The "R" Factor

 

The “R” Factor

 

This subject is of little or no value – but I find it interesting.  It investigates the letter “R”.  Why is that interesting?  It is, in my opinion, the most illusive and confusing letter in the alphabet. Some folks add it where it doesn’t belong and others leave it out where it should go.   Let’s look at some examples.

The first that comes to mind is the change of sound exemplified by none other than the famous star of the big screen – Elmer Fudd.  He changed the R to a W – as in Wabbit.  And no less than Barbara Walters had a similar problem with that pesky letter. 

Another example might be called the “add it on”.  Let us look at a typical New Jersey native.  If one asks this guy if he knew if a bus passed by – he might say “yes, I saw-r it.”   It seems that R is unnecessarily added.  President Kennedy was famous for an add it – with his famous pronunciation of Cube-r instead of Cuba.  When a New-Yorker tells you where he is from – He says “New Yoke”--  leaving out the R.  And if we visit Indiana for a while, we will find those folks will stick it in where it doesn’t belong as they “Warsh” their dishes.

 British people add a little R sound at the end of the word “No”.  (NO-r) Otherwise, they gloss over the R – and “Horses” become “Hosses”. The French put it on the word for black –Noir – or four – quatre --  but just glance over it.  There are lots of examples like that in France. The Spanish like to double the R sometimes and roll it around on their tongues.  Scotsmen do something similar – as do the Irish.  Germans swallow the R sound like they are gagging on it.

But back home – lets go down south where the R is smoothed over as though it isn’t there.  A New Orleans "Nolens" lady might call you “Shugah”’ A Texan will cross the “Rivah”.   A Floridian will warn you of a “Spidah” crawling around.  Let us go driving up to Maine and find a place to “Pak yah Cah”. 

I am certainly not an entomologist -- or it etymologist?  I think one is for words and one for bugs.   Well, that pesky “R” does bug me a lot sometimes.

See ya Lateh – Allegateh…

From the Heart of Olaf Hart…

History Repeats

 

 

History repeats?

I heard on the news this morning – I can not believe what I heard – In some cities – New York in particular – a few restaurants are closing their doors as ordered.  BUT – only in appearance.  They break the law.  They hide from authorities. They serve food and drinks to their customers -- behind closed doors – just trying to survive.  These places of ill repute are now known as – ready for this – SPEAK- EASY’S.

I do not remember the 1920’s, but I recall my parents talking about such places during that ridiculous period in this country’s history known as “Prohibition.”

Our government allowed laws to pass – largely at the  behest of a few old ladies known as the WCTU – Women’s Christian Temperance  Union – which admonished that drinking alcohol was a sin and should not be allowed in any form in the United States of America.  Their data was flawed.  Apparently, they dismissed the fact that Jesus drank wine regularly as a part of his Jewish celebrations.  And beer has been around for thousands of years.  And virtually every other major country on the planet has no problem with alcohol consumption.

Be that as it may – just 100 years ago, during the “roaring 20’s”, that law was broken on a regular basis and the law breakers -- in mass,  went to venues that served illegal liquor.  These clandestine places of sin required a secret word -- which was not a secret at all – and entry was gained with little or no problem.  They were seldom raided.  The password was usually a spoken phrase, such as “Charley sent me.”  Since you must “speak” in order to get in, and it was quite “easy” to enter -- they were called “speak-easy’s.”

Often, cheap homemade booze was served and just as often customers got sick and some died.  Not to mention the bootleggers and gangsters who took advantage of a ready buck.  Illegal booze was sold to these popular entertainment clubs.  Millions of dollars were made. There were gang murders over territories.  Federal agents sought out illegal stills and wine-makers and arrested and fined them.  And all of this because of a law that purported to make folks stop drinking beer, wine and whiskey like people do today without guilt, fear or shame.  This lasted for 12 long years, because a handful of pseudo-religious folks were attempting to foist their beliefs on us all.  This intention of the little-old-lady’s group never came close to their hoped-for result of temperance for all – quite the opposite. It really backfired – big time.  This ridiculous, unenforceable law was doomed to failure from its inception.

Fortunately, the powers-that-be came to their senses in 1933 and the 18^th amendment was repealed and we could now shop at our local liquor store and have our little cocktail or pop a beer or a glass of good wine at home at the end of a day.  Or we could go out and have a drink or two during our meal at our favorite eatery -- all of this sinful pleasure, without fear of being arrested. 

Now we have the modern day, 20’s version of prohibition in some parts of our country, don’t we?  Someone thinks we don’t have the good sense or intelligence to make up our own minds about what is safe and how to deal with it.  We can’t think for ourselves.  We must be looked after.

And so – we do what our grandparents did – we break the law – we become criminals – we dare to go out to dinner at a SPEAK-EASY.  It is the “roaring 20’s once again.  Don’t tell me history doesn’t repeat itself….

From the heart of Olaf Hart….

CATHARSIS

 

Catharsis?  Well -- something is prompting me to write about my most embarrassing moments.  Maybe I just need to talk about it. So here are a couple:

Don’t Judge a Book By It’s Cover

I don’t fly a lot.  But I did fly several times while I was in the Air Force Band.  We usually flew from base to base in those old “Goony Birds.”  The Air Force called them C 47’s.  They were drafty and tinny and maybe that educated me on the physics of an object in flight.  I knew that when some rough weather came our way, those old planes would toss and turn like a cork in the ocean – but  we never fell out of the sky or even were in jeopardy.  That is just how they bounced around.  One just got used to it.

Which leads me to my first most embarrassing moment.

I was flying to Florida.  I had the window seat.  Belted down in the center seat was a short little man, who seemed to be alarmed at the rough weather we were encountering over the Florida coast.  Now, I don’t often converse with fellow passengers  –  it is just not my nature.  But this guy, as he crouched down into his seat, trying to read his book,  seemed to be concerned with the bouncing around we were experiencing.  So, I drew upon my great expertise – having flown years  ago on those old Air Force airplanes – and proceeded to calm down his apparent fears of flying in rough weather.  I carefully explained  that airplanes are much like boats.  “They bounce around when the water has some rough waves.  This aircraft is hitting some rough waves of air.  But it will be just fine.  It is made to bounce around like this,  just like the boat,” I explained in great detail to this obviously nervous traveler.

 

The air eventually smoothed out and I thought I needed to continue with our new found friendship and make dure he survived.  So, I turned to him and, after going through the preliminaries of names etc.  I said, “Where are you from?”

“Miami,” he answered.

“What do you do?”

“I am a meteorologist.”

“Oh my God,” I said, “I feel really stupid giving you all that stuff about why airplanes bounce around.  Wy didn’t’ you tell me?”

“You were doing such a good job,” He chuckled.

As though my foot wasn’t already completely into my mouth, I just had to continue.  “I feel pretty stupid right now.  But what do you do?  Are you a weatherman on TV?” 

“No,” He said as he laid his book on his lap, “I fly into hurricanes.”

Never judge a book by it’s cover….

 

One to Nothing – Indians

I have lived a great deal of my life in the Southwest.  I pride myself on having great knowledge of the Indian culture.  At least that is how I felt.  This was, of course, an exaggeration.  But, when my daughters came visiting, I wanted to show off a bit. We made a trip into the Arizona mountains and stopped by a tent beside the road where Indian jewelry was being sold.  As we perused the various pieces, I decided to check on a pair of earrings for my wife, who was not with us.  It was to be a surprise.  I decided on a pair of Kokopelli earrings.  “This old symbol  represents  reproduction,”  I pedantically explained to my daughters  --  showing them my great knowledge of these Native American things.

 It is typical for customers of these roadside venues to try and barter for a better price.  Since I was such an authority on the Indian culture, I smugly slipped this valuable information to my daughters, and proceeded to show them by example.  I picked over the Kokopelli’s and finally selected a nice pair. 

Since I was so sure of myself and my knowledge of the various tribes in the area, I was anxious to show off this vast knowledge.  I, therefore, stepped up and was about to show my knowledge of Indian lore and my great bargaining abilities. 

Behind the table were three Indian women.  One of the three was quite cute, rather young and had on jeans,  a designer jeans jacket  and a concho belt.  She wore small rimless glasses.  Her black hair was neatly, professionally done.   Before I began my bargaining spiel, I asked, with great authority and stupidity, “Which tribe are you?”

“Navaho,”  She answered, rather curtly as though it was a dumb tourist question.  Which it was.

Then came my most embarrassing moment.   I should have quit while I was ahead.  I didn’t. “You don’t look like a Navaho,” I spoke before I got my mouth coordinated with my brain

Without missing a heartbeat this gorgeous Indian girl instantly retorted back to me, peering over her rimless glasses and in perfect American English,  “And just what does a Navaho look like?”   She paused, as though waiting for an answer that would not come.  It didn’t.

I suddently needed to look at my feet .  I asked the price of the Kokopelli earrings, she said “Twenty dollars.” Without allowing any more time to pass than necessary, I gave her a twenty dollar bill.  I would have paid whatever she said.  I grabbed my Kokopelli’s and slinked away from  the tent as fast as I could.  My daughters were giggling in the background.

Indian girl wins -- one to zero…..

What hath Alexander Graham Bell wrought?

I remember so  well  -- about 80 years ago, sitting in a room in a house in Darlington, Indiana visiting with my grandmother, Nellie Weliever.  She was "Central" --  the telephone operator.  The little switchboard was in someone’s house.  There was a bathroom and bed there so the operator could rest at night – she was often on call all night – but things closed down after 10 or so unless there was an emergency.  My Grandmother could talk to me, sitting beside her,  with interrupted sentences as she answered the incoming calls and pulled cords and plugged them into holes and routed them -- usually by name instead of number. It went something like this --  “Tomorrow is Sunday and --   “Yes Mary.  Here’s the drugstore,”  and we are having fried chicken” – “ Charley, that line is busy.  Try again later.  – How does that sound to you?” She could talk to two people at once and never miss a beat with either of us.

Those old crank phones were the first general popular use of the new telephone.  Then, in larger towns, we had the operator system with a girl – no guys back then – sitting with a row of other girls in a big room.  They were much less personal as they efficiently routed calls around towns all over the country.  One would lift the receiver and wait for the word “operator”.  You gave the number and your call was quickly sent to the proper place.  This gave rise to the “party line”, with W’s and J’s to delineate the difference.  The limited number of  private lines were reserved for special folks – like policemen and firemen and politicians.

Next were the “dial” phones, which was a miraculous achievement.  Now one could do one’s own connecting to whomever they choose to call.  No operator needed.  That is, all except long distance.  That required an operator. And that required an extra charge – sometimes a fairly large amount.  The charge was usually per minute after the first three minutes.

I distinctly recall the first “direct dial” call I made in the early 60's.  I could not believe I could pick up my phone in south Texas and call folks in Indiana by just dialing an “area code.” No operator.  Automatic charge. What  progress!  It still works, today!

Yes,  I have seen the survival of the fittest in the evolution from those crank phones all the way to the cell phones of today.  So what? So, what has it come to today?  Robo Calls – that’s what.  It’s Those pesky calls we all get several times every day – at all hours and from who knows from where. And the number duly recorded on our phone screen is from where?  Maybe next door?  -- certainly in our local area – right?  Wrong.  It is called "spoofing". I have had a call from my own phone number.  Now how does that work?  Sometimes I call back the number to see where it came from.  It is either a non working number or someone who did not call me and thinks I am stupid for asking if they did.  And sometimes I miss or hang up on a legitimate or important call, thinking it is a robo call.  That is not good.

In the unlikely event that I do press 1 as directed to get a zero rate on my credit card – or a swinging deal on health insurance – I get “This is John Smith”, which comes out like “Yon Smeet” in an East Indian or Hispanic  dialect.  And if I question his motives or ask silly questions, sometimes  I get a “F*** you”, over and over until he gets it out of his system and hangs up on me. In the past, I loved to play with these folks, but I am tired of playing with them and I no longer play their game.  It is no longer fun and is getting serious now.

So why am I concerned about these calls?  First of all,  they are a scam. They are from a foreign country. And, they take up my time and use up my phone minutes and usually come at a bad time and try to sell me something I do not want or need.  But more important, they seem to have the computer program to grab anyone’s phone number at random with no consequences.  If they can do that, maybe they get to our private information or bank accounts?  The “do not call” list is useless and does no good at all.  They sometimes admonish us to press 2 and they will not call again – That is BS! They are making us all grouchy when the phone rings.  I find myself barking at everyone who calls – even friends or the drug store or the Doctor’s office and having to apologize.  I have become unfriendly on the phone.  It really has gotten to a ridiculous level and needs to be addressed.

The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) is in charge of phone companies and radio/TV station licenses.  In the years I was a broadcaster, the FCC was GOD!  They would ride herd on us like an old mother hen.  We all had to study, take a test and get an FCC license.  We must never fail to read our transmitters every half hour, or give our station call letters and location on the hour.  Our broadcast logs were kept in perfect order.  Why?  Because the FCC folks might come to town and rent a motel and listen to the radio station for a day or two, then come to the station unannounced and look over your shoulder and check on all these entries – and they better be up-to-date and your logs match up with what they heard or there was hell to pay and one might lose one’s job pretty quickly. A serious infraction could lose the station's license.

So that begs the question – why does this fussy, demanding FCC not crack down on these robo calls that use telephones illegally?  I actually wrote to the FCC and asked that question.  I have received no response.  I cannot believe that there is no way to stop these calls.  I have heard they are "working on it". As we are wont to say “If we can fly to the moon, why can’t we stop robo calls?

From the heart of Olaf Hart

Cousin Bernie

My cousin Bernie died a couple of days ago.  It brings up some funny memories of the movie in which "Bernie" had died and was hauled around by friends, as though he was alive.  I think Bernie would have laughed at that – because Bernie laughed at many things.  When he laughed, he laughed all over his body.  He loved to laugh. His laughter was contagious.

I have known Bernie – or Bud , as he was called – since he was born – and that was probably more than 80 years ago.  Bud was not one to stick strictly to the facts sometimes.  (That trait was given to him by his father – most of us agree – who spent his entire adult life as a sailor; serving all during WW II in the heat of battle sailing around the world aboard a ship).  But it matters not which genes this trait might have come from – we all agreed that Bernie liked to expand the truth just a bit in order to make a good story even better. He loved a good a good story.  Nothing wrong with that – we all do that, a bit, don’t we?  I do.

But Bud had a serious side.  He was deeply religious.  I know not which brand to which he subscribed, but which ever it was, he believed in it faithfully and completely.  He wrote religious books for children and religious books for adults. He conducted an on line bible study for many years and had quite a following, I am told.

In the face of a not so happy life some years ago, he happily shared his positive  beliefs with others.  His first wife and a child had died young.  His sister died young. But he moved on and married Donna and had a son, both of whom he adored.  But his faith carried him on in his life until a couple of days ago.

Those who know me know that I am not a religious person. I have my own thoughts and beliefs which did not match Bernie’s.  We talked about this some years ago and agreed to leave that to ourselves.  But I did not criticize him nor he me.  Here are my thoughts about one’s beliefs.  What ever one may believe about religion is what they mandate will take place.  Bernard Albertson devoutly believed he needed to teach others about his beliefs and did so.  He believed he would go to heaven after death – And so it matters not what I think -- he will.  Have a safe and swift journey to heaven, cousin Bernie….  from the heart of Olaf Hart

Lest We Forget

I wonder if those who recalled Lincoln’s assassination remembered exactly where they were when they heard about it?  Or what about the surrender of the Alamo to Santa Anna?  I would wager they did recall.  “Remember the Alamo.”  That battle call still exists. Those world-shattering events seem to burn their memories into our brains and into posterity, don’t they?

Where were you when Kennedy’s assassination happened in Dallas?  I remember precisely.  I was shopping in a super market in Bloomington, Indiana.  I was a post grad student at IU and had a family to feed, so I was shopping for some groceries.  The PA system was playing music from an FM radio station for some background music.  The announcer broke into the music and said, “here is a bulletin.  President Kennedy has been shot in Dallas.  More details as we get them.” I ran home as quickly as I could, turned on the TV and watched it for two days non-stop.  The University was closed and I and the rest of the world watched in disbelief.  I will never forget.

Now the obvious question – where were you and what were you doing on September 11, 2001 at about 9 AM?  I was living in West Palm Beach with Jeri at her town house.  I typically watched the business news on CNBC  -- which was before Fox Business Channel came into being.  I was standing in the bedroom, having just returned from walking Jeri to her job a short distance away and doing my morning jog as I came back home.  The reporter was relating the latest financial news when his attention was diverted by a colleague.  He was momentarily frustrated by the diversion, but quickly got his news face back on and told his audience, “A small airplane has apparently hit the twin towers here in lower Manhattan.  We will have more details shortly.”  Then within a very few seconds, he returned to the air and corrected himself – telling me and his vast audience that it was not a small plane but an airliner.   I knew this was really important, so  I immediately called the doctor’s office where Jeri worked and where the break-room had a small TV.  I gave her the quick version of the story and told her to turn on the TV. That was the beginning of hours of coverage that we all watched non-stop.  The second air liner into the towers – then a third at the Pentagon and forth headed to the White House but heroically diverted and taken over and brought down by its passengers  in open country in PA.  That was a frightening time, embedded into our memories forever.  And today is the anniversary of that terrible day in our history.

I wonder if those back in Lincoln’s day mocked and tried to under play the seriousness of his death?  Probably.  That was nearly 150 years ago.  Maybe enough time has passed that we can joke about weather Mrs. Lincoln enjoyed the play.  But our tragedy, the death of the twin towers by Muslim extremists, is only 18 years old.  There is no justification for minimizing its importance and seriousness.  Those who would fluff it away are either totally misinformed or some sort of young radical bigot with an agenda,  who has no business living in this country and enjoying its fruits and great opportunities.  That terrible morning in 2001, 18 years ago will never leave my memory.  And its cowardly perpetrators will go down as the worst mankind has to offer.  To forget is to drop our defense.  To forget is to stop thinking about all the hundreds of innocent folks who burned like a roasted chicken left on the grill too long – and all the firefighters and cops and citizens who gave their lives trying to rescue people.

I am not a flag waver.  Although I am very patriotic, I do not normally write about such stuff.  But – like General Eisenhower commanded after rescuing the Jews and others from the concentration camps after WW II – He told the world that he ordered pictures and films made for posterity so this would never happen again and no one would ever forget and say it didn’t happen.  I would say the same about 9/11.  It did happen and it was awful.  Let us never forget.

From the heart of Olaf Hart………

Marble marbles

It all started with an e mail from my old Air Force buddy – Paul Crawford -- who lives in Colorado.  He is retired, just like me.  We sometimes have time on our hands and began to dream up things to occupy our minds.  Well, somehow the story of a little town in the Colorado mountains got to be the subject of our electronic conversation.  The town is called “Marble.”  It has that name because in its heyday it quarried marble stone slabs from its hills and made a nice profit.  The Lincoln Memorial is made from Marble quarried marble.  But, it seems, the marble business was not able to keep the little town going and it was headed for ghosthood . 

And so, more recently, the town was revitalized with the purchase of the marble quarry.  So, there is now an influx of funds and the modernization of the machinery and the resurgence of its industry – the sale of marble.   Marble even boasts workshops in sculpting, nowadays.  Things are really moving in this little Colorado mountain town.

This little factoid prompted all sorts of inquiries – the looking up of web sites – the reading of articles -- all in the quest of more information about marble.  This often happens when  -- in the face of boredom – one has an active and intelligent mind and one has too much time in a given day on one’s hands.

Well – one of us – I don’t remember just which one – happened to ask the obvious question – “Are marbles made of marble?”  And that opened the flood gates.  We had to know more about marble and marbles.

We concluded that marbles are a fraud.  They are not made of marble at all – but are probably glass – poured into a mold with some colors added and – bingo – marbles that look like marble.    

Now Paul and I could not leave that factoid alone.  We needed to know more about those little critters.  Back to the computer.  Websites were sought – articles were read and memories were dug into.  As I recall from my life in rural Indiana – growing up in a small town – at some age, all little boys had in their possession, their bag of marbles, probably hooked to his belt and guarded with his life.  This collection consisted of quite a number of small “playing” marbles.  Some, I recall, were called “aggies” and were more valuable. These were used to play the game – they were expendable.  But also in the bag was at least one or more “shooters.”  These were prized possessions and were sometimes traded with friends like gold coins.  They were much larger and used to shoot at the other guy’s marbles during the game.  The play commenced after a circle was drawn in the dirt with a stick and marbles were put in the circle.  The shooter was flipped with the knuckles down on the ground – the object being to knock the opponent’s marbles out of the ring with one shot. Once that was done – the marbles were yours.  The rules were mostly made up on the spot but that is the gist.

I don’t actually recall my age when this game was played – but certainly elementary school.  I don’t remember any girls playing, so this was, doubtless,  during the “pre girl” stage in a young boy’s life.  Boys played marbles. Girls played “Jacks.”

Paul and I learned, through our research, that a version of this game was played many centuries ago in biblical times.  Marbles were made of clay, or alabaster and even fine jewels.  The question is – do boys play marbles these days?  I doubt it.  This is actually a gambling game.  There are losers in this game and we can’t have that can we?  I don’t know what happened to my marble bag.  I guess I just lost my marbles…

From the heart of Olaf Hart ….

The Loaf of bread rule

When I was a lad --back in the 40's -- my dad was a factory worker.  He worked for a regular hourly wage -- probably less than a dollar an hour.  He was occasionally given a small raise -- usually five or ten cents an hour. But when he came home and announced that he had been given a raise, he followed up this good news with "Now the price of a loaf of bread will go up, you just watch."  And sure enough, that is exactly what happened.  

I have been watching the Democratic presidential debates with some interest, some entertainment and some trepidation.  They all have offered lots of free stuff -- lots and lots of free stuff -- with no apparent way to pay for it.  When pinned down, they all agree that the way to foot the bill for all this good stuff is to tax the "big corporations and the wealthy folks."  They assure us that middle class and poor people will not be affected with this cost of these freebies.  "Taxes will pay for it," they say.

Since I am retired and on social security (which, by the way I paid for over my lifetime of working), I am very much aware of the cost of things like groceries and gas and things I need to exist and stay alive.  Living in Florida, I shop for food mostly at Publix Supermarkets.  From my observation, which is not at all scientific, but fairly reliable, my grocery bill has gone from around $50 per shopping day , to around $70  for the same amount of food and stuff one buys at a grocery store.  A box of Publix  brand cereal was $1.64 a few weeks ago, is now $1.94.  So what is my point?  When faced with an additional expense -- whether it is a tax or an increase in wholesale cost -- Publix will add it to their price of cereal and everything else they sell.  And so will General Motors or Toyota or a big Pharma or -- you name it.  And so did the little grocery story where my dad bought his loaf of bread way back in the 40's.  Take a look at your cell phone bill.  Why do we  have all those extra little  charges added on each month?  Verizon is certainly not paying for taxes or fees or anything else they are charged -- you are!  The consumer always eventually pays. That is just the way the economic and business world works and always has. 

I am reminded of the story of how economics works in the mind of a five-year-old.  When told she could not have a certain item she wanted, the little girl was admonished by her father that he just could not afford that little trinket because he did not have enough money.  Whereupon the little girl told him to go to that machine at the bank and get some money.  She told him that machine had plenty of money.  All he needed to do was get some of it. And so I ask you.  Do these Socialistic  Democrats think there is such a machine?   I think they do. 

 From the heart of Olaf Hart

The REAL Heroes

It is good to see and hear about some of our old WW II heroes. We should never forget them. I just saw an article about the "Flying Tigers".  What a bunch of heroes they were.  I was not very old when WW II began and ended.  I was about 7 when Japan bombed Hawaii and Pearl Harbor and plunged us into war.  I do remember that famous announcement made on the radio (no TV back then) in December 1941.  And I saw the war come and finally end with those two big bombs dropped on Japan.  But something that grabbed my attention recently was the news item that the last living Doolittle raider died in his late 90's.

Jimmy Doolittle was the leader of a group of pilots and crews that volunteered to fly B-25 bombers on a raid on Tokyo long before the war was over.  Now let me explain.  These B-25 bombers were NOT jets.  They were old prop driven airplanes.  And these bombs were not little things.  They were tons and tons of weight inside these bombers.  Taking off on solid ground was quite a task.  These old work horses had two engines, each about the size of a VW beetle and so loud one could not hear their fellow passengers shouting at the top of his voice.  Everyone had to wear head sets. But they were powerful engines.  They had to be.

I had the pleasure(?) of riding in a few of these B-25's several times, during my tour of duty in the USAF.  No, I was not a pilot, nor an engineer, nor any part of the crew.  I was just a passenger.  Our AF Band flew around to various venues to entertain the troops and participate in local parades, etc.  And we had to get there somehow.  So the AF sometimes flew us in these old relics just to keep them in working order and give the pilots something to do and get some flying time for their records.  The point is -- I had some experience flying in  these little loud-mouthed, B-25, monsters.

But, back to Jimmy Doolittle and the raiders (sounds like a rock group).  I mentioned that they were barely able to take off on solid ground.  But there wasn't much solid ground close to Japan that we could use.  And with such a heavy load of bombs, it took lots of fuel and they needed to have enough fuel left to get back.  So -- how about a floating runway, closer to Japan, in the Pacific Ocean?  How about an aircraft carrier?  Great idea.  Just take off with a really short runway with a load of explosives in the belly; and have this little short runway bobbing up and down with the waves.  If that works, how about the return home to that carrier?  Now we have this airplane designed to have a nice, flat solid. long runway to land on -- but now that runway is the size of a postage stamp, bobbing along, twisting and turning down below.  And you need to hit it just exactly right and then stop on a dime just to stay dry and get back alive and well.  That was the impossible task.

Well, that did not stop Jimmy Doolittle and his raiders.  They did all this.  And some even had been hit over Japan  with anti aircraft fire and had part of their B-25 bomber missing and not working real well.  But they did the impossible, day after day. These pilots and crews were among some of the great WW II heroes. Not all of them made it back.  But they were determined to drop those bombs on the enemy, and deplete their resources enough that when we did finally get those two big bombs ready to drop and eventually end a war that Japan swore they would never surrender;  the way was cleared by these raiders.  And the last of these heroes is now gone. Now -- RIP -- finally --  every single one of you famous Doolittle Raiders.  We owe you...

From the heart of Olaf Hart

Where do we go from here?

This morning I was watching the news on TV and something struck me, and prompted me to write this blog.  In the Broadcast business, we call this a tease.  Stay with me -- I will reveal this mystery in a few paragraphs.

Back in 1439, a guy named Gutenberg invented a device which completely turned the world upside down.  It changed the way we communicated forever.  His device was -- the printing press.  He used it to print bibles -- lots of bibles ---- much to the chagrin of the church.  They didn't want bibles printed because the general public could begin to read for themselves and the priests would be out of a job.  It was thought that bibles in the hands of the ignorant, downtrodden, would cause a revolution in the church's liturgy and the church would lose control.  But -- That is the subject of another blog.  Suffice it to say this printing press that Gutenberg invented, started something really, really big.

As time went on, the printing press was improved upon and it became quite easy to duplicate hundreds and even thousands of posters and messages to the public.  Newspapers came about pretty quickly, and we all know what the effects of that was.  News was disseminated  -- these printing presses were improved -- movable type --  mechanical lino-type setters -- the web press which could whip out thick newspapers in a flash  Advertisers jumped on board real fast.  As time went on -- huge improvements happened -- computerized printing and digital photographs'  We've seen it all.

Gutenberg's little invention started a revolution in dispensing information, unlike the world had ever seen.  And it is still going.  Even though I spent most of my career in the broadcasting business (we broadcasters like to pretend that newspapers are the scourge of the earth) -- The printed page still has its important place in today's news and advertising world.  We still call all the news organizations "The Press," don't we?

So, what is this big deal I saw on TV this morning? ....  

They are going to "print" an entire rocket ship on several gigantic printing presses!  That is right -- no joke.  The latest technology is 3-D printing of large objects -- like rocket ships.  They have been doing this with small objects for a while.  And printed circuits have been around for years.  But Rocket ships?  I can't wait to see what they are going to print next.  Maybe I will order five or nine  copies of  -- ME -- with good eyes and without the sore muscles and wrinkled skin and high BP, of course.  Hey -- don't laugh -- I never thought they would print a rocket ship -- did you?

Ole Gutenberg is somewhere out there -- smiling  -- I'll bet.

From the heart of Olaf Hart ......

Back to School

Why am I doing this?  I don't know.  Good question.  I guess I wanted to do two things.  First, to keep my brain working.  And second, to learn a couple or three new things in my old age.

What am I doing?  I have taken advantage of an offer, from the VA, to those of us who are legally blind -- to take online courses for free at the Hadley School for the Blind -- headquartered in a Chicago suburb.  I am taking a course in fiction writing in literature.  It is rather taxing for this old brain.  But I am loving it.

But that is not the subject of this blog.  Having to replenish my gray matter only serves to bring back lots of long ago memories of high school and college.  What I am thinking is -- there is no reason for students not to make good grades nowadays; to gather information, research it and write it and submit it to a teacher on time, well thought out and neatly printed.  You have all the tools.

I recall, when I was a senior in high school -- we were required to write an autobiography.  I still have mine stored away on a shelf in my little office.  I look at it now and then.  I am amazed and a little ashamed at my lack of creativity and neatness.  But then, I say to myself, I was only about 16 or so and had little help writing about this little slice of my early life.  It is written in cursive (longhand) and with a fountain pen (no ball points back then).  There was no typewriter available in my family.  The lines are crooked and the language is a bit sophomorish.  I did use a clever title, I think.  "The Life That Jack Built."  That was pretty good.  I used lots of pictures.  That took up lots of space, making it a bit thicker with more pages.  One thing I can take pride in -- I created this assignment all by myself. No help from anyone. Good or bad -- it was all mine.

There were assignments in college which required some research.  I trotted off to the library and scanned the encyclopedia Britannica or Americana and translated it's esoteric little Times Roman type -- pencil in hand  -- notebook at the ready -- and copied only what I needed to get this paper finished.  By this time, I had available a typewriter -- an old Underwood, I recall.  However -- even though I knew how to bang away at the keys by touch (which I later used, probably, more than any other class I took in high school -- right now, for example) -- I was not a perfect typist.  What does that mean?  It causes many really filthy words to come out of one's mouth.  Because, you see, with each typo, one had to start all over.  There was no room for mistakes.  Thus the required profanity.  But with careful concentration,  perfection was eventually achieved!  

What am I getting at?  Kids --you have no excuses.  The world of computers and word processors and calculators is there for you.  No more encyclopedias -- no more typewriters -- make a mistake -- fix it immediately -- rearrange a sentence -- no problem -- need some information about the dynasties in China or the Roman empire -- check your phone, ipad or computer -- print it out.  You have the educational world by the tail -- so no excuses.

OK  so I am envious.  I wish I could have had these wonderful things back then.  And, yes, I am using all these devices in my little Hadley course.  And I love it! I wouldn't change a thing. But please don't forget how to put your calculators away and add numbers in your head. Or make change for $1.53 when someone gives you two bucks.  Radio and TV folks -- do a live commercial now and then -- it makes your brain work overtime when it goes out at 186,000 miles per second -- that is seven times around this earth of ours every second -- there is no getting it back -- it's gone --  no redo.  Perfection is required.

So what is my message?  Kiddos -- put down your machines once in a while -- don't let your brains atrophy  -- put yourself in a little mental jeopardy once in a while -- it gives you a helluva rush.

From the heart of Olaf Hart .....

The Fishermen

Hernando Beach, Florida?  Never heard of it?  Well, let me tell you.  It is a little fishing town on the gulf just west of Wickee Wachee.  Never heard of that either?  Don't be ashamed.  I think that is just OK with the folks there. They don't like crowds much.

Well, that is where we gathered on that beautiful Florida morning -- ready to go catch some fish.
We were to board the "Thunder."  That is a small "Party" boat which will hold about twenty or so folks.  We know it is well equipped with enough fishing poles for everyone and enough life jackets stowed away so they could be snatched if needed -- but we knew they would never be needed -- and they were not.  Captain Cruz and his Mates ( there were two)  had the boat ready for us and we began to board.  Pelicans were squating along the way, waiting for what might be some fish cleanings later today. They were not disturbed by our presents.  One could probably pet them on the head like a pet dachshund dog, which they sort of resembled..  

It took a while.  Each man, with his backpack and cooler,  scooted along, down the precipitous narrow pier toward the boat -- then up a couple of steps and then down a couple of steps-- hands holding our arms --  by the two mates and the Captain -- and, finally, into the boat.  What a relief! We are not accustomed to getting into a boat. But -- We made it!

It is cool in Florida on this morning.  This was Halloween day, October 31st.  But the sun, which had been above the Eastern horizon and in a few minutes, was blazing and we knew we would not need our jackets for long.  But they felt good now. 

Finally -- we were all aboard and the motors were started and the boat began to chug out of the slip with it's dual Diesels stirring up the water.  What a smooth ride out through the beautiful and expensive mansions that lined the waterways, out through the canals.  That took about half an hour, at a slow speed,  in the glassy smooth water.  The Gulf of Mexico spread out ahead.  Markers of red and green gave the Captain his exact location, though he scarcely needed it.  He had been this way hundreds of times.  Then the open waters of the Gulf gave us some small waves and we heard the diesels rev up and the boat settled into a bow up smooth trim and  we were on our way to where the fish were just waiting for us.  

About two hours after we left the boat dock, were had long since left sight of land.  It was time to do what we came here to do.  It was time to fish.  Finally the  anchor was lowered and snugged in, the engines came to a halt and the silence was bliss.  The poles had been distributed and the bait had been issued and any instructions had been given, we got to our place along the deck and we were ready to catch the biggest fish in history.  Right?

We were told that there would be a prize for the biggest fish.  There would be another prize for the drawing (we each had a ticket with a number) for some give-away's.  All were in a festive mood.  It was about 10 AM.  Life was good and we all were a bunch of happy guys, ready to fish.

What a joy on this Fall day in Florida.  Fish were caught and men were shouting for help with their catches.  Mates were on the spot to help land and stow the keepers.  Men were shouting at each other across the boat.  The swells were rocking the boat back and forth.  Rocko shouted, in his New York dialect, "Whose rockin' da  boat ovah dare?  Cut it out."  Everyone laughed.  Doug was getting help from his grandson who came along with hm.  Willie yelled at the mate to help him with his catch. All of us were having a great time and the weather was perfect.  We were catching Grouper and Red Snapper and Grunts and lots of other fish I never heard of.  As the fishing got scarce, Captain Cruz moved us from place to place to renew the prospects.  Lines got tangled and hooks got stuck on the bottom but mates were there to help us out.  Time was on a fast track.  We grabbed our sandwiches and drinks as we moved from place to place, waiting for those diesels to stop so we could drop our lines once again with renewed optimism.  This time we would get the big one.  Our legs and arms were tired but that didn't matter -- we fished on, waiting for that nibble and waiting for the big one to grab our bait.

Well, four o'clock was approaching and it was time to pull in the lines and call it a day.  Four hours flew by in the now hot Florida sunshine about 30 or so miles out in the Gulf of Mexico. The diesels fired up one last time and we were on our way back to Hernando Beach.  The mate was busy cleaning the fish we caught and distributing it in plastic bags to the catchers.  The awards were given out, a group of happy fishermen were lounging around, hanging on as the boat swung back and forth as we sped along in the smooth swells of the Gulf.  Most of us had caught at least a couple of fish.  We all had a great time.  We met new guys.  We had some good conversation.  We had plenty of time to talk on the way out and back.  We were tired but happy.  It was a good day.  We were helped back onto the dock, put our feet on solid land and said our good by's and agreed to do it again some day.  The sun was lowering itself into the western sky.  What a day!

Oh -- I failed to tell you one last thing.....  We are all blind.  We are all blinded veterans.  Most of us could not see what we caught -- or where we were -- or where we had been -- or where we were going.   But that did not matter to us.  We were all just a bunch of guys, fishing and having a great time.

From the heart of Olaf Hart .......

Old time radio -- name dropper

No I wouldn't wish to go back to those days of old time radio broadcasts because you just can't pick and pluck out a bit of time in history without getting the whole deal.  I don't want to give up my cell phone or big screen TV and you wouldn't either.  But it is fun to reminisce and live those good ole days in your mind, isn't it?

Now the name dropping. Advanced Radio broadcasting class at Indiana State about the mid 50's or so. Our class was responsible for a daily radio show which was broadcast live on WBOW in Terre Haute.  It was a young kids show designed for after school listening.  Our class wrote all the scripts and performed the voices and did all the sound effects.  We were the whole show.  The characters included the Story Princess who set the stage for the adventures of all the animals in the woods.  There was Judge Owl who was the voice of reason and the main character. Then we created characters as we needed them for the story. Sammy Squirrel, Chippy Chipmonk, Rudy Rabbit and numerous others as long as the name was alliterate (same letter for each name). Then there was Sniffy Skunk who was the obligatory minority and often left out of the group for obvious reasons -- they thought he smelled bad but he really didn't.  Sniffy was often the hero and probably represented either an African american or Mexican american or who knows what else. The others were used according to their characteristics.  It made for some interesting ideas and scripts.

The class was small and very close and amiable. We set about each day to write a new script and rehearse and then wait for the station to, "Take you now to the Indiana State campus for the Story Princess"  And we were live -- no screw ups to retake -- no sir -- it was live radio.  

I frequently got the job of Judge Owl because of my deeper voice which I deepened even more for the part.  Jerry Baker (of Pacers sports and Indy 500 fame) shared that with me.  But probably our most famous celebrity was often the Story Princes.  She was a young lady named Marvella Bayh -- recently married to a lawyer in Terre Haute called Birch Bayh.  During these classes Marvella kept us up to date about Birch --- announcing his upcoming run for the U S Senate.  She also surprised us all one day when she announced she and Birch were going to have a baby -- we all suspected as much when she began to gain a little weight in the wrong place.  She said if it was a boy (we didn't know back then until it was born) It would be called by Birch's middle name -- Evans -- Which later became Evan). His name was actually Birch Evans Bayh the 3rd.  Yes I sat in a radio class years ago next to unborn Evan Bayh -- Governor and Senator from the Hoosier state.

But the point of this blog is not the name dropping -- it is the triggering of the imagination of those little kids who waited each day for their own little make-believe world of animals with which they could identify through their imagination.  It made them think!  Each one had his or her idea of what was going on in this make believe world with no pictures to spoil their thoughts.  We adults had long had the same experience especially on Sunday afternoon with The Thin Man and Fibber McGee and Molly.  Or "Who knows what lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows"...  Boy that bring back some memories.  Let us not forget Lum 'n Abner and their neighborhood "Jot 'em down" store.  

And after school we ran home so we could listen to Superman, Captain Midnight, Tom Mix and lots of other 15 minute kids radio shows, which pitched breakfast cereals other kid stuff at us while we dreamed about solving crimes and the wild west. We could be right there --  just by listening -- we didn't need a picture, did we? And don't forget the special message that could only be known with the code-breaker ring that could only be gotten with a box top from Ralston cereal and a quarter.  I'll bet one of those rings would be worth a fortune to a collector now-a- days.

Mom listened to the radio while she worked -- Ma Perkins, Stella Dallas, Dr. Malone, Mary Nobel in Backstage Wife and scores more all afternoon, every day.  Our mother's imaginations were going full blast and they could work while they listened -- no pictures to get in the way.  They made up their own pictures in their minds.

Yes we have forgotten how a kid's imagination is so important. And ours were sparked every day by listening to that old radio. I wonder how many famous authors or screen writers or musicians got their childhood imaginations tickled from listening to radio dramas?  Have we lost something really valuable?  What can I say???  Let's hear it for old time radio.....

From the heart of Olaf Hart .....

Music??

It is a lazy and sometimes rainy day here in Florida on this Labor Day Monday.  It nudged me into turning off the news and turning on my often times neglected DTV music channels.  I picked a "Jazz Vocal" channel and was immediately lulled into a melancholy state of mind.  And that prompted me to write another blog and share my experience.

Man oh man the music I am hearing is so great!  And there isn't much any more like it these days.  Let me hasten to say -- my grandson, Ben Harris, is a hip hop singer and I respect his talents.  He can grab a mike and spit out impromptu rhymes and rhythms like the professional he is.  I don't know how he does it.  But that musical genre has little or no melody and always includes the obligatory heavy bass that seems to rattle and vibrate the windows of the cars I pass sometimes -- sending that boom boom out to the world so as to try and convince everyone that this is the only music they should be exposed to. Rather like an itinerant preacher on the corner talking to no one in particular trying to convert the entire populace.  Apparently the louder the music the better it is. Go figure!

But I digress. (as I often do) Today I am pleased to have listened to some REAL "oldies".  I mean back a bunch of years -- through the 30's 40's and 50's -- maybe even further back -- sung by the likes of such greats as Peggy Lee, Ella, Sinatra, Billy Eckstine, Bobby Darren, June Christy, Sara Vaughn and -- anybody remember Chet Baker? (Trumpet and singer) -- well if you are older 'n 70 -- you could add a bunch more.  What a treat -- I need to change channels more often.

First we hear a nice musical intro -- then a great performance -- with lyrics that we all remember and can understand and love and a rhythm we can snap our fingers to.  Sinatra sitting in a bar at quarter to 3 in the morning having "One for his baby and one more for the road.  These foolish things,  Old Black Magic" -- Peggy Lee lamenting  "Is that all there is?"  Bobby Darren warning us not to trust ole Mack the Knife. And such great talents as Nat King Cole, Billy Holiday, Ray Charles --  I could go on and on but that would fill a book.  There were so many.  What happened to those great talents and songwriters -- the likes of  -- Kern -- Cole Porter and the Gershwin brothers -- just to name a few -- I know they died -- but is there no one to take their place?  Maybe no one could take their place.

Of course I would not ever wish to  rid us of rock n roll (which -- by the way -- was a code phrase for having sex -- LOL we fooled the white preachers didn't we?)  and I certainly would not wish to deprive each generation of their special music.  But I would love to have -- just once-- some of those huge speakers in my car and when I pulled up beside a car with the windows down and the rear window vibrating so hard it might burst -- and roll down my windows and blast away my music with  -- lets see -- maybe Ella  and her skat-singing jazz version of  "How high the Moon" and I would blast  the offending boom box laden car with -- dooby dooby doo --as only Ella could sing it, just as loud as the other car -- and see what kind of reaction I might get before I gave the offender a one finger salute and got the hell out of there. Well -- I can dream can't I?

I guess I am really acting like a white haired old man in his 80's  reminiscing about the past.  Well I AM a white haired old man in his 80's and I loved this afternoon -- reminiscing about the past and listening to MY music, patting my foot, singing along, and enjoying the hell out of it. It makes me feel great.  I should do this again soon.

From the heart of Olaf Hart.........

My Bad

When I screw up -- I want to correct myself.  I gave the responsibility of calling TV a "Vast Wasteland" way back in the 60's to poor ole Spiro Agnew.  He had enough problems and didn't need any more.  The "Vast Wasteland" speech was by Newton Minnow -- who was the Chairman of the FCC (Federal Communications Commission) -- the body that rides shotgun over the broadcasting business in the U S.  He was appointed by John Kennedy and became a friend of Bobby Kennedy.  The speech was given to the NAB (National Association of Broadcasters) national convention.  That organization is a self appointed organization of radio and TV station owners who created a list of do's and don'ts for themselves -- many of which were not particularly followed and especially not these days. Their NAB rules included such things that the FCC had no control over -- for example -- number of commercials per hour and restrictions on commercial content etc.  These NAB members were supposed to follow their own guidelines.

Anyway -- Minnow's speech was written as a challenge to the broadcasters to watch their own TV stations for an entire day and night with no break.  He admonished that they would find a "vast wasteland" -- hoping they would create some more interesting  and informative programs to fill this wasteland.  The speech was not well received by the public.  They accused Minnow of being a snooty liberal.  Public opinion suggested that most folks were happy with what they saw on TV -- their soap operas and game shows -- and just wanted to be entertained and Minnow should mind his own business.

My oh My -- how things have changed since the advent of cable TV and the repeal of the multi ownership rule.  Watch out Cable TV -- here comes TV on your computer or phone and ipad.  Talk about a vast wasteland!!

From the heart of Olaf Hart ......

A vast wasteland?

I think it might have been Spiro Agnew who used the phrase about  television way back in the past.  He called it a "Vast Wasteland".  Maybe he had something.

OK OK it is election time in Florida!  That means lots (I mean LOTS) of political TV commercials.  But I am not talking about quantity -- it is the Quality I want to address.

Lest you are not familiar with my background -- I have a couple of degrees in Mass Communications and many years of work in the Radio/TV business.  Over a period of more than 30 years, I have recorded or read live thousands of commercials and hundreds of newscasts on both radio and TV.  I am not bragging -- Those are my credentials  for this critical blog.

When I began my career back in the late 50's --  there were only two major female voices on national broadcasting -- Nancy Dickerson (Mother of John at CBS) and Pauline Fredricks of NBC.  That was about it.  Virtually all newscasters and announcers were men -- most with big deep voices.  Let me be clear -- I am not a chauvinist.  As manager of a small radio station in Crawfordsville, Indiana many years ago, I hired two women as DJ's -- not to read recipes and household hints -- but to play records and read the news just like their male counterparts.  That was unheard of back then. And they did a great job.  I love to hear good female talent.  But, as time moved onward, female newscasters and announcers became more and more a part of the broadcasting business -- and now women  are probably more numerous than men these days.  Understand -- I have nothing against a pretty face as long as it has some talent behind it.

I live in Ocala, Florida -- about an hour north of Orlando.  That is where we get our TV programming.  Orlando -- the home of Disney and all the great theme parks -- grew up very fast.  It is now a large metropolitan city.  They now have several TV stations on our satellite system from which to choose -- but they are all about the same.  Each one has a pretty face co anchor or two reporting the news.  I am convinced that the pretty face took precedents over the talent.  They are not bad -- just not the quality that a city of that size should have as their major news anchors.  They seem to "sing" the news with not much attention to what they are saying.  A few are good -- but most are in need of some coaching.  

But the commercials!!!  OMG.  You know what a "motormouth" is? Someone who talks faster than their brain can function.  It is easy to see what kind of business is making the big bucks -- just check the commercials on the local TV news shows.  Lawyers -- Car dealers and now politicians.  And they all think they are great TV personalities.  Or they get their sister-in-law or wife or whoever is the sexiest to do their commercials on TV.  That doesn't take much convincing does it?  "Ya wanna be on TV? -- I can make you a star, sweetie -- just do my commercial for me."  Or even worse -- they do their own commercials.  Heaven forbid!

Let me tell you something, folks.  People who sell cars or practice law are NOT good announcers -- nor are their kids or their girlfriends.   It takes a lot of natural talent to do that but most of all it takes years of study and practice and experience to be a good  TV pitchman (or woman).  They should, at least, take a look at what a good commercial looks like -- and there are a few on the networks or created by a good ad agency.   For God's sake -- get a professional writer to create and a good professional talent to represent you on TV!   And please stop trying to squeeze ten pounds into a five pound bag.  Be a good car salesman or a good lawyer or good politician (is that possible?) or whatever you do for a living -- and stop trying to be a TV announcer.  You are NOT good at that.  Leave the TV to the pros who do that for their livelihood.  They ARE good at that.

Oh -- by the way -- I am available ...LOL

From the heart of Olaf Hart.....

The Weather

I must be running low on ideas -- but there is always the weather.

Jeri and I were sitting in our screened in lanai -- all dressed in our jackets and sweaters trying to keep warm.  Oh --  I failed to mention -- that was last January and it was in the 40's.  That is cold here in Florida.  Our teeth were chattering and we were shivering.  We went inside to get warm.

We agreed, back then,  that there would be a time in the near future when we would have nice hot weather and we would probably complain about that, too.  We were right -- here it is.  And so it goes.

We failed to forecast, last January, that, along with the warm weather, would come something else that mother nature foists upon us in the summer here in Florida -- and that is RAIN.  Oh don't get me wrong -- we need rain -- lots of rain for all the lush greenery and tall palm trees and lawns abounding in nice green grass.  Now, Florida is known for its summer rain showers.  But it has rained every day here in the sunshine state for the past two months.  Our nice screened-in lanai is all wet and dreary and messy.  Our comfortable swing-set is not able to accommodate us.  We want to sit and relax and have a glass of wine and talk about the past but IT IS SOGGY WET.  And things are getting muddy and moldy!  The grass is growing so fast. We need to mow our lawn every other day, it seems.  

Now and then the sun comes out and begins to dry things off a bit and we get all excited about that.  Maybe a day without rain.  Maybe we can have dinner in our lanai and hear the birds and enjoy the warm Florida breeze -- but NO.  We hear thunder.  That rumble has become a normal part of our day -- and, shortly thereafter,  here comes the rain -- again -- and spoils our fresco dinner plans.  We just can't be satisfied, can we? Yes, I am complaining!

But here is what I know for sure.  There will be a day when our dry lawn begins to turn brown and we will need to use our irrigation system to water the grass. And the powers that be will tell us that we can only water on Sunday and Thursday because a drought is coming and the water levels are getting low.  And I think you already know what we will say.  "Remember last summer when it rained every day?"  And we will say that won't we? And I know also that next January we will sit in our lanai and shiver and recall "last summer" when it was in the 90's and we had to go inside to get cool. And we will probably forget that it rained everyday.  And we will hope that it doesn't freeze and kill our plants tonight.

Nothing seems to please us does it?  Well it is humid and in the 90's today --  again. I need to leave my nice cool office and go out and check the mail.  Well, Hell -- I hear thunder --  I better grab the umbrella -- it's raining -- again.

From the heart of Olaf Hart .....

4th of July

July 4th was special when I was growing up.  Our house was located enough up above Milligan Park that we could see the fireworks from our street .  We would gather some chairs and sit in the street (it was a dead end street with a street light which mysteriously burned out before the show started) and patiently wait for the show to begin at the park.   We would grade the various aerial bombs by cost.  A little one would be $5 and a really great one would cost $25 in our late 1940's kid's rating system.  We had no idea what they really cost -- but it was fun to speculate.

Some time in my history Dad began to play at the park in the old POSofA band.  That was great because we  got to go to the park for free and see the fireworks up close.  Later I played in the same band and got to set right on the field up close and personal.  Ah the past.  So many memories of 4th of July fun.  It has always been a great day for me -- even while I was in the Air Force Band -- we played for this special day -- lots of patriotic songs and marches to celebrate our independence.

Maybe I just did not listen or maybe I didn't understand about why we celebrate this holiday.  I know I was taught the reason for this special day in our country's history -- but it apparently didn't soak in.  All I knew was it was the day our forefathers, especially Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin, drew up a document that told England we were going to separate ourselves from them and that was it.  It was signed on July 4th 1776. It was called the Declaration of Independence. 

As I have grown older and wanted to know more about things -- I have read many books about those days after July 4th 1776.  Those great men from the 13 colonies put their lives on the line -- in the face of losing their lives -- for the cause of independence for this new country.  This day all those years ago was just the beginning.  After the king of England got the word that HIS  13 colonies wanted to try an experiment with a whole new form of government -- and wanted to go it alone with no help or interference (or taxation) from England -- he went bonkers!  He was going to lose part of the great British Empire and lose tax money.  He immediately sent soldiers and ships and his navy -- the best in the world -- to put down this rebellion and stupid notion that his colonies could make it on their own and let everyone live free.

That was the whole idea of this new country -- to let everyone have a say in the decisions of the government and to live free to do what ever they wished with no cast system or class system -- all equal and independent with their own goals and wishes and with no state religion -- and able to speak  freely without punishment of any kind. (Yes their were slaves and that would be dealt with many years later -- but it WAS dealt with).  This was unheard of!  No King?  No upper ruling class?  It just couldn't be done!

As we know -- these men, these colonists, unselfishly got themselves into a helluva war.  It was called the Revolusionary War. There were no anesthetics -- not much medicine.  Those little lead balls caused lots of problems when they hit someone. The cannon balls blew men apart and shrapnel ripped off legs and arms. They had no uniforms to speak of.  They were not trained -- just mostly farmers and store keepers etc -- but they fought and fought and fought again.  They often froze in the Winter as then fought without coats or even shoes.  General George Washington was their leader and he was a Civil Engineer with the stars of a General thrust upon him.  He led with honor and valor -- often leading the troops into harms way.  He was shot at numerous times but kept on urging his little army into battle day after week after month. The British army was far far better than our ran-tag soldiers -- but we never quit.  Out numbered at every battle -- we outsmarted those redcoats time and time again.  We lost thousands of young men and boys in battle after battle.  the King -- sitting in his nice warm castle in England -- kept sending more and more troops and ships and guns -- but in spite being outnumbered and of our huge losses --  George Washington's Patriots kept on fighting -- month after month -- from the forests behind the trees and hills -- they kept fighting for the cause they knew was right -- freedom from the tyranny of the British Monarchy.  Yes they had some help from France and also the Native Indians -- but our little army fought for over two years after that little document our forefathers sighed back in 1776 that began -- WE THE PEOPLE !  And we won!  England gave up and let us have our experiment in government -- our stupid notion that everyone could participate and grow and be successful -- regardless of their station in life. And each State could operate independently and still remain United as a country. And we are still here, aren't we?  Look what it precipitated -- the greatest country the world has ever known.

Happy Birthday United state of America.

From the heart of Olaf Hart .....

Anguish Languish

Anguish Languish is a homophonic language created by Howard Chance to show how ridiculous the English Language can be.  It uses real words that sound similar to the intended words -- but are not the correct word.  So Anguish Languish are two real words that sound like English Language but are not.  His famous nursery rhymes were published in the 50's.  Example:  Ladle rat rotten hut.  You figure it out.

Why the reference?  Because I can not spell very well.  I am probably the worse speller I have ever known. And I blame it in part on the English Language.The general attitude among good spellers about bad spellers is that -- they are low class (what ever that means) -- they are not well educated --  they are lazy -- they have a low IQ -- and a few other low blows.  But I am none of these.  So why do I have such a problem with the entanglement of all these lovely little letters to conform to what the dictionary believes to be the proper arrangement to spell a certain word?  Why can't I spell?

During my freshman year of college at Indiana State, myself and three or four other guys (Are guys worse spellers than women?)  were faced with the possibility of flunking freshman English because we all flunked the required spelling tests.  Oh yes -- we all knew how to diagram a sentence and how to tell a noun from a verb.  We were good English students -- but we had "cantspellitis."  So the Professor -- bless his heart -- with considerable exasperation, wrote ten or twelve words on the blackboard (no whiteboards back then) and told our little group to "Memorize these damn words!"  He erased the words and told us in no uncertain terms to "Write the damn words down before you forget them!"  We did and we all passed freshman English.

OK.  Back to this ridiculous, complicated English Language.  Lets start with the alphabet. B is a good example.  Bee(honey)  --Bea (Aunt Bea) -- Be(still) -- Beebe(gun) -- spelling Bee.  Maybe you can think of some more.  How about C?  See(eyes) -- Sea (ocean) -- Seesaw (teeter totter) -- Si' (Senior).  And that is just a couple of letters. Homonyms are pretty confusing.  Read(today)  read(yesterday).  Bass(fish), bass(guitar). Refuse(won't do it), refuse(trash), re-fuse (put in new fuses).  Hundreds more -- you know the drill.  It must be a real chore to learn English with all the various different sounds for just one letter.  It's tough to speak, let alone spell the Kings English we had thrust upon us.  No wonder I can't spell.

I realize that most of my career has been "reading" commercials or news on radio or TV and not caring or needing to be concerned about spelling. After all, it wasn't a newspaper.  As long as it sounded OK, I could spit out the words like a motor mouth whether they were spelled correctly or not.  But it seems that we have all come back to writing to each other these days on phones and computers rather than speaking so much  So I better get my act together and get with the program.  What were some of the rules?  E before I  or was it I before E-- then what? -- I can't remember.  I do know this.  I know the best invention so far in this 21st century is one I use numerous times each day and many times on this blog -- I couldn't do without it! It is called the spell checker!

From the heart of Olaf Hart ....