for my yearly qualification with the Smith and Wesson M&P .40 caliber compact I carry. Retired coppers can carry concealed as long as they complete this annual requirement and my year-long permit was approaching invalidation.

We chatted about various topics as I shot the course, recalling certain incidents and humorous anectdotes we'd experienced, generally catching up on life since the last time we'd spoken. He told me about an incident that involved a police officer in another jurisdiction and an unannounced pursuit that ended with the officer crashing his cruiser. No one had any idea he was chasing another vehicle; why he wouldn't call it in on the cruiser radio is inexcusable. Another LPD copper I used to work with, Jon VanHouten, arrived and he also caught me up, telling me his daughter Addyson, now fourteen, was a high school freshman. She'd gone from 7th grade to 9th grade, completely bypassing one grade; that's how intelligent she is. I was still hearing '14', though....unbelievable, since I recall plain as day when Jon told me his wife Amber was pregnant with Addy.

Time stops for no one. I know it's an old adage but it bears truth.

Then there was last week, when I'd gotten a call from Capt.Shari Robertson of Mansfield PD, asking if I could assist the Detective Bureau in locating a buried metal item that was connected to a serious crime. She knows I am a pretty dedicated metal detectorist and former policeman who will help my brothers and sisters out whenever I can.

I can recall clearly the first time I ever met Shari, too, in roll call at MPD; there was a remark made that first day as she sat amongst the otherwise all-male shift, something uncalled-for that was insulting.

She stood up for herself and called the other officer out. Right in the middle of roll call.

That, in my book, made her all right with me. Shari has gone on to become a good cop, one I trust without question. Some say she doesn't deserve her current position, one which she attained by appointment, and to those naysayers I say 'bunk'. I can think of a few others who'd risen in rank quickly who were much less qualified for their rank than Shari. A couple of those people had no business even being police officers, people who are/were great at taking tests but inept and unsafe on the street, people who just punched the clock and put their time in. They just answered calls, did nothing proactively, have/had no major arrests on which to hang their hats.

Yet they are in positions of command.

If the general public only knew of the types of cops these test-takers were/are they'd be grievously concerned.

I certainly am.

Though I no longer wear a badge, I am out there in spirit with my brothers and sisters. Inwardly, I worry for their safety, both from within the departments they serve and from the increasing dangers they face daily in this world gone mad. It isn't the same world I knew even three years ago.

Not even at 0300 hours on a very cold night.

Another Installment of 'What Were They Thinking?'

Love can make people do irrationally stupid things.

Take Deniz ( pronounced 'Denise' ) Martinez, for example.

Martinez lives in Lake Wales, Florida with her boyfriend, Jason Drake. Drake is on probation for an unspecified crime and has to submit to urine testing when he reports to his probation officer. Martinez dropped Drake off for a scheduled meeting last month at the County Probation and Parole office in Winter Haven, where Drake told his PO that he couldn't summon enough fluid from his bladder for the urinalysis; the PO told Drake that he would have to detain him until he could pee a sufficient amount for testing.

Enter Martinez. Drake had communicated to her that his urine sample would be 'dirty' and was delaying the process. Martinez, in an effort to get her lover out of having to submit urine, then called the Winter Haven Police Department and told them a man was standing outside the probation building with a bomb, who intended to detonate it inside the building.

She called from her personal cell phone. The same cell phone that's listed as an emergency contact on Jason Drake's probation paperwork.

The building was evacuated and searched by WHPD's bomb squad and given the 'all clear'. Martinez was later located at the residence she shares with Drake and arrested on a felony bomb threat; her boyfriend was also arrested for probation violation due to failing to submit a urine sample.

Then there's Brian Crume, also of Winter Haven.

Crume entered a local WalMart and shoplifted several packages of wiring. Store security caught him leaving without paying for the items and he was arrested.

When asked why he'd committed the crime, Crume responded by saying he was trying to raise enough cash to post bail for his jailed girlfriend....

....who was in jail for shoplifting.

                                                                    Crume

Martinez

Heroin Traffickers and the Cure

“…died of an overdose…”.

We’ve read that line far too many times in print media, heard those words too often during the evening news. Now, more than ever in the history of these United States, heroin addiction and overdose deaths are at their worst.

I drove a school bus part-time for fifteen years. Students who rode my bus in years past have died of overdose; kids who boarded as kindergarteners, whose little faces I can still see clearly in my mind, dead mere months after graduating from high school. Last week my wife and I attended calling hours for a young man whom I coached in summer league baseball, gone because of this plague of heroin addiction.

Law enforcement is scrambling, working hard to build strong cases against persons responsible for distributing drugs in our communities, particularly opiates. These cases are presented to a grand jury by the prosecutor’s office, traffickers get indicted and eventually end up in criminal court.

Yet time and time again I read of heroin traffickers sentenced to probation for their crime.

Why probation? Why are these people, convicted of or admitting to selling heroin and the death, despair and destroyed families that accompany it, allowed to roam among us on the streets and sidewalks, stand behind us in line at the grocery store?

“Our hands are pretty much tied”, a judge once told me, “Sentencing guidelines don’t mandate prison time for persons convicted of heroin trafficking on a first offense so, in most cases, we can’t send them to prison.”

Therein lies the problem. Unless we get serious about addressing the top of the heroin food chain and target the traffickers with something they fear, people will continue to die of overdose at an ever-increasing rate. Loved ones, neighbors and young people who formerly rode that school bus will die from injecting or snorting heroin. Crime will continue to rise, families will continually suffer, alongside those who have already been savaged by the loss of a loved one, unless opiate traffickers get mandatory prison for a first offense. The law, along with sentencing guidelines, needs to change in regards to heroin trafficking.

Of one thing you can be certain: heroin dealers don’t fear probation. 

Friday Odds 'n Ends

Late Wednesday night, two Boston police officers were responding to a disturbance call when, without warning, they were fired on by a man wearing body armor who was armed with a tactical shotgun and a handgun.

Officers Rich Cintolo, a 27-year veteran, and Matt Morris, with 12 years on the job, were both shot and seriously wounded by 33-year-old Kirk Figueroa, who had gotten into an altercation with his male room mate. The room mate then called police, which precipitated the shootings. Other responding officers were able to drag Cintolo and Morris to safety while also taking fire from Figueroa, who was eventually shot and killed by police.

Figueroa, who claimed to own a company called 'Code Blue Protection Corporation' with alleged assets totalling $75 million dollars, was a licensed constable in Massachusetts although he was not licensed to carry a firearm. Constables in that state serve legal papers and civil summonses. Neighbors, along with Figueroa's ex-wife, stated that the deceased suspect had severe anger issues.

Boston Police Commissioner William Evans, in praising the coppers who rescued Cintolo and Morris, said "...I commend our officers for running into that building with no fear...". While it was an act of extreme heroism on the parts of the officers involved, I suspect there was a lot of fear involved. Ask any police officer who has been shot at or who has responded to a call involving an active shooter and, to a person, they'll tell you they were very afraid. Bravery, according to WW II General Omar Bradley, is the "...capacity to perform properly even when scared half to death."

Very true. Any cop who says they were never scared on the job are either liars or spent their careers behind a desk.

Cintolo and Morris, after emergency surgery and several blood transfusions, are recovering in a Boston hospital, though both are still in critical condition. In an unusual twist, Cintolo's' father, himself a retired Boston police officer, was also shot in the line of duty while responding to a disturbance call, in 1980. He survived his wound.

                                                                     ******

Some things people say concerning the world of law enforcement, particularly media reporters, drives me up a wall.

I read numerous news sites on the internet every morning while drinking a hot cup of Tim Horton's black gold; yesterday, a TV news reporter stated on a website that a man had been sentenced for '...felony murder.'

Folks, there is no such thing as 'misdemeanor' murder. Doesn't exist. Murder is a capital crime, not a misdemeanor offense. I've also heard it on prime-time Hollywood versions of cop shows..."you're under arrest for felony murder!"

Insane.

                                                                     ******

Locally, a man involved in the homicide of an elderly woman was declared mentally incapable of understanding the law and that he had done something wrong. Never mind the facts that he and his female accomplice, who also has been charged, knew enough to dismember the victim and scatter her remains across northern Richland County, use the decedent's credit card in order to flee the state and then hide in a roadside camping area in a park located in Tennessee.

Sounds to me like he knew exactly what he had done.

BPD officers Rich Cintolo and Matt Morris

Racist Public Servants

Demetrick Pennie. I'd bet my next pension check that 95% of you have never heard of him.

 Remember that name.

Pennie is a seventeen-year veteran of law enforcement, serving as a Sergeant with the Dallas Police Department; he is also Executive Director of the Texas Fallen Officer Foundation. Sgt Pennie holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Criminal Justice as well as a Master's in Counseling and is working towards his Doctorate in Higher Education. He is also an adjunct professor for two major universities, specializing in the areas of cultural diversity, ethics and criminal justice. Pennie is also a veteran of the United States Army.

Recently Sgt. Pennie, who is a black man, has come under attack by a Texas judge and a Texas State Representative. Judge Andrea Martin of the 304th Circuit Court, via social media, compared Pennie to a clueless slave, eliciting a round of insults which included calling Pennie a 'coon', while Johnson compared Pennie to the Samuel L. Jackson character in the movie 'Django Unchained'.

Martin and Johnson are also black.

Why are they doing this?

It seems Demetrick Pennie, who grew up in inner city Houston and witnessed the slaying of his cousin mere days before her wedding, had the audacity to file a federal lawsuit against Black Lives Matter for inciting violence against police officers and advocating a national race war. Also named in his action are Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, Al Sharpton, Nation of Islam cult leader Louis Farrakhan and a host of others who have expressed support for BLM in the face of police shooting deaths involving black citizens.

Since filing the suit, Pennie has received death threats numerous times and has requested investigation of those threats by the FBI.

Here's what those named in the suit, along with Martin and Johnson, either choose to ignore or simply don't understand: the vast majority of police shootings, including that of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri and Tamir Rice in Cleveland, were found to be justified or that no criminal conduct on the part of police had occurred. Those decisions were made by grand jurors, citizens just like you and I.

The fact is, police have contact with the public millions of times every day in these United States. Some of these contacts involve persons who are violent, engaging in threatening conduct and/or are armed. Police officers sometimes are compelled to make split-second decisions concerning use of deadly force and in a very few instances the decisions are wrong, such as the recent Tulsa shooting of Terrence Crutcher, an unarmed black man shot by a white female police officer. That officer has been charged with manslaughter...and rightly so by all accounts of the incident I've read.

That case has yet to go to court.

Inciting or endorsing violence against police, no matter who is involved, is wrong. Conduct of police officers are governed by law, departmental rules and regulations and standard operating procedures. We are a nation founded on the principle of rule of law, where all citizens are presumed innocent until proven guilty. Sergeant Demetrick Pennie, using this country's justice system, filed suit against those who openly call for violence against police and those who support them. For that, he has been threatened with death and called vile names that would be deemed racist if Johnson or Martin, who are elected public servants, were white.

Can African Americans be racist against those who are of the same race?

Apparently not, especially if the target of racist comments are police officers who just happen to be black.

                                         Sgt. Pennie's website is here: http://sgtpennie.com/

Media Circus Over Clowns

'MANSFIELD: 100 block of East Cook Road, Mansfield — A 20-year-old man told police he received a threatening Facebook message from "Kenny the Klown" and he feared for his life. 

Police told him not to accept friend requests from clowns.'


That one made me laugh out loud.

Which is what clowns are supposed to do. They're supposed to engage in goofy antics while wearing silly-looking clothing, garish face paint and bright orange wigs. They're supposed to unload a dozen at a time from compact cars, ride tiny bicycles and pull yards and yards of knotted silk scarves from their mouths.

That's what they are supposed to do. Make people laugh.

Not so much recently, however. Now that the 'Pokemon Go' media frenzy has passed, the creepy clowns have taken their places in headlines across the country. From right here in north central Ohio to Greely, Colorado to Kern County, California to Rainbow City, Alabama, clowns and clown threats are disrupting schools and terrorizing communities. Police and school resources have been redirected to combat a wave of social media terroristic threats alleging violent, imminent attacks at schools and colleges.

And that is no laughing matter.

In Alabama, two adults and five juveniles face felony charges of making terroristic threats via social media directed at schools...while posing as internet clowns.

Roll Tide! I'm with them whole-heartedly. In this day and age, especially in light of recent school shootings, law enforcement and prosecutors need to act swiftly and justly in making an example of those that would perpetrate such acts, clowns or not. 

As for the rest of us? Get off those social media platforms and stop believing everything you see and read on them. The less exposure these clowns are given the sooner this fad will pass.

Another 'What Was He Thinking?' Episode

Never, ever dare police officers to take you to jail.

Because they will.

James Massengale found that out. The Islamorada, Florida homeless man decided he'd enter the waters of Library Beach Creek, joining two adult manatees swimming with two calves. Massengale touched the mammals repeatedly, which is a violation of state game laws, and bystanders called law enforcement to the scene after he told them the only way he was leaving was if "...somebody with a badge..." told him to. Massengale then proceeded to ride one of the animals in the water.

Enter the State of Florida Fish and Game officer who DID tell him to exit the creek. Massengale was in the process of being issued a criminal summons in lieu of arrest for the misdemeanor violation when he began taunting officers, telling them he wouldn't even show up for court.

When the man started chanting 'Take me to jail! Take me to jail!', he was arrested and then incarcerated in the Monroe County Jail for refusing to obey lawful orders of a law enforcement officer.

It will happen every time.

                                James Massengale Jr.

Amish and 'Rumspringa'; Out of Control

I don't know how I could have missed this news item a few weeks ago.

Holmes County, the heart of Amish country in Ohio, was the site of a massive police raid on a 'Rumspringa' party a few weeks ago; 73 arrests were made in all, including 35 juveniles, almost all for underage drinking.

According to Clarence White, who owns a large farm on County Rd 400 in Holmes County, there were "...probably 1,000..." teens and young adults at the annual Amish rite-of -passage event on his property, one he's rented out for the last twelve years. "The kids ordained me years ago when they first started having parties here as the 'Party Pope' ".

White estimated the crowd to be 1,000 attendees, not only from Ohio but also Michigan, Illinois, Pennsylvania and New York. He charges $20 a head for the event, making a profit of around $5,000 after costs for portable toilets, a stage, bands and large tents. 

'Rumspringa', or 'running around', is a period where Amish adolescents are permitted to experience modern vices, such as drinking and/or smoking, and explore the world outside of traditional Amish virtues. 

True story: about 18 months before I retired from law enforcement, I was working midnights at Lexington PD with my usual partner, Capt. Troy Weaver. Now, if you don't know Troy, you're missing out on a very colorful personality, all-around good guy and solid family man. I'm thankful I was able to spend my last seven years behind a badge working with this man, a great cop who also happens to be a very funny guy.

Lexington is on a path from parts of Ohio's Amish regions to the city of Mansfield, a straight shot up US 42, right through the heart of Lexington. It wasn't unusual for Troy and I to witness a caravan of four or 5 Amish buggies rolling through the village on the way to Mansfield in the middle of the night. We had no idea where they were headed, but it would happen once or twice a month. Amish buggies weren't an uncommon sight.

One night Troy makes a car stop on US 42, on the southern outskirts of the village; he'd said "...with several occupants..." when he called in the stop, which meant I'd back him up.

I roll up to see the Captain talking to the driver; there were three other white males in the car also, so I approach the passenger side from the rear, peering inside as I move. All the windows are down and cigarette smoke is rolling out. I could also smell the distinct aroma of beer.

Troy asks me to get identification from the two right side front/rear passengers. The young guy in the front seat, a lanky, dark-haired youth who looked like he was 15, stared up at me with apprehension.

"I need to see some I.D., partner", I said.

"I don't have any, sir", he replied.

Perturbed, I responded. "Look, you at least gotta have something with your name on it, pal. Hand it over."

He hesitated, then reached into a back pocket and withdrew his wallet. Young dude opens it and pulls out a piece of white notebook paper, on which he'd printed his name, and hands it to me.

"This is all I have."

I immediately saw red, feeling that this kid was messing with me. "You gotta be kidding! Out of the car, NOW."

The sandy-haired youth in the back seat interrupted.

"Oh, no, officer! Wait! That's really all he has! We're Amish!"

Whaaat??!

As it turned out, all four of these young guys were Amish; three were on their 'rumspringa', the driver already having left the sect and joining the world. He had an Ohio operator's license and lived in an apartment in Mt Gilead. His three passengers were friends who were staying with him.

The guy who'd given me the note paper with his name written on it got out of the car; he was about six-foot-three and kept his arms folded across his belt line, in kind of a hunched-over posture. Troy and I found open beers in the car, which the two back seat passengers were hiding behind them, and a session of summons-writing ensued.

Tall guy, who'd been placed in the back of Troy's SUV cruiser, had been hunched-over for a reason. As he's stepping out of the cruiser, he tells Captain Weaver, "Well, you might as well have this one, too", and pulls an opened can of beer out of the front of his pants.

He hadn't even spilled a drop.

The driver, who hadn't been drinking ( chauffeur? ) agreed to take custody of the other three miscreants after promising to take them straight to his apartment. As we watched them pull away into the night, Troy and I laughed uproariously...two cops alongside a dark road, bent over, guffawing at what we'd just experienced.

Troy explained what 'rumspringa' meant to Amish youth, because I had never heard of it. I responded:

"Well, they sure experienced the world tonight....drinking, smoking cigarettes....gettin' stopped by the po-lice...."

We started laughing all over again.

I sure do miss working nights with that man.

Our National Anthem Is Racist??!!

I listen to talk radio.

Constantly, whether I'm going somewhere in my GMC or working on a project in the garage, I'm listening to talk radio. I'm not a fan of Rush or Glenn...one's too pompous and the other is a crybaby. I listen to Scott Sloan in the morning and Bill Cunningham at noon on WLW 700 AM out of Cincy, then the Trivisonno show on Cleveland's WTAM 1100 at 3 PM. 

Often, as soon as I start my truck, the radio comes to life on the station I was listening  to when I last drove it. Such was the case last night, as I made an emergency run to Kroger's at 2030 hrs for the elbow macaroni my red-headed angel needed in order to make her son Cory's favorite: mac salad. I won't go into why she needed it at that time of the evening; suffice it to say it was my fault. I really should have looked at what I was throwing in the garage trash bin after cleaning up the kitchen.

So, as I'm turning onto Grace Street, I hear two men discussing our National Anthem, the Star-Spangled Banner, which was penned by Francis Scott Key during the Battle of Fort McHenry in the War of 1812. One of the men involved in the discussion is the host of WTAM's Sunday evening show, Mansfield Frazier.

I know that, traditionally, this station has slotted a talk show for black Clevelanders on Sunday nights...usually with a host sharing views closely allied to liberalism. I'd never heard of Mansfield Frazier, so I thought I'd listen for the few minutes it would take for the trip to Kroger's.

It lasted about twenty seconds. Then I shut the radio off.

Not because Mansfield Frazier is a black man. Not because of his liberal views, either.

No, these two were discussing how our National Anthem is racist. RACIST! I have no idea who the other man behind a mic was, nor do I care to. When I heard the remark "...if we can get rid of the Confederate flag, we can get rid of the racist National Anthem..." my blood boiled.

I did a little research this morning on this whole 'racist anthem' topic, discovering that, apparently in the third stanza ( third!! ), there is a line that reads '...No refuge could save the hireling and slave from the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave...'

It seems that, for a Liberal, the word 'slave' equals the word 'black'...which, during the War of 1812, was not the case. This war was fought over British Imperialism and their attempt at controlling the seas...and thus our new nation. 

The British had a nasty habit of hijacking American ships and forcing their crews into service aboard British warships, then known as 'impressment'. These sailors were, literally, 'slaves' to the British in defense of their Crown; the 'hirelings' were the thousands of mercenaries, mainly German Hessians, who fought against this nation.

The context in which Mr. Key used the word 'slave' we will never know, but remember that this was penned in 1814 during the war, 202 years ago. Some words and terms used at that time may not have the same meaning as they now do in 2016. 

Of course, in the 'politically correct' environment that now smothers America, the immediate answer is to do away with the Star-Spangled Banner rather than doing a little research and finding the real meaning of the stanza.

But that would involve another word, 'effort', which apparently neither Mr. Frazier nor his guest had put forth prior to the airing of their show.