I really think that probably everybody is tired of Tiger and his travails. Of course, everyone knew something was afoot when it was reported that he had run into a fireplug and then a tree right outside his gate, together with something about windows being smashed with golf clubs. Apparently, his wife said she broke the window to get him out of the car. Maybe she wanted him out of the car so she could beat him to death, but that is the sheerest speculation.
At first, I felt sorry for the guy; and in a way, I still do. I heard Bryant Gumbel say that it was the worst of luck, because nothing, nothing happens in December. He cited the case of the wandering South Carolina Governor whose sachet to South America was discovered and announced and discussed for only a day, because Michael Jackson died the next day and soon the chatter in Michael's case turned to murder, causing the nation to forget the traveling amorous governor! Not so in Tiger's case; he has been and probably will remain in the hot spotlight until after the first of the year.
Tiger Woods has been a phenomenon almost since the first day he played in the pros. He not only has won almost every championship there is in golf, he has won many of them several times. He was a nice looking young man, with an apparently great personality - a man who took his sport very seriously but didn't seem to take himself too seriously. "Clean cut," your name is Tiger, or at least was. And so, now, Gillette is having second thoughts as are a number of other big names who together have paid Tiger up to about $100 million a year to endorse their products. Nike seems to be holding on, but they've got a three year inventory of shoes and other stuff with his name on it.
Seriously, America loves its athletes; their salaries and perks tell you so. And maybe their excessive earnings contribute to their feeling of invincibility. Most of you know that I am no sports fan, but it doesn't make any difference what these professional athletes do, they don't seem to suffer many long-term consequences. Whether you raise and fight killer dogs, fight in restaurants and bars, are caught with dope and narcotics, nothing much ever happens. I don't know that I can think of anything much more despicable than training and fighting dogs to the death, but Michael Vick hadn't been out of prison fifteen minutes before some team was after him to play, offering him millions. And I would almost guarantee that, should he start getting three or more touch downs a game, nobody would remember what a real jerk he is. I don't keep up with professional athletes, but it seemed to me that the Cincinnati news, before the Bengals started winning, was full of rough-neck football players being arrested for this crime and that; and apparently, only a jail sentence (and few of those were meted out) kept any of them from playing football.
Some say Tiger is such a phenomenal golfter that none of this will matter in six months. And, heaven knows, he is an unequaled golfer. But maybe, just maybe the day has arrived when conduct and character will have a bearing on the rewards we bestowe on our stars. I hope so!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving Day
I love Thanksgiving Day. Of course, I never had to do the cooking or watch my handiwork consumed in the space of twenty minutes. Nevertheless, there are some foods with which we stuff ourselves that are more comforting than others. Can you ever get too much mashed potatoes and gravy to be seriously uncomfortable? Naw! It can't happen! I hope all of you will have a really nice day.
While you're enjoying it, take a little serious time to quietly think about how fortunate you are. Try thinking a little outside the box for a change.
This past week, I went to Shirley Toncray's funeral. It was unique in that it was held at the Opera Theatre, a place she truly loved. Shirley's casket was in the orchestra pit, adorned and surrounded with perfectly lovely flowers. Favorite passages from the bible were read and a number of family members and friends eulogized Shirley, as emotionally difficult as it was. The recurring theme of each was laughter and fun.
As I listened, I thought about my first encounter with Shirley. You know, her daughter, Carla, was in and out of our house because of her friendship with my younger sister, Mary. I didn't pay too much attention then, as I was about twelve years older than they were and thought of them, primarily, as a bother. I don't know that I remember associating Carla with Shirley, even though they were mother and daughter. Anyway, I first met Shirley in the play Annie, staged in 1984. With her slightly gravelly voice, she played the part of Miss Hannigan, the matron of the orphanage from which Annie escaped. She, together with Greg Brock (as "Rooster," Miss Hannigan's con-artist brother) simply stole the show. They were both hysterically funny.
From that time forward, I really do believe that every time I saw Shirley, she was in the company of her best friend, Rose Leo; and every time I saw them, there was something to laugh about. I couldn't tell you a single subject that we talked about, but it was just always funny as it could be. The laughter was infectious, contagious and wonderful. Made no difference what sort of day you were having, troubles vanished for a moment, and if you were not careful, you would forget them, the troubles, that is, altogether. And so it can honestly be said that Shirley Toncray and Rose Leo were rays of sunshine wherever they went and into whose ever life they so joyously intruded.
While I stood there listening as the assemblage sang Amazing Grace, I thought to myself that if any hymn ever described a deceased person more aptly, I don't know what it could possibly be. Shirley Toncray and her pal Rose, left behind for awhile, were not only amazing, they were and are embued with a grace the likes of which few of us will ever achieve. They were the grace of laughter and fun and light heartedness; and of that grace, there is not nearly enough!
And so, for Thanksgiving, one of the things I will thank God for is my aquaintance with Shirley and Rose. They made my life so much better.
While you're enjoying it, take a little serious time to quietly think about how fortunate you are. Try thinking a little outside the box for a change.
This past week, I went to Shirley Toncray's funeral. It was unique in that it was held at the Opera Theatre, a place she truly loved. Shirley's casket was in the orchestra pit, adorned and surrounded with perfectly lovely flowers. Favorite passages from the bible were read and a number of family members and friends eulogized Shirley, as emotionally difficult as it was. The recurring theme of each was laughter and fun.
As I listened, I thought about my first encounter with Shirley. You know, her daughter, Carla, was in and out of our house because of her friendship with my younger sister, Mary. I didn't pay too much attention then, as I was about twelve years older than they were and thought of them, primarily, as a bother. I don't know that I remember associating Carla with Shirley, even though they were mother and daughter. Anyway, I first met Shirley in the play Annie, staged in 1984. With her slightly gravelly voice, she played the part of Miss Hannigan, the matron of the orphanage from which Annie escaped. She, together with Greg Brock (as "Rooster," Miss Hannigan's con-artist brother) simply stole the show. They were both hysterically funny.
From that time forward, I really do believe that every time I saw Shirley, she was in the company of her best friend, Rose Leo; and every time I saw them, there was something to laugh about. I couldn't tell you a single subject that we talked about, but it was just always funny as it could be. The laughter was infectious, contagious and wonderful. Made no difference what sort of day you were having, troubles vanished for a moment, and if you were not careful, you would forget them, the troubles, that is, altogether. And so it can honestly be said that Shirley Toncray and Rose Leo were rays of sunshine wherever they went and into whose ever life they so joyously intruded.
While I stood there listening as the assemblage sang Amazing Grace, I thought to myself that if any hymn ever described a deceased person more aptly, I don't know what it could possibly be. Shirley Toncray and her pal Rose, left behind for awhile, were not only amazing, they were and are embued with a grace the likes of which few of us will ever achieve. They were the grace of laughter and fun and light heartedness; and of that grace, there is not nearly enough!
And so, for Thanksgiving, one of the things I will thank God for is my aquaintance with Shirley and Rose. They made my life so much better.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
A Cup of Coffee and a Look at the River
We have a lovely view from our kitchen window. It seems that it's almost different every day. This morning, there were thin grey clouds overhead, trimmed in gold by the sun. The river was ruffled by breezes near the surface and, when the sun is at the right angle, the water looks like a blanket of diamonds, shimmering and sparkling for all to see. As I sipped my coffee, I wondered to myself, "With a picture this perfect, how can this country be in such a damned mess?"
America has been on a binge of sorts. We have all spent more money than we should, and some have spent money they didn't have. The other day, I asked Jerry Rains how the lumber business was. He replied that it was better than you would think. He said that in the next two weeks, there were 5-6 new houses starting, all of which were over 5,000 square feet; one was 6,500 square feet. I said, "Jerry, how much does a house like that cost? He answered, "It doesn't make any difference. All they want to know is the amount of the payment." And the beat goes on!
The other morning after breakfast, I was washing dishes and reached in the drawer to get a dishrag. It happened that this dishrag was new and sewn into the cloth at the edge was a tag, much like you find inside of a shirt. It said Made in China. A dishrag! President Obama is in China right now, talking to the leaders of that government. Our most serious problem with them is their refusal to let their currency "float." I'm not sure I know what that means, but I do know that their failure to do so underprices their export products. This results in the their accumulation of unbelievable amounts of U.S. money because we buy so much of their cheap stuff.
They don't buy much of our stuff. They're smarter than we are, I think. They use their dollars to loan to the U. S. Government financing our deficit. They probably also loan their dollars to credit card issuing banks so we can all carry balances of $10,000 to $20,000. And so, what happens? All of sudden, our greedy Wall Street bankers get stung by sub-prime mortgages, those same bankers stop loaning money to Americans, and the economy goes into a tail spin and damn near fell off the table. All the while, China watches.
Before going to China, the President stopped in Japan where they have recently elected a new prime minister. He's decided Japan is better off cozying up to the Pacific nations for their trading partners. He also thinks Japan should refuse access to our Navy for refueling purposes. Wonder what he'll think when that nut in North Korea launches its missiles aimed at him. Where, oh where, is the U. S. Navy and the U. S. Air Force and all those soldiers who used to protect us?
Sometimes I think that the United States of America has been played for a fool. That war in Iraq was totally unnecessary and yet, we undertook it at a cost of over $300 billion a year for seven years. We're getting ready to do the same thing in Afghanistan, and who's with us. Well, the Brits always try to help; there are a few Germans over there, but very few. We have a standing army in Germany to protect Germany which costs a fortune. We have a standing army in Korea to protect South Korea, another fortune. And Germany and Korea are two of the most prosperous nations on earth, after the U.S. and, now, China. We maintain a Navy and an Air Force the likes of which has never before been seen on this planet, mostly for the purpose of defending foreign nations.
One day soon, maybe the President should walk out of his office and announce to the world that we have some serious problems here at home which need our undivided attention; that we are recalling our armed forces from around the world; that we are imposing import tarriffs on all goods, except raw materials, imported into this country, using the revenue to pay off our debt; and finally, that we will again enter the manufacturing economy and start making what we need for ourselves. Maybe we'll get back in the game we have played someday, but right now, it's about us. We should remind the powers of the world that we will maintain sufficient military strength to obliterate any nation committing agression toward us, but the rest of the world will have to look after itself. Be really interesting to see what would happen! Lots of weeping and wailing and gnashing to teeth.
I know it won't happen, but it feels good saying it!
America has been on a binge of sorts. We have all spent more money than we should, and some have spent money they didn't have. The other day, I asked Jerry Rains how the lumber business was. He replied that it was better than you would think. He said that in the next two weeks, there were 5-6 new houses starting, all of which were over 5,000 square feet; one was 6,500 square feet. I said, "Jerry, how much does a house like that cost? He answered, "It doesn't make any difference. All they want to know is the amount of the payment." And the beat goes on!
The other morning after breakfast, I was washing dishes and reached in the drawer to get a dishrag. It happened that this dishrag was new and sewn into the cloth at the edge was a tag, much like you find inside of a shirt. It said Made in China. A dishrag! President Obama is in China right now, talking to the leaders of that government. Our most serious problem with them is their refusal to let their currency "float." I'm not sure I know what that means, but I do know that their failure to do so underprices their export products. This results in the their accumulation of unbelievable amounts of U.S. money because we buy so much of their cheap stuff.
They don't buy much of our stuff. They're smarter than we are, I think. They use their dollars to loan to the U. S. Government financing our deficit. They probably also loan their dollars to credit card issuing banks so we can all carry balances of $10,000 to $20,000. And so, what happens? All of sudden, our greedy Wall Street bankers get stung by sub-prime mortgages, those same bankers stop loaning money to Americans, and the economy goes into a tail spin and damn near fell off the table. All the while, China watches.
Before going to China, the President stopped in Japan where they have recently elected a new prime minister. He's decided Japan is better off cozying up to the Pacific nations for their trading partners. He also thinks Japan should refuse access to our Navy for refueling purposes. Wonder what he'll think when that nut in North Korea launches its missiles aimed at him. Where, oh where, is the U. S. Navy and the U. S. Air Force and all those soldiers who used to protect us?
Sometimes I think that the United States of America has been played for a fool. That war in Iraq was totally unnecessary and yet, we undertook it at a cost of over $300 billion a year for seven years. We're getting ready to do the same thing in Afghanistan, and who's with us. Well, the Brits always try to help; there are a few Germans over there, but very few. We have a standing army in Germany to protect Germany which costs a fortune. We have a standing army in Korea to protect South Korea, another fortune. And Germany and Korea are two of the most prosperous nations on earth, after the U.S. and, now, China. We maintain a Navy and an Air Force the likes of which has never before been seen on this planet, mostly for the purpose of defending foreign nations.
One day soon, maybe the President should walk out of his office and announce to the world that we have some serious problems here at home which need our undivided attention; that we are recalling our armed forces from around the world; that we are imposing import tarriffs on all goods, except raw materials, imported into this country, using the revenue to pay off our debt; and finally, that we will again enter the manufacturing economy and start making what we need for ourselves. Maybe we'll get back in the game we have played someday, but right now, it's about us. We should remind the powers of the world that we will maintain sufficient military strength to obliterate any nation committing agression toward us, but the rest of the world will have to look after itself. Be really interesting to see what would happen! Lots of weeping and wailing and gnashing to teeth.
I know it won't happen, but it feels good saying it!
Monday, November 9, 2009
The Passing of Time.
It frankly always amazes me when I think of my age. It's trite, I know, but I don't know where the years have flown. For many of them, I was having a very good time; but now the sun is moving toward the low gradient and, like it or not, it comes with the territory.
I really was not cocky in high school, though I achieved a measure of success there. My grades were not as good as those of some of my friends, but they were good enough to get me admitted to a good college. At college, I got along reasonably well, except for French, which I thought would be my undoing. I know there is nothing wrong with the French, except that it takes a really exceptional foreigner to understand their language. It all sounds (or did to me) like thick pudding, lacking definition completely. God bless the professor, who understood that I tried, but knew me (and announced to the class one day) to be one of the dumbest students she ever taught. Despite her and the subject matter, I was on the Dean's list every semester after I finally slipped ignominiously from French II with a C ( and that was a gift!!).
Law school was anguish. Rarely did I understand what they were talking about, which meant that I was a lost soul. Any professor at the University of Virginia who failed to answer a question with anything other than another question was taken up to Monticello and hanged that very afternoon. The whole time, not one explanation of anything other than a question, much harder than any of us ever asked. So, as the admission's risk of "63, I finally emerged in very average status in the spring of 1966, a graduate lawyer.
Viet Nam was boiling and deferments for graduate school put you at the front of the draft line. Nothing to do but join the Navy. Well, training for fat boys was anything but fun. Sweating profusely through Officer Candidate School, freezing on the parade ground every Saturday while the wind whipped in from Naragannsett Bay in Rhode Island, and in general finding the training much to my total dislike, somehow I managed to slither out of there at the end of December, on my way to a new naval communications station in Okinawa. Okinawa?? Where the hell is Okinawa? For those of you who don't know, it's one half the way around the whole world and just a little south of Japan. It took me two weeks to get over jet lag, though I should tell you that I didn't fly over on a jet. It was an airplane, in 1967, that had been used to haul coal in the Berlin Airlift in 1948. Propellor driven, it took thirty six hours to cross the Pacific Ocean; and no one met me at the terminal.
I'm not going into all this stuff about my naval career. Suffice it to say that I learned things that I never would have dreamed of in all the schooling I had endured. And so, I returned to Maysville to begin my real career in the practice of law.
The lawyers of the local bar association met sporadically each year when there was something to discuss. At the beginning, there were about 14 or 15 of us. Chuck Kirk, Jim Clarke, Bob Gallenstein, Bernard Hargett, Bill Sewell and I were the youngest of the bunch. Most of us were under 30. At the bar meetings, the topic of conversation varied from heavy to lite, and so some of us younger members occasionally thought we could contribute. Thus, every now and again, we would make a comment. The older people, Gene Royse, John Clarke and Andrew Fox would turn and look with complete disdain at the poor young sap who deigned to speak out. That's really not fair: They were not rude, but neither were they too interested in our thoughts on the subject of conversation either.
Time passed, and our status did not improve much. Our views were generally ignored, although we didn't stop speaking up when the spirit moved us. And then, all of a sudden, when we got to be about 40, the bar members seemed to pay more attention to what we said. There were some younger members by that time, who were, as were we at their age, ignored when they tried to contribute. Nevertheless, forty seemed to be the magic number. The group seemed to instinctively feel that people 40 years of age or more were worth listening to; and from that time on, our voices were heard in the Maysville councils of the law.
As time went by, what we said in those meeting commanded more and more respect. Where disagreements arose, it was the "middle age" people who carried the day, often at the expense of some of the more senior members, believe it or not. Well, time did go by, and all of a sudden, those of us who survived arrived at the age of 60. Some of us were even a couple of years older. And as we looked about the table, we noticed our total numbers had swelled from 14 to 25 and 30. And, more to the point, it was the 40 and 45 year olds who held sway in the discussions. The wisdom of the old (if there was any) was outshone by the pragmatists in their early to middle forties and fifties. How the hell did this happen? We used to make reasonably good sense in what we said, and, I thought, we still did. But the group wasn't buying our packages. There was a new day. It was frustrating, and I can honestly say that I didn't really comprehend what was happening at first.
When I was 62, I ran for judge and was on the bench for four years. I wanted to stay, but was defeated for re-election and was bitterly disappointed. When you're in the middle of something like that (or, really, any personal defeat in life), you don't understand much about what happened to you, because you're too personally involved. I shall never forget asking my friend, Scotty Hilterbrand, what he thought about the outcome of the election. He said, "Judge, I'll tell you, people between the age of 40 and 60 run the world."
When the election smoke cleared, and it took a while, I realized he was right. As a matter of fact, it was one of the most astute observations I ever heard. It's not, of course, true for everybody, but for the vast majority, it tells the story unequivocably.
And so, I have accepted the fact that younger people are now in charge. They will make the decisions; they will call the shots. And it is as it should be. For we have had our turn. We hope we did our best, and, there is some evidence that a lot of what we did was first rate; on the other hand, a lot of it was pretty damn sorry.
Post Scriptum. People our age, 65-75, tend to think the world has gone to hell in a handbasket. I recall, when I was middle-aged, Milton I. "Shorty" Tolle and A. J. Toncray would meet almost every morning for breakfast at Jim's Donut Shop. I don't know how old they were at the time, but they were at that stage in life where the current generation was running the world into the ground and ruining all that they and their generation had worked for. Listening to them would color your day the darkest of gray, if not black. The military wasn't worth a damn any more; Americans had forgotten how to work! Government existed to feed, clothe and money people who wouldn't take care of themselves. And it taxed people like Shorty and A.J. to do it. The City couldn't do anything right; and nobody went to church anymore. The country was wobbling next to an abyss, the bottom of which was no where in sight.
That's old men for you. 180 degrees out from the optimism and energy they both enjoyed in their twenties.
I don't know where in the Bible it talks about old men shall dream dreams and young men shall see visions; nor do I know what it takes to accomplish that, but wouldn't it be nice?
I really was not cocky in high school, though I achieved a measure of success there. My grades were not as good as those of some of my friends, but they were good enough to get me admitted to a good college. At college, I got along reasonably well, except for French, which I thought would be my undoing. I know there is nothing wrong with the French, except that it takes a really exceptional foreigner to understand their language. It all sounds (or did to me) like thick pudding, lacking definition completely. God bless the professor, who understood that I tried, but knew me (and announced to the class one day) to be one of the dumbest students she ever taught. Despite her and the subject matter, I was on the Dean's list every semester after I finally slipped ignominiously from French II with a C ( and that was a gift!!).
Law school was anguish. Rarely did I understand what they were talking about, which meant that I was a lost soul. Any professor at the University of Virginia who failed to answer a question with anything other than another question was taken up to Monticello and hanged that very afternoon. The whole time, not one explanation of anything other than a question, much harder than any of us ever asked. So, as the admission's risk of "63, I finally emerged in very average status in the spring of 1966, a graduate lawyer.
Viet Nam was boiling and deferments for graduate school put you at the front of the draft line. Nothing to do but join the Navy. Well, training for fat boys was anything but fun. Sweating profusely through Officer Candidate School, freezing on the parade ground every Saturday while the wind whipped in from Naragannsett Bay in Rhode Island, and in general finding the training much to my total dislike, somehow I managed to slither out of there at the end of December, on my way to a new naval communications station in Okinawa. Okinawa?? Where the hell is Okinawa? For those of you who don't know, it's one half the way around the whole world and just a little south of Japan. It took me two weeks to get over jet lag, though I should tell you that I didn't fly over on a jet. It was an airplane, in 1967, that had been used to haul coal in the Berlin Airlift in 1948. Propellor driven, it took thirty six hours to cross the Pacific Ocean; and no one met me at the terminal.
I'm not going into all this stuff about my naval career. Suffice it to say that I learned things that I never would have dreamed of in all the schooling I had endured. And so, I returned to Maysville to begin my real career in the practice of law.
The lawyers of the local bar association met sporadically each year when there was something to discuss. At the beginning, there were about 14 or 15 of us. Chuck Kirk, Jim Clarke, Bob Gallenstein, Bernard Hargett, Bill Sewell and I were the youngest of the bunch. Most of us were under 30. At the bar meetings, the topic of conversation varied from heavy to lite, and so some of us younger members occasionally thought we could contribute. Thus, every now and again, we would make a comment. The older people, Gene Royse, John Clarke and Andrew Fox would turn and look with complete disdain at the poor young sap who deigned to speak out. That's really not fair: They were not rude, but neither were they too interested in our thoughts on the subject of conversation either.
Time passed, and our status did not improve much. Our views were generally ignored, although we didn't stop speaking up when the spirit moved us. And then, all of a sudden, when we got to be about 40, the bar members seemed to pay more attention to what we said. There were some younger members by that time, who were, as were we at their age, ignored when they tried to contribute. Nevertheless, forty seemed to be the magic number. The group seemed to instinctively feel that people 40 years of age or more were worth listening to; and from that time on, our voices were heard in the Maysville councils of the law.
As time went by, what we said in those meeting commanded more and more respect. Where disagreements arose, it was the "middle age" people who carried the day, often at the expense of some of the more senior members, believe it or not. Well, time did go by, and all of a sudden, those of us who survived arrived at the age of 60. Some of us were even a couple of years older. And as we looked about the table, we noticed our total numbers had swelled from 14 to 25 and 30. And, more to the point, it was the 40 and 45 year olds who held sway in the discussions. The wisdom of the old (if there was any) was outshone by the pragmatists in their early to middle forties and fifties. How the hell did this happen? We used to make reasonably good sense in what we said, and, I thought, we still did. But the group wasn't buying our packages. There was a new day. It was frustrating, and I can honestly say that I didn't really comprehend what was happening at first.
When I was 62, I ran for judge and was on the bench for four years. I wanted to stay, but was defeated for re-election and was bitterly disappointed. When you're in the middle of something like that (or, really, any personal defeat in life), you don't understand much about what happened to you, because you're too personally involved. I shall never forget asking my friend, Scotty Hilterbrand, what he thought about the outcome of the election. He said, "Judge, I'll tell you, people between the age of 40 and 60 run the world."
When the election smoke cleared, and it took a while, I realized he was right. As a matter of fact, it was one of the most astute observations I ever heard. It's not, of course, true for everybody, but for the vast majority, it tells the story unequivocably.
And so, I have accepted the fact that younger people are now in charge. They will make the decisions; they will call the shots. And it is as it should be. For we have had our turn. We hope we did our best, and, there is some evidence that a lot of what we did was first rate; on the other hand, a lot of it was pretty damn sorry.
Post Scriptum. People our age, 65-75, tend to think the world has gone to hell in a handbasket. I recall, when I was middle-aged, Milton I. "Shorty" Tolle and A. J. Toncray would meet almost every morning for breakfast at Jim's Donut Shop. I don't know how old they were at the time, but they were at that stage in life where the current generation was running the world into the ground and ruining all that they and their generation had worked for. Listening to them would color your day the darkest of gray, if not black. The military wasn't worth a damn any more; Americans had forgotten how to work! Government existed to feed, clothe and money people who wouldn't take care of themselves. And it taxed people like Shorty and A.J. to do it. The City couldn't do anything right; and nobody went to church anymore. The country was wobbling next to an abyss, the bottom of which was no where in sight.
That's old men for you. 180 degrees out from the optimism and energy they both enjoyed in their twenties.
I don't know where in the Bible it talks about old men shall dream dreams and young men shall see visions; nor do I know what it takes to accomplish that, but wouldn't it be nice?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Coralie
Among the brightest and most sparkling jewels of all is Coralie Runyon Jones. I guess it is no surprise that I would include her among people who have made remarkable contributions to the town where we live. And indeed, she certainly has.
Coralie was born in western Kentucky. Her father was a lawyer and a Presbyterian Minister (curious combination) and her mother, a concert pianist. Coralie would play under the grand piano while her mother practiced, which was a daily routine. Somehow, the proximity of all that music infected Coralie's soul, and she has been one of music's most ardent missionaries.
Coralie came to Maysville around 1940 as a freshly college-graduated teacher. She went to work for the Mason County school board and her assignment was to teach music, of all things, at Orangeburg school. In Orangeburg, at the time, singing was relegated, privately, to the shower, and publicly, to church on Sunday morning. That state of affairs was not long to be.
One of the things which has distinguished Coralie Runyon Jones is that she is very assertive and she brought that quality with her when she first arrived on our scene. Almost all of the boys at Orangeburg hoped to be a basketball star; few of them ever thought they'd wind up in a choral group under the direction of the newest staff/teacher in the school. But wind up they did. And soon, they, along with the girls, were loving every minute. There was no slacking off. The music was classical and difficult. And the execution, precise. She would have it no other way.
It wasn't long until her choir was noticed by the Maysville School System, always thought to be the superior educational opportunity in our area. Shortly, Coralie was recruited to preside over the music program of the Maysville schools. Here, she worked wonders with students at all levels. She had met John Farris in college and prevailed on the administration to offer him a job directing the high school band. They worked together for years and Maysville's band was the envy of the state. Coralie always took groups of singers to the Morehead contest and consistently received superior ratings with almost every entry. In short, Coralie and John Farris introduced Maysville to good music and it has thrived ever since.
I can't remember what grade I was in, but it was announced that any student who wanted to go to the Good Friday service would be excused from school for the afternoon. Well, you know, any excuse to get out of school, particularly on a lazy spring afternoon. I left the school and went down town to the Presbyterian Church for the service. Everything had been removed from the chancel, including the pulpit, the lecturn, the altar and the organ. Filling the organ and choir loft, as well as the chancel were the members of the Maysville Civic Chorus, an organization created and directed by Coralie Runyon. There was a lady named Mrs. Calvert, Charlie Calvert's great aunt, who played the organ and another lady, brought in by Coralie, who played the harp. The sanctuary was full to overflowing, but I had a seat where my grandmother had always sat. The music was The Seven Last Words by a French composer, duBois. And it began. . . .
I sat there mesmerized. I didn't stir. And what started as an excuse to skip school became an experience so enlightening that I have never forgotten that day. It was the beginning of my lifelong love affair with classical music and with the phenomenon of Coralie Runyon, not yet Jones. The music lasted maybe 45 minutes to an hour, maybe not that long, but I don't remember breathing once from beginning to end. It was sublime.
Actually, I was frightened of Coralie for years and years after that experience. I loved music, but I regarded her as so far superior to anything I could ever achieve that I simply couldn't approach her. By this time, she was no longer teaching at Maysville; perhaps she was teaching at Ripley, wherever.
One evening at a cocktail party given by Bill and Zoe Chamness, I, with the aid of libation, got up my nerve to talk to Coralie, and found her delightful; still powerful and demanding, but simply delightful. I asked her if she could teach me to play Schubert's Ave Maria and she looked at me and said, "Of course I can. That wouldn't be any trouble at all." And so, during the next four to five years, with a piano lesson every week, I learned the Ave Maria and some other pieces as well, as you might imagine.
What Coralie did with the Maysville Civic Chorus, she did years later with the Maysville Community College Choir. The first time I heard them was at a practice session, again at the Presbyterian Church. This time, Jim Clarke was playing the organ, and the sound of the music was etherial. The acoustics in that church are superb, and the music she made there was better. She took the group to Lexington to sing in the Singletary Center, and the chairman of the UK music department required his faculty to attend so that they would know what could be done with a local choir under the right direction.
Coralie Runyon Jones continues, at 87 years of age, to present quality music, both vocal and string, to the public on a regular basis. Her next undertaking will involve the melding of the Limestone Chorale (her singers) with the UK Symphony Orchestra, an event you should be looking forward to.
So, how should we sum up this most sparkling jewel of Maysville? Each of you remembers a few exceptional teachers in high school, and, perhaps, college. I remember Flossie Jones, Dean Turnipseed, Bob Hellard, Bob Wilcox and Orville Hayes, every one of them now dead. But they, like Coralie, were gifted teachers, endowed with the ability to teach and explain in a way students didn't forget. Each brought a certain moral authority, a self confidence and a love of what they did to their respective jobs. Coralie always exemplified these rarest of qualities and, like the others, went beyond the job description in everything she undertook. If you will allow me one more anecdote, Coralie, when she taught at Mason County High School, took her choir to Europe during the summer on several occasions. Prior to the trips, there was music to be learned (perfectly); there was money to be raised to help choir members whose families were struggling; there were travel arrangements to be made, including transportation, hotels and singing engagements. These trips were monumental undertakings. And, as always, Coralie went the extra mile; she set formal dinner place-settings in the cafeteria, showing every student what each fork, spoon and knife were for, and when to use them. She discussed appropriate dress. She prepared lesson plans regarding the sites the students would see and explained why those sites were significant. The trip was a learning experience in every sense, and she did not want any of her students to be embarrassed, nor did she want the group as a whole to be embarrassed by what might appear to be a lack of polish. And those kids, long since adults, always reflected a bright light on their teacher and their home. And, but for their singing for Coralie, they learned things that they would never have conceived.
God richly bless Coralie Runyon Jones for her light held high these many years; we, ourselves, have already been blessed by her presence and work in the home we call Maysville.
Coralie was born in western Kentucky. Her father was a lawyer and a Presbyterian Minister (curious combination) and her mother, a concert pianist. Coralie would play under the grand piano while her mother practiced, which was a daily routine. Somehow, the proximity of all that music infected Coralie's soul, and she has been one of music's most ardent missionaries.
Coralie came to Maysville around 1940 as a freshly college-graduated teacher. She went to work for the Mason County school board and her assignment was to teach music, of all things, at Orangeburg school. In Orangeburg, at the time, singing was relegated, privately, to the shower, and publicly, to church on Sunday morning. That state of affairs was not long to be.
One of the things which has distinguished Coralie Runyon Jones is that she is very assertive and she brought that quality with her when she first arrived on our scene. Almost all of the boys at Orangeburg hoped to be a basketball star; few of them ever thought they'd wind up in a choral group under the direction of the newest staff/teacher in the school. But wind up they did. And soon, they, along with the girls, were loving every minute. There was no slacking off. The music was classical and difficult. And the execution, precise. She would have it no other way.
It wasn't long until her choir was noticed by the Maysville School System, always thought to be the superior educational opportunity in our area. Shortly, Coralie was recruited to preside over the music program of the Maysville schools. Here, she worked wonders with students at all levels. She had met John Farris in college and prevailed on the administration to offer him a job directing the high school band. They worked together for years and Maysville's band was the envy of the state. Coralie always took groups of singers to the Morehead contest and consistently received superior ratings with almost every entry. In short, Coralie and John Farris introduced Maysville to good music and it has thrived ever since.
I can't remember what grade I was in, but it was announced that any student who wanted to go to the Good Friday service would be excused from school for the afternoon. Well, you know, any excuse to get out of school, particularly on a lazy spring afternoon. I left the school and went down town to the Presbyterian Church for the service. Everything had been removed from the chancel, including the pulpit, the lecturn, the altar and the organ. Filling the organ and choir loft, as well as the chancel were the members of the Maysville Civic Chorus, an organization created and directed by Coralie Runyon. There was a lady named Mrs. Calvert, Charlie Calvert's great aunt, who played the organ and another lady, brought in by Coralie, who played the harp. The sanctuary was full to overflowing, but I had a seat where my grandmother had always sat. The music was The Seven Last Words by a French composer, duBois. And it began. . . .
I sat there mesmerized. I didn't stir. And what started as an excuse to skip school became an experience so enlightening that I have never forgotten that day. It was the beginning of my lifelong love affair with classical music and with the phenomenon of Coralie Runyon, not yet Jones. The music lasted maybe 45 minutes to an hour, maybe not that long, but I don't remember breathing once from beginning to end. It was sublime.
Actually, I was frightened of Coralie for years and years after that experience. I loved music, but I regarded her as so far superior to anything I could ever achieve that I simply couldn't approach her. By this time, she was no longer teaching at Maysville; perhaps she was teaching at Ripley, wherever.
One evening at a cocktail party given by Bill and Zoe Chamness, I, with the aid of libation, got up my nerve to talk to Coralie, and found her delightful; still powerful and demanding, but simply delightful. I asked her if she could teach me to play Schubert's Ave Maria and she looked at me and said, "Of course I can. That wouldn't be any trouble at all." And so, during the next four to five years, with a piano lesson every week, I learned the Ave Maria and some other pieces as well, as you might imagine.
What Coralie did with the Maysville Civic Chorus, she did years later with the Maysville Community College Choir. The first time I heard them was at a practice session, again at the Presbyterian Church. This time, Jim Clarke was playing the organ, and the sound of the music was etherial. The acoustics in that church are superb, and the music she made there was better. She took the group to Lexington to sing in the Singletary Center, and the chairman of the UK music department required his faculty to attend so that they would know what could be done with a local choir under the right direction.
Coralie Runyon Jones continues, at 87 years of age, to present quality music, both vocal and string, to the public on a regular basis. Her next undertaking will involve the melding of the Limestone Chorale (her singers) with the UK Symphony Orchestra, an event you should be looking forward to.
So, how should we sum up this most sparkling jewel of Maysville? Each of you remembers a few exceptional teachers in high school, and, perhaps, college. I remember Flossie Jones, Dean Turnipseed, Bob Hellard, Bob Wilcox and Orville Hayes, every one of them now dead. But they, like Coralie, were gifted teachers, endowed with the ability to teach and explain in a way students didn't forget. Each brought a certain moral authority, a self confidence and a love of what they did to their respective jobs. Coralie always exemplified these rarest of qualities and, like the others, went beyond the job description in everything she undertook. If you will allow me one more anecdote, Coralie, when she taught at Mason County High School, took her choir to Europe during the summer on several occasions. Prior to the trips, there was music to be learned (perfectly); there was money to be raised to help choir members whose families were struggling; there were travel arrangements to be made, including transportation, hotels and singing engagements. These trips were monumental undertakings. And, as always, Coralie went the extra mile; she set formal dinner place-settings in the cafeteria, showing every student what each fork, spoon and knife were for, and when to use them. She discussed appropriate dress. She prepared lesson plans regarding the sites the students would see and explained why those sites were significant. The trip was a learning experience in every sense, and she did not want any of her students to be embarrassed, nor did she want the group as a whole to be embarrassed by what might appear to be a lack of polish. And those kids, long since adults, always reflected a bright light on their teacher and their home. And, but for their singing for Coralie, they learned things that they would never have conceived.
God richly bless Coralie Runyon Jones for her light held high these many years; we, ourselves, have already been blessed by her presence and work in the home we call Maysville.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Expanding the Sin to Collect the $$$
Cincinnati television is saturated with ads regarding Issue No. 3. Some favor establishing casinos in Cincinnati and Columbus; some oppose. Regardless, lots of money is being spent! In Kentucky, there are proposals to permit video gambling at the racetracks. When the current House Speaker, Greg Stumbo, was Attorney General, he opined that the Kentucky Constitution permitted the Legislature to enact gambling legislation to help the thoroughbred industry and the racetracks. The republican-controlled Senate has thus far refused to cooperate in passing such a law. Now, Senate republicans are proposing a vote at the next general election amending the Constitution to permit such gambling, primarily because polls show that no such amendment would pass.
Much of the advertising in Ohio is deceptive. One ad depicts a bus load of people taking a trip "out of state" to a casino destination and reasoning that, if casinos were allowed at home, all that money would stay in Ohio. Another ploy is the creation of jobs, while still another ad says that casinos actually kill jobs. Who's right? I don't really know.
What I do wonder is who is putting up the money for these very expensive ads. I suspect most of it paying for the "pro" ads is coming from out of state; I have no idea where it's coming from to pay for the "anti" ads.
In the 1960's, the United States had (and probably still has) a huge Airforce base in Guam. Most of the B-52 bombing raids over Viet Nam were staged from there. Guam is a U. S. possession. When the commanding general decided to permit slot machines in the officer and enlisted clubs, during the first week, sales in the commissary (military term for grocery store) dropped $800,000. That was (and is) a huge amount of money. The Navy rules did permit slot machines in Navy O and enlisted clubs, but required that the machines return 96 cents of every dollar gambled. The navy was the smallest service on Okinawa and the O club there was in a quonset hut. Mixed drinks were $0.15 each and, during happy hour (everyday from 4 to 6:30) they were a nickle. Steak dinners were $2.50 and lobster was slightly higher. The slot machines, returning 96% to the gambler, paid the expenses and subsidized the food and drink costs.
The point is that there is phenomenal money involved with gambling. Those huge hotels in Las Vegas didn't just drop out of the sky. Casino profits paid for them in a very short time, and the rest is profit.
In Kentucky, any adult is free to gamble. Poker games are legal if played by a group of friends, all taking the same risk. The general rule is that gambling is illegal only when the "house" takes a cut. Exceptions to that general rule are racetracks (pari-mutuel betting) and licensed charitable gaming (bingo games). In both cases, the gambling is sponsored and the sponsor takes a cut. The biggest exception is, of course, the "Lottery."
As a rule, I think people should be reasonably free to do what they want; to make the choices they want to make. That said, both the federal and state governments have always taxed "sin." There are taxes on cigarettes, liquor, beer, wine and, in Kentucky, gambling on the ponies. The state of Nevada lives on its taxes derived from Las Vegas and Reno and is joined, more recently, by New Jersey. These are traditions imbedded in the governmental philosophy of America.
I guess gambling, smoking and drinking are characterized as "sins" because, as some believe, they are prohibited by the Bible. More likely these days, it involves the social injury done to self and family from excessive practices involving those things. Regardless of your viewpoint, there is no doubt that gambling can have a deleterious effect on a parent's ability to provide for his or her children, a husband for his wife, and a debtor for his creditor. When grocery store sales drop $800,000 because, all of a sudden, slot machines are permitted, that has to say something about misplaced priorities. And, these sins fall with disproportionate weight on people with limited means. A wealthy person can afford to lose several hundred dollars a week without affecting lifestyle; a poor person cannot and he, along with his dependents suffer for it. Another trusim is, unfortunately, that there are many, many more poor people than rich.
I have a problem with the government, state or federal, initiating or expanding "sin" for the purpose of collecting more revenue. Other than teen-agers, who do you suppose would favor dropping the legal drinking age in order to collect more money for the government? What if we allowed children 12 and over to smoke? These questions are absurd, of course, but the effects of gambling can be just as devasting and all of the effort to legalize casinos and add slots to racetracks clearly are aimed at starting or expanding gambling.
In the final analysis, government-permitted and sponsored gambling (the Lottery for schools) are just an exercise in the abdication of responsibility of legislators who will do anything to get re-elected and, thus, anything to avoid raising taxes. Under our system, government operates no program, provides no benefit, nor spends any money unless approved by the legislators we elect. It is their responsibility to raise the money to pay the cost; and, in my opinion, increasing the "sin" is a damned poor way of doing it.
Much of the advertising in Ohio is deceptive. One ad depicts a bus load of people taking a trip "out of state" to a casino destination and reasoning that, if casinos were allowed at home, all that money would stay in Ohio. Another ploy is the creation of jobs, while still another ad says that casinos actually kill jobs. Who's right? I don't really know.
What I do wonder is who is putting up the money for these very expensive ads. I suspect most of it paying for the "pro" ads is coming from out of state; I have no idea where it's coming from to pay for the "anti" ads.
In the 1960's, the United States had (and probably still has) a huge Airforce base in Guam. Most of the B-52 bombing raids over Viet Nam were staged from there. Guam is a U. S. possession. When the commanding general decided to permit slot machines in the officer and enlisted clubs, during the first week, sales in the commissary (military term for grocery store) dropped $800,000. That was (and is) a huge amount of money. The Navy rules did permit slot machines in Navy O and enlisted clubs, but required that the machines return 96 cents of every dollar gambled. The navy was the smallest service on Okinawa and the O club there was in a quonset hut. Mixed drinks were $0.15 each and, during happy hour (everyday from 4 to 6:30) they were a nickle. Steak dinners were $2.50 and lobster was slightly higher. The slot machines, returning 96% to the gambler, paid the expenses and subsidized the food and drink costs.
The point is that there is phenomenal money involved with gambling. Those huge hotels in Las Vegas didn't just drop out of the sky. Casino profits paid for them in a very short time, and the rest is profit.
In Kentucky, any adult is free to gamble. Poker games are legal if played by a group of friends, all taking the same risk. The general rule is that gambling is illegal only when the "house" takes a cut. Exceptions to that general rule are racetracks (pari-mutuel betting) and licensed charitable gaming (bingo games). In both cases, the gambling is sponsored and the sponsor takes a cut. The biggest exception is, of course, the "Lottery."
As a rule, I think people should be reasonably free to do what they want; to make the choices they want to make. That said, both the federal and state governments have always taxed "sin." There are taxes on cigarettes, liquor, beer, wine and, in Kentucky, gambling on the ponies. The state of Nevada lives on its taxes derived from Las Vegas and Reno and is joined, more recently, by New Jersey. These are traditions imbedded in the governmental philosophy of America.
I guess gambling, smoking and drinking are characterized as "sins" because, as some believe, they are prohibited by the Bible. More likely these days, it involves the social injury done to self and family from excessive practices involving those things. Regardless of your viewpoint, there is no doubt that gambling can have a deleterious effect on a parent's ability to provide for his or her children, a husband for his wife, and a debtor for his creditor. When grocery store sales drop $800,000 because, all of a sudden, slot machines are permitted, that has to say something about misplaced priorities. And, these sins fall with disproportionate weight on people with limited means. A wealthy person can afford to lose several hundred dollars a week without affecting lifestyle; a poor person cannot and he, along with his dependents suffer for it. Another trusim is, unfortunately, that there are many, many more poor people than rich.
I have a problem with the government, state or federal, initiating or expanding "sin" for the purpose of collecting more revenue. Other than teen-agers, who do you suppose would favor dropping the legal drinking age in order to collect more money for the government? What if we allowed children 12 and over to smoke? These questions are absurd, of course, but the effects of gambling can be just as devasting and all of the effort to legalize casinos and add slots to racetracks clearly are aimed at starting or expanding gambling.
In the final analysis, government-permitted and sponsored gambling (the Lottery for schools) are just an exercise in the abdication of responsibility of legislators who will do anything to get re-elected and, thus, anything to avoid raising taxes. Under our system, government operates no program, provides no benefit, nor spends any money unless approved by the legislators we elect. It is their responsibility to raise the money to pay the cost; and, in my opinion, increasing the "sin" is a damned poor way of doing it.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Nobel Peace Prize and Barack Obama
(Perhaps an explanatory note. I began this comment last Monday, October 12, so if it seems somewhat dated, it is.)
The Talking Heads went wild this past week-end over the news that the Committee had awarded Barack Obama the Nobel Peace Prize. The almost universal reaction was why. Obama has certainly achieved some notable accomplishments , e.g. becoming the first African American to be elected President, but being elected president has not heretofore qualified anyone else for the prize. Thomas Friedman, of the New York Times said in his column this morning that perhaps relief by Obama of the angst caused in European capitals by his predecessor was primary in the committee's thinking. In any event, if there is any fault in the award, it is certainly not that of Obama, who was as surprised as anyone by the news.
I don't know why we are so concerned with this matter. The prize is not an American one. I don't think we have a representative on the committee. Neither do I know for sure if there are binding regulations or rules prescribing what must characterize the award. It is simply nice on occasion to hear our Chief Magistrate, whoever he or she might be, complimented and appreciated, rather than denigrated and held in derision.
On the subject of Obama, I have thought him as charismatic as any president we have had since John Kennedy. His victories in the primaries, his nomination, his rhetoric and his overwhelming defeat of his opponent in the general election were all astounding. Most astounding was (and is) his appeal to people who have not heretofore really participated in the political process. It has been a very long time since five and ten dollar political contributions turned into millions, indeed, a sufficient amount to finance a presidential bid. Oh, I'm sure when it began to be obvious that he was going to get the nomination, Barack then began to garner some gifts from the heavy hitters. But until that time, he was the candidate of the little fellow, and I don't think he has changed.
But there is a hugh difference between the politics of election and the politics of governance. Even though the polls say he has dropped in popularity with the people in this country, I suspect those ratings will rise again after the negative ballyhoo subsides regarding health reform. But it is in conjunction with the effort to accomplish his priorities that Obama will ultimately be judged when the history of the early 21st century is penned. In the politics of governance, whether in Washington, the state capitals or on the local scene, the arena is ugly and the stakes are high. Figuratively, those arenas are just as fierce as those of the Colisseum in Rome 2000 years ago. There are lions and tigers everywhere; toga draped men carry long daggers in the folds of their garments, and delight in the swift plunge at the jugular. This is, no less, the political game which always surfaces after the election and the one with which Obama finds himself surrounded.
The test of Obama's presidency will depend on his ability to get his way. That's a very simple statement of a profound truth and it is, in fact, the measure of the success of presidents from the first to the last. If Obama can prevail in fashioning a health care bill which truly reforms the system; if he can drag out of Congress a bill which provides real change regarding our enviromental habits; and, finally, if he can get his way by reforming the Wall Street does business, then his presidency will be a profound success. If he can't, he's wasting our time. There are an awful lot of very powerful people who have a large stake in the status quo and they won't give up easily. Most of them hate what he stands for and will fight him with every weapon in their armory. It remains to be seen who'll come out on top!
You will remember, perhaps, that President Kennedy was a charismatic person, young, very bright, loved sparring with the press, and they with him. And most people liked and looked up to him. But Jack Kennedy accomplished very little, actually. His main feat was to make us feel good about ourselves and about the New Frontier. But on the day he was murdered, his lasting contributions were very few. His death assured his prominent place in history.
We, who listened to Obama's inaugural address, felt the same optimism for the country's future. God forbid his murder merely to obtain a chair next to Jack Kennedy! God forbid it for any reason!
God speed, Barack Obama!
The Talking Heads went wild this past week-end over the news that the Committee had awarded Barack Obama the Nobel Peace Prize. The almost universal reaction was why. Obama has certainly achieved some notable accomplishments , e.g. becoming the first African American to be elected President, but being elected president has not heretofore qualified anyone else for the prize. Thomas Friedman, of the New York Times said in his column this morning that perhaps relief by Obama of the angst caused in European capitals by his predecessor was primary in the committee's thinking. In any event, if there is any fault in the award, it is certainly not that of Obama, who was as surprised as anyone by the news.
I don't know why we are so concerned with this matter. The prize is not an American one. I don't think we have a representative on the committee. Neither do I know for sure if there are binding regulations or rules prescribing what must characterize the award. It is simply nice on occasion to hear our Chief Magistrate, whoever he or she might be, complimented and appreciated, rather than denigrated and held in derision.
On the subject of Obama, I have thought him as charismatic as any president we have had since John Kennedy. His victories in the primaries, his nomination, his rhetoric and his overwhelming defeat of his opponent in the general election were all astounding. Most astounding was (and is) his appeal to people who have not heretofore really participated in the political process. It has been a very long time since five and ten dollar political contributions turned into millions, indeed, a sufficient amount to finance a presidential bid. Oh, I'm sure when it began to be obvious that he was going to get the nomination, Barack then began to garner some gifts from the heavy hitters. But until that time, he was the candidate of the little fellow, and I don't think he has changed.
But there is a hugh difference between the politics of election and the politics of governance. Even though the polls say he has dropped in popularity with the people in this country, I suspect those ratings will rise again after the negative ballyhoo subsides regarding health reform. But it is in conjunction with the effort to accomplish his priorities that Obama will ultimately be judged when the history of the early 21st century is penned. In the politics of governance, whether in Washington, the state capitals or on the local scene, the arena is ugly and the stakes are high. Figuratively, those arenas are just as fierce as those of the Colisseum in Rome 2000 years ago. There are lions and tigers everywhere; toga draped men carry long daggers in the folds of their garments, and delight in the swift plunge at the jugular. This is, no less, the political game which always surfaces after the election and the one with which Obama finds himself surrounded.
The test of Obama's presidency will depend on his ability to get his way. That's a very simple statement of a profound truth and it is, in fact, the measure of the success of presidents from the first to the last. If Obama can prevail in fashioning a health care bill which truly reforms the system; if he can drag out of Congress a bill which provides real change regarding our enviromental habits; and, finally, if he can get his way by reforming the Wall Street does business, then his presidency will be a profound success. If he can't, he's wasting our time. There are an awful lot of very powerful people who have a large stake in the status quo and they won't give up easily. Most of them hate what he stands for and will fight him with every weapon in their armory. It remains to be seen who'll come out on top!
You will remember, perhaps, that President Kennedy was a charismatic person, young, very bright, loved sparring with the press, and they with him. And most people liked and looked up to him. But Jack Kennedy accomplished very little, actually. His main feat was to make us feel good about ourselves and about the New Frontier. But on the day he was murdered, his lasting contributions were very few. His death assured his prominent place in history.
We, who listened to Obama's inaugural address, felt the same optimism for the country's future. God forbid his murder merely to obtain a chair next to Jack Kennedy! God forbid it for any reason!
God speed, Barack Obama!
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