That trickle you feel down your leg may not be your wealth accruing

(Click the highlighted links for source information.)

Republicans are continuing to tout their recent windfall handout to wealthy Americans as a “middle class tax cut.” Faux-president Donald Trump – as expected – talked about it in his State of the Union last night, as well as bragging (again) about the rise in the stock market during his presidency.

"The great news for Americans: 401(k) retirement, pension, and college savings accounts have gone through the roof. And just as I promised the American people from this podium 11 months ago, we enacted the biggest tax cuts and reforms in American history. Our massive tax cuts provide tremendous relief for the middle class and small businesses to lower tax rates for hard-working Americans."

That’s what he said, but here are some real facts:   

A post-SOTU panelist who happens to be a Republican said last night that 44% of Americans don't have $400 available in case of emergency, and 67% don't have $1,000 in a savings account. The small increases many of them will realize from the tax bill will do little to improve their overall, long-term financial condition, not to mention that these savings are temporary and will expire in seven years while corporate tax breaks are permanent.

As to the stock market, it’s reported that of those people earning $25,000 a year or less, only 8% own stocks. “Meanwhile,” according to CNN Money, “88% of those making more than $1 million are in the market, which explains why the rising stock market tracks with increasing levels of (income) inequality.”

On average across the United States, only 18.7% of taxpayers directly own stocks, not including investments made by their employers into retirement plans. Access to employer-sponsored retirement plans leans heavily toward higher income white people (what a shock!) and away from blacks and Latinos, and, of course, favors older people rather than the young.

Trump also likes to brag that because of tax reform, American companies are handing out bonuses, hiring more people and expanding their businesses. Some are, that’s true. But consider the reality of the situation:

* With regard to bonuses, an employee who is underpaid may enjoy a $1,000 windfall that he can apply to his mortgage or make a couple of car payments or even celebrate by buying a boat or a big-screen TV, but when that money is gone, he’s still an underpaid employee.

* On the hiring front, if Walmart announces plans to hire several thousand people and Sam’s Club closes 63 stores, putting thousands of others out of work, is that really a net gain?

* And business expansion? Trump loves to talk about Apple’s plan to invest $350 billion in America, and hire another 20,000 workers.” Truth is, Apple does plan to make a much smaller investment, but the greater number represents company sales over the next five years. In other words, most of the money Apple will be “contributing to the economy” will be money it earns by selling stuff to you and me. Ask yourself who benefits most from that? Also, for every company that Trump brags about, there are others he ignores, like Harley-Davidson shutting down its Kansas City plant and cutting 800 jobs, or Carrier laying off more of the workers whose jobs Trump had promised to save.

Look, I’m no accountant or economist, and financial reporting has never been my strong suit, so I have to depend on others to explain to me what’s going on, especially when the person throwing out the economic statistics is a pathological liar who claims to be a business genius but has proven throughout his bankruptcy-tainted career to be anything but. For that reason, there’s not much more I can write about this subject.

I have, however, accrued some knowledge over the course of 68 years by watching my own financial condition rise and fall, and while I consider myself fortunate that as of today I do have access to $400 should I need it in an emergency and I do have $1,000 in a savings account, I consider that to be a temporary situation that could very easily change.

Unlike the Republican Party, I also worry about those millions of Americans who don’t have money to live on, let alone a savings account or a fall-back plan if things go any further south. So please don’t try to tell me this "middle class tax cut" is ever going to trickle down to them, because I'm not as stupid as the people who still support Donald Trump.

If anything trickles down on these people, it isn’t going to be a pile of gold.

‘Do that one more time and you’re really going to get it’

Tell me if this happened:

When you were little, you did something bad and your mother yelled at you. “Do that one more time and you’re really going to get it.” So naturally you did it again, just to see what, if anything, was going to happen.

So have you met our faux-president, Donald J. Trump?

I read today that he’s going to conduct a telethon during his State of the Union address to raise money for his 2020 re-election campaign – in violation of the rules of the House of Representatives. (Did he get this idea from Pat Robertson, I wonder?) We can add this to the list of rules, regulations, constitutional provisions and laws he has broken during 12 months as president…a list so long I don’t have the time or the desire to report them all here.

Let’s just say he has improperly used the presidency to make money on his own properties and his name brand, accepted gifts from foreign governments in exchange for access to the White House, hired family members into key positions in spite of the no-nepotism rule, ignored the will of Congress by refusing to apply sanctions on Russia and raped the Constitution by ignoring the principle of checks and balances while attempting to establish an authoritarian dictatorship with himself as the Supreme Leader, much the same way he ran his New York real estate business or his reality TV show.   

No doubt, there are people out there right now saying, “If he does one more thing like this he’s really going to get it.” Unfortunately, the people who would say that are not in a position to do anything about it – and those who could do something won’t – which means he’ll do it again and again and again. I’m not the first to say this but I’ll say it anyway: Trump has successfully pulled off the trifecta of tyranny, the hat trick of treason and the triple play of plutocracy.

(1) First, he destroyed the media by claiming that mainstream news organizations are corrupt and that therefore, any negative stories about him were fake news. By disputing their credibility, he made it impossible for objective reporters to tell us the truth about Trump and be believed. (Exception made for Fox and Friends. Their words are golden.)

(2) Next, he discredited the nation’s intelligence operation, specifically the FBI. Why? Because if he ever was to be investigated, reprimanded, sanctioned or charged with a crime, it would be the FBI that would do it. So now he says they are also corrupt and can’t be trusted, so who is left to enforce the laws that Trump repeatedly breaks?

(3) And finally, he has told his minions and his lap dogs and his Fascist followers to stick with him no matter what he says or does because if anybody ever gets in trouble for it, he’ll have their pardon papers drawn up before the sun goes down. If you don’t believe that, I’d point you toward Arizona and Sheriff Joe Arpaio.

I know this will mess up my theory of threes, but there is one more element to this story and that is the investigation by Special Counsel Robert Mueller, which by all accounts is amassing a mountain of evidence that somebody colluded with Russia to rig the 2016 election and is now obstructing justice by attempting to derail his investigation.

I have to believe that every night when he takes his cheeseburger to bed and every morning when he wakes up and looks for his Twitter phone, the first thought that crosses Trump’s mind is, “I’m going to fire Mueller today.” Nixon tried that during the Saturday Night Massacre and it didn’t turn out well for him. However, back in 1974, we had a Congress that was more concerned with the welfare of the country than it was with getting re-elected.

What would happen if Trump fires Mueller? I don’t know, but I can’t see the spineless Paul Ryan and his Republican cohorts in the House Judiciary Committee filing articles of impeachment against Trump the way the committee did against Nixon under Peter Rodino in 1974.

Remember – in the Nixon case, they had tapes. They had actual tape recordings of Nixon committing crimes. In 2018 or beyond, even if such tapes existed, Trump would claim they had been manufactured by the Democrats, doctored by the FBI or were simply “fake.” Or he would say it wasn’t his voice on the tapes. Think Access Hollywood 2.0.

*     *     *

There’s no caps like snow caps

On a lighter note, I heard Trump’s interview with Piers Morgan in which he claimed the polar ice caps are “setting records.” I really want to know where he got that information and what the hell he thought he meant.

I mean seriously, did he get that from Fox and Friends? Did Kellyanne Conway tell him to say that? Or Hope Hicks? Did he misread a briefing paper, or did he simply overhear part of a conversation in which the only words he understood were “ice caps” and “records?” If so, it’s not a stretch to think his narcissistic brain translated that into “the ice caps are setting records under my presidency.” Never mind that the records they are setting are for melting into the sea.

There are two things wrong with this comment. First, that Trump made it at all, and second, that Piers Morgan didn’t immediately respond with, “Are you fuggin’ crazy? Do you even have a clue what you're talking about?” At that point, I would have been tempted to end the interview, get up and walk out, leaving Trump sitting in the chair by himself. What did Morgan do? He went on to the next question.

For the record, here is Trump’s complete answer to Morgan's question about global warming:

“That wasn’t working too well, because it was getting too cold all over the place. The ice caps were going to melt, they were going to be gone by now, but now they’re setting records, so OK, they’re at a record level. There were so many thing happening, Piers. I’ll tell you what I believe in. I believe in clear air. I believe in crystal clear beautiful water. I believe in just having good cleanliness in all. Now, that being said, if somebody said go back into the Paris Accord, if we could go back into the Paris Accord, it would have to be a completely different deal because we had a horrible deal, As usual, they took advantage of the United States. We were in a terrible deal. Would I go back in? Yeah, I’d go back in. I like, as you know, I like Emmanuel… No, no, I like Emmanuel, I would love to, but it’s got to be a good deal for the United States.”

You can read the full interview here.

Would you mind putting your hypocrisy in writing?

(Click the highlighted links for source material.)

When you contact your representatives in Congress by email, they automatically add you to their mailing list, even if you criticize them repeatedly and complain loudly about the way they voted on certain issues. I don’t know why they do this unless they think that, by sending me a monthly report of the things that piss me off, they will somehow convert me to their way of thinking.

Either that, or they just really like pissing me off at my own expense.

In any case, they must believe that no one reads these newsletters, or if they do, they aren’t paying attention to them. Otherwise, why would they think it was a good idea to email me written proof of their blatant hypocrisy? I mean, only people who (a) can read and (b) pay attention to issues would recognize this to be true.

Just this week, for example, I received an email from Rep. David McKinley, my Republican representative in the House. He wanted me to know that he supports our nation’s community health centers.

“On Tuesday, I joined Reps. Jenkins and Mooney on a letter to House Leadership urging them to secure critical funding for our nation's community health centers,” he wrote. “The House has previously passed funding for these centers, but the Senate has yet to act. With the lack of certainty in funding, community health centers will…either cut jobs or critical services, such as behavioral health and substance abuse treatment. With the opioid crisis in our state being particularly acute, this is an untenable situation both for both patients and providers.”

I can click this link to read the whole letter. 

I guess Mr. McKinley thinks I should be impressed that he wants our state to have community health centers, which provide minimum health services such as prenatal care, baby immunizations, general primary care and referrals to specialists for people regardless of income, according to healthcare.gov. Emphasis on the word “referrals.” 

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m all for improving health care in West Virginia, but what happens if you need more medical care than these centers can provide, such as specialized treatment for mental health problems, substance abuse and HIV/AIDS? Unless I’m missing something, you need either money or health insurance for this level of follow-up care, and just a few months ago, Mr. McKinley was trying to repeal Obamacare and take away health insurance from 25 million people.

I know that because of another McKinley newsletter tidbit that was shoved into my inbox:

Rep. McKinley continues to pursue a repeal of the health care law that has led to double digit increases in the cost of health care for many West Virginia families. In its place, he believes we need reforms that will help ensure access to affordable, quality health care to all Americans without hurting our economy and adding to our national debt. We can do better. House Republicans have offered a better way….”

If you remember, that “better way” he was talking about would have reduced the taxes that helped to make the Affordable Care Act affordable. It also proposed to roll back state-by-state expansions of Medicaid, which covers millions of low-income Americans, and would have caused millions of other Americans to lose their health insurance altogether, including people with pre-existing conditions, older Americans and the poor. In addition, repealing the ACA would have taken away an important source of funding for…wait for it… community health centers. Oh, the irony. 

Republicans were only able to pass the bill (by a narrow margin) after promising that it would do things that simply weren’t true. Fortunately, several attempts to push similar bills through the Senate subsequently failed and Obamacare continues to this day.

So is McKinley really in favor of better health care or is he not? Let’s recap:

* As far as he is concerned, community health centers are good. You can go there if you’re pregnant, you have a cold or your baby needs a shot. Anything further requires a referral for advanced treatment and specialized care.

* However, if he had gotten his way, the ability of many West Virginians to pay for comprehensive health care through the Affordable Care Act or Medicaid would have been curtailed or eliminated completely. He supported a replacement program that was opposed by virtually every health professional and medical organization in the country as well as several labor unions, the Children’s Defense Fund and the AARP.

* Both of these positions were clearly explained in McKinley’s newsletter, which was sent to my email unsolicited.

* I was apparently never expected to read the newsletter because by doing so, I uncovered the hypocrisy of these conflicting positions regarding health care. My guess is, most of the people who get this newsletter are McKinley supporters who will vote for him no matter what he says. Hypocrisy be damned.

* It’s hard to believe what McKinley says because his health care position seems to be all over the map. He’s for better health care except when he’s against it. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it.

I heard this week that the U.S. Congress has an approval rating of around 11 percent, and frankly, I’m surprised it’s that high. I would think that zero was a more appropriate number, considering how little regard our elected officials show for the wants, needs and desires of their constituents. It’s all about party politics now…that, and getting oneself re-elected.

As to that, in a few months, one-third of the U.S. Senate and all 435 members of the House of Representatives must stand for re-election. Unless things improve in a hurry (and they won’t), I’ll be okay if every one of them gets voted out of office and we start over again with a whole new slate.

I know for a fact that one of the 435 will not be getting a vote from me, especially if he keeps sending me written proof that he lacks the basic fitness for the office.

ShieldWALL Extra: I debunk your debunk of my debunk

There will be a time in the near future when the word "debunk" won't mean anything at all. One side will say something which the other side will debunk. Then all hell will break loose.

Side 1: "This is true. These are the facts."

Side 2: "No, it is NOT true. Your 'facts' have been debunked."

Side 1: "I debunk your debunk."

Side 2: "I'll see your debunk of my debunk and raise you one debunk and two alternative facts."

Side 1: "I'll debunk your debunk of my debunk of your debunk...and there is no such thing as alternative facts."

Side 2: "I debunk that."

Side 1: "If there are no alternative facts, how can you debunk them?"

Side 2: "Facts or no facts, my base believes my debunk. Therefore, I can debunk whatever I want."

Side 1: "That would mean the act of debunking has been completely debunked."

Side 2: "I debunk that, too."

Cars I have known, Phase 2 (in which Daltrey gets his oats)

Late one night in 1970, or thereabouts, I was driving my black 1955 Buick Special northbound on Pleasant Valley Road in Fairmont when I rounded a curve to see two headlights coming toward me on my side of the road. I had only a split second to swerve to the right to avoid a dead-on, head-on collision.

James Bond didn't have armor like this.

Because I did that, the drunk who hit me glanced off one side of my car, taking out my driver’s side headlight and fender and caving in part of the door. Fortunately, General Motors saw fit to equip its 1955 Buick Special with a massive chrome bumper and grille that could break down walls without sustaining so much as a dent. Had I been driving a smaller, less “fortified” car, I might have been seriously injured. In my Buick, however, I escaped unhurt. The other guy was too drunk to know if he was hurt or not, but one thing was certain: His late ‘60s model Chevy Impala took the worst of the impact with my chrome-plated Buick and the two torpedoes it carried out front.

So I found a fender in a junk yard and plugged a new headlight into its socket, but there was no longer a frame to hold the light, so I tied it in place with yellow speaker wire and went on with my life. And therein lies this tale.

In March of 1971, Fairmont State’s men’s basketball team was competing in the NAIA national championship tournament in Kansas City, Mo. It was a grueling, one-week, 32-team event in which the winner would have to win five games over six days. On opening night, a Monday, I was in Fluharty’s bar near Rivesville with 20 or more fraternity brothers drinking beer and listening to Fairmont’s game on the radio, somehow being played through the juke box.

As the beer flowed, more and more guys came to the conclusion that if Fairmont State won this game, we would all pile into cars and drive to KC for the remainder of the tournament. We would do this after drinking for several hours. With very little money. In the middle of the night. In winter.

What could possibly go wrong?

As luck would have it, Fairmont won the game on a tip-in at the final buzzer, but by that time, the number of people headed for Kansas City had dwindled to three. Only one of us (yours truly) was 21 years old – the legal drinking age in Missouri in 1971 – and only one of us had his own car, even if the headlight was held in place with speaker wire. But off we went. We would not be denied.

First off, my father told me I’d never make it in a ’55 Buick with unattached spare parts. He said I’d probably get as far as Columbus, Ohio, if I was lucky, and to sell the car there for the price of a bus ticket and come back home. Next, I had to wake up a friend who managed a restaurant to come out and cash a check for me so I’d have money for the trip. There were no bank cards or ATMs in 1971.

Finally, the three of us set out at midnight for the 16-hour drive to Kansas City. In Ohio we drove into a blizzard with snow so wet and heavy that someone had to keep pounding on the inside of the windshield to keep the wipers from stopping and freezing in place. We got through the storm and drove all night, hitting St. Louis just in time for noon-hour traffic, when everybody was driving at least 80 mph on five- and six-lane sections of Interstate 70. We survived that, too, and arrived in Kansas City around 4 p.m. on Tuesday.

I could tell you a lot of stories about what happened out there, but sticking with the car theme, let me just say that one of the guys with me on the trip was a big football star at Fairmont State. We ran into his coach in a hotel parking lot, and when he saw the condition of the big black Buick, he offered to buy his star player a plane ticket to keep him from going home in my car. The player declined.

So long story short, we stayed Tuesday through Saturday to watch Fairmont State finish fourth, then took off – again late at night – for the trip back home. Cops stopped us in Fairmont, Illinois, (oh, the irony) but let us go. Somewhere around Indiana, the speaker wire began to come loose and the driver’s side headlight started shining straight up in the air, like a searchlight or an anti-aircraft beacon. Later, probably in Ohio, it started shining back toward the driver, and somewhere around Waynesburg, Pa., it flew off altogether, never to be seen again.

I’ve told this story dozens of times, and people still look at me like they think I’m making it all up, but there are two guys out there who were with me on the adventure of a lifetime – at least up to that point in time – and they’ll verify that every word I wrote is true. I ran into the football player recently and we told the tale to each other all over again.

My experience with Fords

Fool me once...

The first new car I ever owned was a 1974 Ford Mustang II hatchback. It was chocolate brown with tan interior and pinstripes. I had really wanted a Mustang back in 1966 but we couldn’t afford one then, so I bought the next best thing, or so I thought. The car was beautiful to look at, but functionally was a piece of junk. Still, I drove it for four years and when it was time to get rid of it, I stupidly traded it for...wait for it…a 1978 Ford Mustang II hatchback.

...fool me twice.

This one was silver with black interior, a cool shifter, chrome dashboard and sport wheels. It was – you guessed it – beautiful to look at, but in four years it fell completely apart and was basically un-driveable by 1983. I had to carry quarts of oil everywhere I went and it was badly in need of a ring job. The rear hatch didn’t fit quite right, which allowed the trunk compartment to become seriously saturated with 36 inches of melted snow after sitting for days in front of my apartment in Hagerstown, Md., following a storm. From that day forward, the car smelled like wet dog.

When I finally limped into a Subaru dealer to trade the car I couldn’t get it to go faster than about 25 mph. Just before I drove away in my shiny new Subaru sedan, I asked the salesman what would happen to the Mustang. “We’ll play with it a little and send it down to some used car lot in West Virginia,” he told me. “Someone down there will buy it.”

I drove the Subaru for 65,000 miles, switched to Hondas in 1987 and haven’t looked back since. My current car is a 2002 Honda CRV with 99,400 miles on it. It still runs as good as the day we brought it home. (That sound you hear is me, knocking on wood.) Some years ago, a friend and devoted Ford owner asked me why I only bought Japanese cars. “You should buy American,” he told me. “The cars are better now.”

“I had two Fords,” I replied. “Fool me once, fool me twice…I don’t have the money to buy another one just to find out if you’re right.” Or, as Roger Daltrey would say, “I won’t get fooled again.”

Cars I have known (because everyone can use a good laugh)

In his Netflix series “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee,” Jerry Seinfeld drives some classic car to pick up a famous comedian and they go to a diner to talk. Every time I watch an episode, I’m reminded of cars I have known in my lifetime.

Let me say right off the top that early on, the cars I drove would never be confused with good cars…but they did produce some good stories which I have been re-living recently with a friend we’ll call Mitch (not his real name, except when it is). This has inspired me to share a few of these stories here on the shieldWALL.

The 1955 Buick

Ours never looked this good.

When I turned 16 in 1966, my parents owned a two-tone, baby blue and white 1955 Buick Special. As I recall, almost nothing about the car was actually special. It was a rust bucket with bald tires and some other curious features. Once, I pulled up beside another car to talk to some friends and when I rolled down the window, it started down an inch or two and then broke loose, crashing down with great flourish into the driver’s side door. WHOOSH! And there it stayed.

Another time, I tried to make “loops” by burning rubber off the tires and leaving j-shaped tracks on the pavement, the way guys with hot cars did. So I drove halfway up a steep hill, stopped, let the car drift backward in neutral until it got going pretty fast and then jammed the transmission into drive. The car started to shake, the tires started to smoke and burn and then BOOM! BOOM! I blew out both rear tires. Hard to explain that to your dad after walking home at 2 in the morning.

I never took my driver’s test in that car because it was too rusty to pass inspection. My dad tried to fix that problem by slapping some kind of epoxy on the rust holes in the quarter panels over the wheels. He bought this stuff that came in two tubes which he mixed together and then applied to the car with a spatula. [It is important to note at this point that he had not read the directions for this product before using it.] After he got it plastered on the car, my mother called him for dinner. Afterward, he went back out to sand off the excess epoxy, only to find it had petrified while he was away. Nothing short of dynamite could have blasted that goop off the car, so he just left it that way. It looked like a relief map of Tibet.

I was driving the Buick once in downtown Fairmont when the transmission went out. It would only go in reverse. My dad came to get me and drove the car home from the Low-Level Bridge all the way up Everest Drive, down through Coal Run Hollow, up Fifth Street and around the old junior high to our house on Oakwood Road. He did this with the car in reverse and his head stuck out the window, looking back over his shoulder. To this day, I get a stiff neck just thinking about that.

Years later, my dad tried to trade that car for a used 1974 Pontiac Grand Prix. They offered him $50 for it and said they’d sell it back to him for $35. I think he just gave it to them to bury.

The 1954 Packard Clipper

I think ours was a little bluer.

One of my aunts died in the mid-1960s and left my mother a 1954 Packard Clipper. It was robin’s egg blue with a black roof. In its day, it might have been a real gem, but by the time we got it, it had lived its life and was ready to retire. It showed its disdain for any continued use by emitting a smoke screen that would put James Bond to shame. I was driving it along Fairmont Avenue one time and stopped to pick up a friend who was walking. She looked at the smoke engulfing the car and said, “No thanks. I’d rather walk.”

The Packard had very comfortable bench seats and a spacious interior, but it didn’t have a radio or any electronics, so I bought an 8-track tape player and tried to install it, but the tape player wouldn’t work. That’s when I discovered that the car had a six-volt battery instead of the standard 12-volt models. Six volts was not enough to operate a tape player, so there was no music to be had. Hell, six volts barely operated the motor. Top speed was about 45 mph.

The 1959 Chrysler Imperial

Push button transmission

My dad was a mailman. An old lady on his mail route owned a 1959 Chrysler Imperial that sat under a tree in front of her house. She got too old to drive but kept the car until my dad offered to buy it from her and she agreed. My dad was so proud when he drove home in a car that once had been top-of-the-line (emphasis on the word “once”). The Imperial had a very classy roof that was part black vinyl and part stainless steel. It was also part bird shit after several years parked under a tree. It took us days to clean it all off.

The strangest thing to me was the push button transmission. I could never quite understand how pushing the “D” or “R” buttons on the dashboard could do the same thing as maneuvering a stick mounted on the steering column…but they did. But the coolest feature was the floor-mounted foot pedal that changed the radio stations remotely. I could press on the pedal and the radio would scan up or down until it found a signal and then stop until I pressed it again. Nobody knew about this feature, so I used to tell people I could change the station with my mind. Other times I’d point at the radio and pretend to slide the dial up with my finger. It kinda freaked people out. I loved that.

Imagine a vinyl, stainless steel and bird shit roof.

I’d also like to say something about the large, comfortable back seat that car had, but it would probably get me into trouble today, so I won’t dwell on that. (Wink wink.)

The 1948 Buick

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the 1948 Buick my parents owned until it rusted out so badly that my dad took it to a welder and had the entire body cut off. All that was left was the motor, the hood, the windshield, the dashboard, the steering wheel, the front seat, the chassis and the tires. There were no doors, no fenders, no roof, nothing. The rest of it was, for all practical purposes, a flat-bed truck. You should have seen the people looking at us when my dad and I took it out for a drive on Fairmont Avenue. I would cut off a few toes if I could show you a photograph of this car, but sadly, there are none. My dad eventually sold it to a farmer who used it to haul bales of hay.

The 1955 Buick 2.0

Pretend the roof is white. And mine was a two-door.

Finally, I offer up the irony that the first car I owned myself was also a 1955 Buick Special – black with a white roof and red interior – that I bought around 1970 or ’71 for $300. This car had been owned by a mechanic at the Buick garage and had been beautifully and meticulously maintained. I considered it a steal for the price and I loved it like it was new. I took off the hub caps, painted the wheels flat black and installed chrome lug nuts. A friend once said it was the best looking set of wheels he had ever seen on such a shitty old car.

There are a lot of stories that go with this vehicle, too, as well as cars I owned later in life, but they’ll have to wait for another day. Meanwhile, regarding my big black beautiful Buick, I’ll leave you with a couple of hints: Fairmont State basketball, Kansas City, Missouri and yellow speaker wire. Does that arouse your curiosity?

Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you

[Click the highlighted links for source material.]

In his classic song “Bookends,”  a sweet but somewhat sad lament about growing old, Paul Simon wrote these words:

Time it was

And what a time it was, it was

A time of innocence

A time of confidences

Long ago it must be

I have a photograph

Preserve your memories

They're all that's left you.

I learned this week that your memories are not always what you think they are.

If you read my Facebook posts, you know that when I was a boy of 6 or so I faithfully watched the Mickey Mouse Club on TV every day to see Bobby, Cubby, Karen, Sharon, Lonnie, Tommy, Darlene, Doreen and Annette. (OK, mostly to see Annette.) One of the biggest attractions for me was the serialized versions of Hardy Boys mysteries and the ranch adventures of “Spin and Marty” that ran for about 10 minutes as a segment of each show.

Season 1 saw the Hardys solve “The Mystery of the Applegate Treasure,” followed the next year by “The Mystery of Ghost Farm.”

The Applegate story was a loose interpretation of the first Hardy Boys book, “The Tower Treasure,” which I read later in life. Then, for the next 60 or so years, I carried an image in my mind of the Hardys and their friend Perry Robinson walking along at night in front of a high stone wall that guarded a spooky old mansion on a hill. The wind was blowing and fallen leaves were swirling around and making rasping noises on the street.

What’s more, every Halloween after that I imagined that I would walk outside, hear the wind blowing and see the leaves swirling just like they did for Frank and Joe Hardy, and it would be a perfect, mysterious, spooky old night for Trick-or-Treat.

So it was with great anticipation when I found “The Mystery of the Applegate Treasure” on YouTube that I started watching it again for the first time since 1956. Eagerly I watched, episode after episode, awaiting that one scene that had been playing in my mind for so many years. I watched as the Hardys dug holes looking for the treasure, jousted with old man Applegate, tore out walls in the mansion and climbed a water tower down by the rail yard.

And then it was over.

Wait! What? I watched all 19 episodes and there was no scene like the one I remembered. Not. One. Scene. Oh, there were a few times that Frank or Joe or Perry or their friend Iola Morton walked alongside a tall hedge that bordered Applegate’s property, but there was no wall and no wind and no leaves and no mansion on a hill...just an old house on a street behind a hedge.

What’s more, I’ve gone out on Halloween night for most of my life, either as a kid trick-or-treating or as an adult escorting my kids and grandkids as they went door-to-door begging for candy and treats, and not once do I remember the wind blowing or the leaves swirling the way I wanted them to. Not even once.

(In my experience, it’s more likely to rain on Halloween.)

So at first I was pretty disappointed after waiting so long to recapture a memory that turned out to be wrong, but after thinking it over, it was still great to put the real world on hold for a couple of days and flash back to being a six-year-old boy again...and to feel the same excitement and joy I had experienced then, carving such a deep impression that it’s still with me today.

So what I learned is this: Your memories may not always be what you think they are, but they are exclusively yours all the same. They’re the back story of your life, for good or ill, or at least the way you have come to remember it. If they are good memories, you should bring them back and relive them as often as you can, even if they get a little fuzzy over time. 

And don't worry so much if they're right or wrong after oh, so many years. Just wrap yourself up in them and pretend.

‘Bridgeport Jesus’ incident may have foretold what was to come

Click the highlighted links for source material.

In August of 2006, a portrait of Jesus Christ was stolen from an administrative office at Bridgeport High School, a public school in Harrison County in the north-central region of West Virginia. To this day, I am told, it has never been found and the thief, who was caught on surveillance cameras but was well-disguised, has never been apprehended.

Shortly after the theft, I was asked my opinion of “Bridgeport Jesus,” and when I answered the question honestly, the silence around me was deafening. I kind of cleared the room, so to speak. It was obvious that my opinion was not well received.

I’ll get to that momentarily, but first, as background, here is an abridged version of an Associated Press report of the incident as published in the New York Times on August 21, 2006:

BRIDGEPORT, W.Va. (AP) — A legal battle over a painting of Jesus hanging in a high school here is continuing, even though the painting was stolen last week. Two civil liberties groups…filed suit to remove the painting, “Head of Christ,” saying it sent the message that the public school endorsed Christianity as its official religion.

The Harrison County Board of Education said it would fight the lawsuit (using funds raised by The Christian Freedom Fund…and students at the school). “We have decided to step up to the plate here,” said a school board member. “This is important to us and reflects what our community wants in the schools.”

The two civil liberties groups that filed the lawsuit on behalf of local plaintiffs do not believe it is up to the community to decide. “I think what you’re dealing with is a small group of rabble-rousers that only want to live with people who live as they do,” an A.C.L.U. official said. “My answer to that is, go to a private school, go to a parochial school (but) don’t go to a public school.”

Not long after the incident, I attended a luncheon meeting in the dining room of the Bridgeport Country Club. During our discussion of an entirely different subject, a prominent citizen who had been playing golf approached our table and asked what we thought of the case. He went around the table and then looked directly at me.

“What I think,” I replied, “is if you’re going to hang a painting of Jesus in the school you need to put up one of Buddha, Muhammad, Vishnu, Shiva and maybe Zoroaster as well.” (Or words to that effect.)

He shook his head, turned and walked away.

Fast-forward 11 years to 2017. Several different surveys taken last year showed that white evangelical Christians believe they are more discriminated against than African Americans, Muslims and other people of color. In one, for example, only 36 percent perceived any discrimination at all against black people, and in another, 57 percent said that Christians face “a lot of discrimination” in the U.S. today, while just 44 percent said the same about Muslims.

Meanwhile, 63 million Americans including white evangelical Christians elected to the presidency a man who is well-known for womanizing, sexual misconduct, fraud, narcissism, misogyny, xenophobia, racism, tax evasion and a pathological inability to tell the truth. He has a spiritual adviser who suggests that people send her money or face the wrath of God, a Southern Baptist minister whose choir sang a song called “Make America Great Again” at one of Trump’s rallies and an anti-gay, anti-abortion religious zealot vice president who once signed an anti-LGBT discrimination law, supports conversion therapy for homosexuals to “pray away the gay,” voted to defund Planned Parenthood and co-sponsored a bill that, had it passed, would have redefined rape as “forcible rape,” presumably to differentiate it from calm, friendly, socially-acceptable recreational rape.

This so-called “Trump base” also openly supported a disgraced pedophile judge from Alabama who was almost elected to the U.S. Senate and who no doubt inspired the announced candidacies of a corrupt Arizona sheriff who was pardoned by Trump for a number of crimes and a West Virginia coal baron whose disregard for safety led to the deaths of 29 miners in 2010. He served a year in prison for misdemeanor conspiracy to violate mine safety and health standards, but escaped all of the felony charges against him.

These men believe they can be elected to the U.S. Senate by the same types of voters who put Trump in the Oval Office. This is who we have become in 2018, all of which makes the “Bridgeport Jesus” caper in retrospect nothing more than a prelude to our current culture. That painting of Jesus on the wall of a public school in Bridgeport, W.Va., seems almost normal today.

But I said “almost.”

My daughter is a public school teacher and we were discussing prayer in schools. As near as we can tell, no one is preventing any student from praying silently to his or her god from the third seat in the second row of any public school classroom in America. My daughter, however, cannot and should not lead a Christian prayer every day before starting her classes because in all probability, some of her students would be Jews, Muslims, Buddhists and maybe even Atheists.

One conclusion of the surveys I referenced before is that conservative white Christians looked around one day at an increasingly diverse and inclusive America and discovered they had lost the power, the influence, the cultural center and the demographic dominance they once had – and they are fighting to get it back. To paraphrase a Jack Nicholson line from the movie “A Few Good Men,” they want Jesus on that wall; they need Jesus on that wall. Otherwise, they believe, they are the ones being persecuted, not the people of color that Trump is trying to marginalize, minimize and eventually remove from the United States.

For the record, my comments that day in 2006 were only intended to make a point. I didn’t believe then and I don’t believe now that any religious icons belong on the walls of our public schools. I also believe firmly that my opinion is probably less popular today in West Virginia than it was in 2006.

One man’s shithole is another man’s, uh, shithole

On Thursday, faux-president Donald Trump asked a gathering of lawmakers why America has to accept immigrants from “shithole” countries like Haiti, El Salvador and Africa, and why we can’t get more from all-white countries like Norway.

When news of this vile, racist comment got out and most of the country erupted with disgust over it, mental giant TV host Tucker Carlson from Trump’s personal network, Fox News, went off in a different direction, defending Trump while asking the stupidest question of the week. “Why can’t you say that?” Carlson wanted to know.

Well, Tucker, if you don't know the answer to that question, I’m not sure I can help you...but I’m going to give it a try nonetheless.

Consider this:

* If your cat digs a hole out back and then shits in it, it's ok to call that a “shithole.”

* If you are camping out in the woods and you dig a latrine – hopefully somewhere downwind of your campfire – you can call that a “shithole,” too.

* And if you should happen to stumble into a drug den littered with garbage, used needles, drug paraphernalia and human excrement, that's also appropriately called a “shithole.” That would probably be true even in a place like Norway.

On the other hand, countries like Haiti and El Salvador are sovereign nations that are friendly toward the United States, and Africa is a whole big continent full of 54 separate countries inhabited by living, breathing human beings with basic needs, basic desires and the basic human right to have a decent existence. It is not okay for the president of the United States to call an entire country a "shithole."

Tucker Carlson should know this already. A man who graduated from Trinity College with a B.A. in history should be smart enough to recognize that poor people doing their best to overcome deplorable conditions don’t deserve childish insults from the supposed leader of the free world just because they’re poor (and also brown or black). If Donald Trump – and Tucker Carlson by association – wasn’t a racist, xenophobic moron with no dignity or class, a stone for a heart and a total lack of appreciation for the world in which we live, he would know better than to call their homes a “shithole” while going out of his way to deny them a better life.

Of course, this is who Donald Trump is, and nothing I write is going to change him into the Ebenezer Scrooge who woke up happy on Christmas morning after spending the night with four ghosts. But Tucker Carlson? I don't know why I have to explain this to him. Doesn't he read? Doesn’t he ever explore the world around him just a little bit, or does Fox News pay him so much money that he’ll say anything to keep getting the checks? I’m guessing he just doesn’t care.  

For the record, the core of the issue that prompted the “shithole” comment is Trump’s move to revoke the Temporary Protected Status (TPS) that was granted to certain nations by prior administrations, dating back to 2001, and to deport the undocumented immigrants it brought (legally) to America. Under TPS, the secretary of Homeland Security may open the door to immigrants forced to leave a foreign country because of conditions such as civil war, environmental disasters or an epidemic of some disease. At issue are some 60,000 Haitians and 200,000 Salvadorans who fled from deadly earthquakes at home and who now may be forced to leave the U.S. within the next two years.

In his defense of Trump, Carlson said it would be “dishonest” to say he wouldn't rather live in Trump’s Norway than the "shitholes" the faux-president detests. “So if you say Norway is a better place to live and Haiti is kind of a hole, well anyone who’s been to those countries or has lived in them would agree,” he said on the air. And then he tweeted this:

Option A: El Salvador isn't a "shithole," so they don't need 17 years of Temporary Protected Status, and migrants from there should be sent home immediately. 

Option B: El Salvador is, in fact, a "shithole."

On second thought, Tucker, I guess I really can’t help you after all.

I swear it was rattling yesterday

It never fails. You’re driving down the road one day and your car begins to rattle. The source of the rattle is unknown.

When you get to your destination, you check the glove compartment for loose objects that could cause a rattle. You find none. You check the trunk, the various storage compartments, the cup holders and the dashboard. Nothing rattling there, either. It’s a mystery. You complete your business and drive away. When you do, the rattle returns.

After several days of driving and rattling and rattling and driving, you take your car to a mechanic and ask him to identify and fix the rattle. He drives the car around for a half-hour on the bumpiest road he can find…and hears no rattle. “Sorry,” he tells you, “but I don’t hear anything. If you hear it again, come on back.”

You leave the mechanic’s shop and five miles down the road, the rattle returns. You know that if you turn around and go back, the mechanic still won’t be able to hear it, so you accept that the rattle is simply a new sound your car makes, and get on with the rest of your life.

Raise your hand if this has ever happened to you.

This is known as the “Phantom Car Rattle Mystery” and it’s one of the rules that govern my life. It’s something you just know will happen every time. Here are a few more:

The “ ‘Today I Feel Fine, Doc. Thanks for Asking’ Syndrome”

When you go to the doctor for an appointment you had to make weeks ago, the problem you were having back then will have gone away, at least during the 15 minutes it takes her to examine you. The conversation goes something like this:

Doctor: “So what brings you here today?”

You: “Well, doc, I’ve been having a really bad pain right here.” (You point to the location of the pain but have a hard time finding it because it doesn’t hurt today.) “Or maybe it was over here,” you say. “It was in this general area.”

Doctor: “What is your level of pain today on a scale of 1 to 10?”

You: “Well, to be honest, doctor, it doesn’t hurt at all today (long pause while she glares at you)… but it was a 7 when I called for the appointment and yesterday it was a 9.”

Doctor: “You probably just strained a muscle or something and now it’s healed.” (Thinks you’re some kind of hypochondriac.) “Come back if you have any more trouble. Next.”

You walk out of the office and one hour later, your pain is a 10.

The “Taking a Chance on the Bread Man Supermarket Shuffle”

You live in a town with two major supermarkets, neither of which has everything you want. You know this going in. You also know that Walmart probably has everything you want, but you hate Walmart and refuse to go there for any reason short of a critical emergency. So off you go to Supermarket #1.

You buy the half-dozen things that you know Supermarket #2 doesn’t sell. In the process, you pass by several things that they do sell, but you don’t buy them because you’ll get them at the other store. You check out and head off for Supermarket #2.

As you probably have guessed, Supermarket #2 has most of the other items on your list, but remarkably seems to have run out of those very same things that you passed up at Supermarket #1. I mean, what are the odds? So you finish shopping at Supermarket #2 and head back to Supermarket #1 to buy those things you could have bought there in the first place if you hadn’t gambled on Supermarket #2.

You tell yourself it’s okay, because, really, what else did you have to do today but shuttle back and forth between supermarkets? But in your heart, you know the world is laughing at you for passing up opportunities when you had the chance. You also know you’ll never go to Las Vegas to gamble.

The “You Can’t Out-Fox the Fox Bank Line Dilemma”

Finally, this: You pull into a drive-in bank. There are three lanes open. Two lanes have two cars each and one lane has one, so you pull in behind the single car. Little did you know that the one car in Lane 3 has seven separate transactions and his card isn’t working quite right and he’s got nowhere else to be so he’s happy sitting there for the better part of the morning while it all gets sorted out.

Meanwhile, Lanes 1 and 2 empty out, fill up again, empty out again and fill up again so there are still two cars ahead of you if you decided to switch…which you do any way.

As soon as you back up and pull into Lane 2 behind two cars, the vehicle in Lane 3 pulls out and you sit and watch a steady stream of cars come and go through that line you used to be in while you are now stuck in the lane you moved into.

By the way, the same thing happens at the new McDonald’s, which has two drive-up lanes and you automatically pick the wrong one every time – assuming that I’d ever eat at such a place...which I wouldn’t…except when I do.

Why would I celebrate a sharp stick in the eye?

White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders said this week that people like me who are not celebrating Donald Trump’s “positive impact on this country” must be mentally unstable. Yes, she said that. She really did. She said those words out loud. In public. And on TV.

She contends that Trump is not mentally unstable when he’s threatening nuclear war with North Korea; refusing to acknowledge Russian interference in our elections despite a mountain of evidence to the contrary; claiming to be a genius while publicly demonstrating his stupidity; lying four or five times a day; defending Vladimir Putin while distrusting his own Justice Department, FBI and National Security agency; berating his enemies on Twitter; ignoring the Constitution while trying to usurp its powers; giving childish nicknames to people who criticize him; defending white supremacists while condemning law-abiding immigrants; offending our allies; mocking the disabled: sexually assaulting women and bragging about it; or making speeches where his words don’t form complete sentences.

No, Sarah thinks I’m unstable for not recognizing all the good Trump is doing for America. That inspired me to take a look at Trump’s “accomplishments” to see what might be worthy of celebration.

* Since the day he set foot in Washington he’s been trying to take away my wife’s health insurance. Should I celebrate that?

* He pushed through and signed a tax cut bill that will give himself and other rich people millions of dollars while I get $18 a month for a few years until my taxes eventually go up. Should I celebrate that?

* He appointed cabinet members who are on course to destroy the agencies they direct, and he has neo-Nazis on his staff. Should I celebrate that?

* He has signed away numerous regulations that were put in place to protect us from harm. Should I celebrate that?

* He is systematically trying to erase Barack Obama from history. Should I celebrate that?

* He signed an order allowing coal companies in my state to dump their waste into our rivers and streams. Should I celebrate that?

* He has opened up national parks for natural gas exploration. Should I celebrate that?

* He wants to allow offshore oil drilling that threatens the ecological systems on both U.S. coasts. Should I celebrate that?

* He has denied climate change, canceled our right to sue money managers who rip us off, eliminated our ability to be paid overtime in certain jobs, authorized the killing of endangered animals, cleared the way for an oil pipeline that leaked all over South Dakota, weakened public education, gutted the State Department, pardoned a law-breaking sheriff and played golf at one of his own properties – at my expense – about one-third of the time he’s been president.

Which one of those “accomplishments” should I celebrate?

* Next, he wants to squander $18 billion on a useless border wall for Mexicans to fly over or tunnel under while taking away my Medicare and Social Security to reduce the larger budget deficit that his tax bill will create. Do you really think I’m going to celebrate that?

If you asked me, the people who continue to "celebrate the accomplishments” of Donald Trump and proclaim their love for him while losing their jobs, their incomes, their health insurance and their Constitutional rights – and blaming it all on Barack Obama – are the ones who really are mentally unstable. I mean, people had to have a couple of loose screws to vote for him in the first place, but to continue to support him after all the damage he has done tells me the whole wagon has come apart.

So here’s an idea, Sarah. How about you come down to West Virginia and spend three months living my life. I’ll stay here and observe. I’ll watch you wake up every morning wondering how much longer you’ll have money for food, clothing, a roof over your head, heat and light, city water, gasoline and tires for your 18- and 15-year-old cars that you can’t afford to replace, medication for your 11 pre-existing conditions and those of your wife; and other expenses like car insurance, home maintenance and taxes.  

I’ll watch while you get a good, long look at Donald Trump the way we educated Americans see him, and I’ll watch while you see and hear the things he says and does without having his staff push it to you through a filter. Then, after three months, I’ll bring someone in to examine your mental health. I’m betting I’ll still be more mentally stable than Donald Trump, and maybe even more stable than you.

Only four days into 2018 and questions abound

It’s four days into a new year, and I’ve got questions. Here are a few:

Just how crazy is too crazy to be the president of the United States? I mean, what exactly is the scale on that? What do the charts look like and when does the insanity go off the charts? When does it become clear that we made a big mistake last election and now we need to fix it? When do you step up to the plate and say, “My country comes before my party?”

Already in 2018:

* Faux-president Donald Trump has tweeted that his nuclear button is bigger and more powerful than Kim Jong-Un’s. That may be one of the 10 most absurd statements ever uttered (or tweeted) by an American president. It’s the kind of thing I can hear Leslie Nielsen saying in one of his spy-spoof movies just before he blasts Andy Griffith into space. Seriously, what’s next, Trump and Kim trading dick pics?

* Then we have the book, Michael Wolff’s tell-all tome about the Trump White House in which he asserts – among other things – that Trump wanted to lose the election and use his celebrity to start his own TV network, thought he could name one of his children Chief of Staff and found the White House so "scary" that he hid out in his bedroom. On another subject, he bragged about sleeping with his friends' wives, saying it made "life worth living."

Trump's former chief strategist Steve Bannon is quoted extensively in the book as saying things like Donald Trump Jr. will be “cracked like an egg on national TV” because of the Russia investigation and that the infamous Trump Tower meeting with a Russian lawyer was “treasonous,” “unpatriotic” and “bad shit.” Trump reportedly went ballistic when excerpts were made public and instructed his lawyers to sue Bannon for libel, slander and breach of confidentiality.

* Next up is Trump’s decision to terminate his Voter Fraud Commission, an investigative body created for the sole purpose of “proving” that Trump received more legitimate popular votes than Hillary Clinton, and that her supposed margin of victory was the result of illegal voting on a monumental scale. He blamed the panel’s demise on states that withheld critical information and not on the realization that no evidence of fraud could be found. The fact that Hillary out-polled him nags at Trump like an itchy rash that won’t go away, and it probably always will. In Trump’s mind, he really did get the most votes…just like the crowd at his inauguration really was the biggest ever.

* Last but not least is Trump’s Twitter pronouncement that on Monday, he will announce “the most dishonest and corrupt media awards of the year.” He says subjects will include dishonesty and bad reporting in various categories from the “Fake News Media.” I predict that we’ll hear words like “failing New York Times,” “Amazon Washington Post,” “dishonest CNN,” “very low ratings” and “on its last legs,” as well as “total lies,” “completely false,” “didn’t happen,” “witch hunt,” “fabrication,” “no collusion,” “30,000 emails” and “totally vindicated.”

All of this happened in only four days. In my mind, any one of these events should be sufficient for Congress to call in a team of psychiatrists to evaluate the president’s mental health, and probably to initiate removal proceedings under the 25^th Amendment. That is, if Congress had any ba…, uh backbone, which of course they don’t, so on and on it goes.

Here’s another question I have, and Paul Ryan, I’m looking directly at you. For many years, during his quiet moments and even his not so quiet ones, House Speaker Ryan has dreamed of the day he could shepherd through Congress a major tax cut for wealthy Republican donors, followed by legislation to slash Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security under the guise of reducing the deficit. All he needed was Republican control of both houses of Congress and a president who would sign the bill.

He has that now, but the president happens to be unstable, unhinged, irrational, unreliable, uneducated, untrustworthy, unbelievable and unqualified for the office he holds. His vice president, meanwhile, is perfectly capable of holding a pen and scribbling his signature on any piece of paper Congress shoves under his nose...as long as he doesn't have to do it with a woman (not his wife) in the room. He may be a religious zealot and a shameless bigot, but he gives Republicans the bill-signer they require without all the crazy.

So now that Ryan has his major tax cut with Trump’s signature on the bill, what’s keeping him and his House majority from thanking Trump for his service and then sending him away with lovely parting gifts, including the greatest impeachment of any president in history? It beats the hell out of me.

*    *    *

Oh, yeah, I have one final question: Speaking of Paul Ryan, when he talks openly about cutting Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security to reduce the deficit that Republicans just expanded with this joke of a tax bill, does he not know that we can hear him? He’s talking about government programs that happily accepted our money when we paid into them all of our working lives on the promise that we’d get it back with interest during retirement, when we really need it to survive.

There are tens of millions of us out here, Paul, and we can hear you. Make no mistake about that. So go ahead. Try to take away our income, our medical insurance and our livelihood and see what happens. You think town hall meetings were hostile over Obamacare? This is my life you're messin' with, pal, so you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.