A Humphrey Bogart picture was given to me as a gift in 1975 by a gentleman named Joe Testa. The home where Joe originally kept the picture was destroyed in an “electrical fire” in 1976. Five years later, in 1981, Joe died when a wireless bomb exploded under the car he was driving.

My folks, Bill and Gen Hall, first met Joe Testa in the mid ’70s, through the sister of a friend. The sister, Betty, and her husband worked for Joe managing a trailer park not far from Seneca, Illinois. Joe was a wealthy guy who lived in the Chicago suburbs, but had multiple houses, including one near Seneca, and another in Ft Lauderdale, Fla. Mom and dad ran into him a few times and always thought he was a pretty nice guy.

Sometime in ‘75, mom and dad went to a party at Joe’s place near Seneca. In the rec room, a picture of Humphrey Bogart was hanging on the wall and mom told Betty how much of a Bogie fan I was. Betty later mentioned this to Joe, and also that I was a cadet at West Point. Joe replied with something like “That’s nice. I wouldn’t mind giving this picture to someone serving our country at West Point.” and gave Betty the picture to send to me. Betty gave the picture to mom and dad, who saw Joe one more time after that, and thanked him. At Christmas time, Bogie was waiting for me under the tree when I came home to Ottawa on break. I think it was one of the best Christmas gifts I ever received. Later, I sent Joe a note of thanks, but I didn’t hear anything back from him.

Now for the rest of the story…

A year or so after Joe gave me the present, the house near Seneca burned to the ground due to a somewhat suspicious “electrical fire”, while Joe was out of town. Then, five years later on June 27th, 1981, a wireless bomb placed under his car was detonated as he was leaving a golf course parking lot in Florida. The car blew up, severing one of Joe’s hands, and a leg. It didn’t kill him immediately, and he remained conscious for some time. The police asked him “Is there anyone you know who could have done this?” He replied “Yea, a lot of people“. Two days later, he died of his injuries.

It turned out, according to the press, Joe was a “reputed Chicago underworld figure” and had ties to Chicago mob boss Anthony “Big Tuna” Accardo. News reports at the time stated he was probably involved in money laundering activities in Chicago and elsewhere. He was also investigated for a reputed take over attempt of legal slot machines in Australia. There were at least four attempts made on his life, three of them by bombing.

The man who most likely killed Joe was a guy by the name of Marshall Caifano, part of Accardo’s mob. Joe allegedly owed him $2 million dollars and refused to pay. As a side note, Caifano is one of the names that often comes up in relation to the murder of Bugsy Siegel back in the ‘40s. He was a pretty nasty guy.

The framed picture was displayed in our home for nearly thirty five years. In May of 2013, we gave it to our niece, Tami, and her husband Jeff as a wedding present. Tami is a big movie buff, and graduated with a major in Film Studies from The Ohio State University. In the card accompanying the picture, we told the story of Joe and Bogie. We closed with “We hope the two of you write your own story as the years go by – may your tale be filled with love, joy, and an interesting life (but hopefully no car bombings…)”. Seven years later, as their anniversary approaches, they and the picture are doing just fine.

Addendum:

– Thanks to our niece, Tami Harmon, for providing the photo of the framed Bogart picture. In all the time we owned it, we’d never taken a picture.

– I remember when I received the Bogart picture, there were whisperings about not prying too deeply into Joe’s background, but didn’t think about it. When he died in ‘81, we were stationed in Germany. I believe mom mentioned his death in passing when we returned in ‘83, and she saw the picture hanging in our home. She said something about him dying in Florida under suspicious circumstances. In 2013 when we decided to give the picture to Tami and Jeff, I did more research and found the whole story.

– You can read a bit more about Joe at the links below. If you are doing your own research, make sure you type “Joe Testa Chicago”, as he is not the Joseph Testa crime figure in New York, who usually comes up first.

• The original June 1981 UPI story of the bombing, but before Testa died: https://www.upi.com/Archives/1981/06/27/Reputed-Mafia-associate-Joseph-Testa-had-his-right-leg/1672362462400/

• The Chicago Tribune obituary, June 30th 1981: https://www.newspapers.com/clip/21612948/chicago-tribune/

• A subsequent Tribune 1999 story on Testa: https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-1999-11-02-9911020141-story.html

• An April, 2015 article on Testa: https://www.sun-sentinel.com/local/broward/fl-testa-brow100-20150510-story.html

• More info on Marshall Caifano: https://gangsterreport.com/chitown-mafia-confidential-marshall-caifanos-greatest-hits/

On April 19th, 1928, the last public hanging in Illinois took place. My Grandpa Hall, and my Aunt Ellen, who had just turned 13, were among the thousands of people in attendance, as Charlie Birger was “hanged by the neck until dead”.

At the time, Williamson and Franklin counties in Southern Illinois were part of an area known as “Little Egypt”, which had a long reputation for violence. In fact, Williamson County was referred to as “Bloody Williamson,” due to the ongoing outbreaks of violence throughout it’s history. From the 1870s through the 1930s, there were “Bloody Vendettas”, Klan wars, violent and deadly coal miner strikes, massacres of people, and gang wars. Hundreds of people were killed over that period of time. Chicago may have had Capone, but Little Egypt was an incredibly violent area.

Charlie Birger was a bootlegger and gang leader in Southern Illinois during the 1920s, and in the middle of much of the violence. For a while, some thought of him as a “Robin Hood”, but as his reputation grew, so did the violence. At the time, there were ongoing wars between Birger’s gang and the KKK, with Birger’s gang eventually killing or removing the KKK from the area in 1926. Although it sounds like he was doing a good deed, in fact it was good business. Birger was a bootlegger and the KKK was against the immigrants who were doing much of the illicit drinking in Little Egypt. Birger solved the problem by killing key Klan leaders and effectively eliminating them as a force.

There were also ongoing wars with a rival group called the Shelton Gang, and this eventually caused Charlie trouble. In 1927, A man named Joe Adams was the mayor of a small nearby town. He was helping out the Sheltons, and hiding a tank they owned (yes, a tank). Birger tried to force Adams to tell where the tank was hidden. When he refused, Birger had him killed.

The problem was, they killed Mayor Adams in Franklin County, not Williamson County where Birger was influential. Birger was arrested and the trial was held in the town of Benton, in Franklin County. A jury subsequently found him guilty and sentenced Charlie to death. After all appeals were denied, a date was set for the hanging – April 19th, 1928.

Newspaper accounts say the 19th was a sunny day and the crowd started gathering early. They printed and distributed tickets to allow 500 people into the stockade area where they would hang Birger. Somehow Grandpa Hall obtained two of the tickets. They must have been free, as Grandpa never had any spare money. Any of his extra money went for booze, no doubt provided by either Birger’s crew, or the Shelton gang.

It turns out many children skipped school to attend the hanging and my Aunt Ellen was one of them. She had turned 13 just a few days before on April 10th, and as the oldest of the 6 children still at home*, Grandpa took her with him. The other five kids, ages 11 to 2, were in school or stayed with Grandma.

Grandpa and Ellen took a horse and buggy to Benton, arrived early, and entered the stockade area where the hanging would take place. The crowd continued to grow, and they closed off the immediate area around the scaffold. Thousands more gathered in the streets of Benton for the event, even though they were not able to see the hanging itself.

As Ellen and Grandpa waited for the guards to bring Birger out, Ellen heard a little girl next to her say “Can we get closer daddy? I want to hear his neck pop!” and the father and daughter moved towards the gallows. Ellen looked at Grandpa – he just shook his head no, and they stayed where they were.

Birger was finally brought out. He was dressed in a three piece suit and spoke with some along the route. He eventually made his way to the gallows, where he shook hands with the hangman, Phil Hanna.

He then spoke to the crowd. “They’ve accused me of a lot of things I was never guilty of, but I was guilty of a lot of things of which they never accused me. So I guess we’re about even.’’ Just before his head was covered with a hood, Birger smiled and said his last words, “It’s a beautiful world.’’ They then placed a black hood over his head. Normally, they used a white hood, but he asked for a black one, reputedly saying he didn’t want to be confused for a member of the Ku Klux Klan.

The trapdoor was sprung and Birger fell thru, breaking his neck in the drop. Fourteen minutes later, he was declared dead and the crowd, including Grandpa and Ellen began to dissipate. The last public hanging in Illinois was finished.

The gang violence in Bloody Williamson would continue for several more years.

Addendum (and don’t miss the fascinating YouTube song and video toward’s the end of the blog):

* At thirteen, Ellen was the oldest of the six Hall kids remaining at home. The oldest sibling, my Uncle Dave, had already left Southern Illinois for Ottawa, Illinois, where he worked on the construction of the Starved Rock Dam.

• Special thanks to my sisters Roberta and Tanya, my niece, Tami Pfau, my nephew-in-law, Tyler Ailor, and second cousins Janice, Julie and Don Connell. They contributed to this blog and provided inspiration for my writing about Charlie Birger and our family lore surrounding the story. Photos of Aunt Ellen and Uncle George were provided by Janice Connell.

• My sisters and I first heard this story as kids, probably on a Saturday morning when aunts and uncles were having coffee around the kitchen table at our house. Stories, mostly funny, were often told about growing up poor during the depression, or some of their later escapades during WWII. Dad, or my Uncle Mick first told us this tale, and it was later confirmed by Aunt Ellen. Ellen had relayed the story to them at some point in the past. Dad and Mick were only four and two when Birger was hanged, but they knew significant details about the hanging and told the story in an animated fashion. We always laughed at the “Can we get closer daddy? I want to hear his neck pop” quote. Dad told the story for years, up until his own death at 86 years of age in 2010. His grandkids, AND their spouses all remember him telling the story of Charlie Birger. One of my nieces remembers Dad making a click/pop noise while repeating the “get closer daddy” quote.

• While reviewing this blog for accuracy, my second cousin Don told me a story about Ellen’s future husband, my uncle George (his grandfather). He was a couple of years older than Ellen, and they hadn’t actually met yet. “Apparently grandpa Connell had a few dealings buying alcohol from the Birger gang, as did many in those days. The story I remember best is he once went into a barbershop, and a member of Birger’s gang was sitting in the barber’s chair with an apron on, getting his hair cut. My grandpa said he could tell the man was holding something under the apron, and once the man was finished and stood up, a machine gun was in his hands. Grandpa was quite surprised. He said it wasn’t uncommon to see the gang members carrying weapons, but usually it would just be handguns. He said they were always armed.” 

• My Grandpa Hall, also known as Old Roy, was quite the character. By today’s standards, he would be called an alcoholic. You can read about some of his other escapades at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2016/11/10/old-roy/

• For a good book on Birger, and the violence in Little Egypt in general, look for “Bloody Williamson” by Paul M. Angle. It’s a nice read.

• If you want to read more about the Klan war in Southern Illinois, here is a good source of information: https://theirishmob.com/bloody-williamson/

• Southern Illinois has been known as “Little Egypt” for quite a while. Parts of the area were known as the “Land of Goshen” as early as 1799. This was a biblical reference to Egypt and the fertile Nile valley. Supposedly, Indian mounds in the area were large at the time and seemed like the pyramids of Egypt. The nickname stuck. The city furthest south in Illinois is Cairo, which is at the conjunction of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. More information can be found online and Wikipedia gives a reasonable report.

Much like Bonnie and Clyde, the stories continued about Charlie Birger, long after he was hanged. Songs and poetry were composed about him. Here are a couple of examples.

– Here’s a fascinating song about Birger and his hanging written by Carson Robison, probably in 1928 or ’29. It’s worth listening to just to see some of the old pictures. https://youtu.be0XHb5A9ZhPg . Robison later wrote the lyrics to “Barnacle Bill the Sailor”. The song, “The Hanging of Charlie Birger” has been recorded as recently as 2013. The version by The Woodbox Gang is pretty good and can be found on Amazon and iTunes.

.

– Here’s another piece of poetry written in the ’80s:

——————- “Charlie Birger” ———————

I heard of Charlie Birger way back when I was young

My daddy told me all about the day that Charlie hung.

I’ve heard so many stories, some of his ghastly deeds

Another tells how Charlie helped poor folks in their needs.

One said he was a kindly man who never told a lie

But when somebody crossed him, that man was sure to die

That Charlie had no Master you can tell from all the tales

He fought the system all the way, and stayed out of their jails

I’ve seen so many pictures, they’re hanging on the walls

The pictures tell the story of Birger’s rise and fall

And when they finally caught him he was sentenced to be hung

But they hadn’t broke his spirit the day the trap was sprung

When the State had had its vengeance—When Charlie’s life was done

It made one stop to wonder, Who had lost, and who had won.

John Lastle Gwaltney Southern Illinois Poetry (1985)

Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated 52 years ago on April 4th, 1968. As a country, we typically celebrate his life on MLK day in January, and then forget about him for another year. This year, as Good Friday approaches, I would encourage you to take a few minutes and look at another anniversary – King’s jailing in Birmingham on Good Friday in 1963, and his subsequent publishing of “Letter from Birmingham Jail”.

Good Friday in 1963 was on April 12th. On that same day, King was arrested and jailed for an “illegal” parade and marching for civil rights. He was locked up for the next eight days. While there, a friend smuggled in a newspaper from April 12th. In it, was a statement from eight white Alabama clergymen titled “A Call for Unity”. The clergymen agreed racial injustice was real for African Americans, but disagreed with King’s approach and urged solutions should only be pursued through the courts. King obviously disagreed and over the next several days, using what scraps of paper were available, secretly wrote a letter to the newspaper in response. It was eventually published in June of ‘63 in several other publications.

The “Letter” is a profound piece of writing and has many, many ideas and quotes that still ring true today. There are thoughts in it for everyone to consider. Here are just a few of them.

• “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere”.

• “Too long has our beloved Southland been bogged down in a tragic effort to live in monologue, rather than dialogue”.

• “It is an historical fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light, but…. groups tend to be more immoral than individuals”.

• “Moderate whites who….paternalistically believes (they) can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time; who consistently advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season””.

• “…the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral. It can be used either destructively or constructively”.

• “Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds”.

• “I see the church as the body of Christ. But oh! How we have blemished and scarred that body through social neglect and through fear of being nonconformists”.

• “The goal of America is freedom”.

I believe the first time I was presented with “Letter from Birmingham Jail” was my senior year at West Point in a Philosophy Class. In the intervening years, I have reread parts of the letter, but generally, didn’t think about it much.

Lately? Over the past couple of years I’ve become increasingly concerned. Are we as a nation making progress, or becoming more racist? Have some of our current issues always been there, just below the surface? We certainly are seeing more overt actions, such as the violence in Charlottesville a couple of years ago, or the individuals who were hoping to start a “race war” during the Richmond 2nd Amendment rally in January of this year. We also see other troubling activities in many states, including purging of voters from election lists and disproportional closing of polling locations in African American communities. Here in Virginia, environmental racism, and the selection of gas pipeline routes overtly affecting African Americans is taking place. Currently, during the COVID 19 pandemic, there are signs of bias and disparity in access to medical care and testing. These are just a few examples, but if you look around, you can see many more.

This Easter weekend, 57 years after King was incarcerated on Good Friday in 1963, I urge you to read his “Letter from Birmingham Jail”, or if you have previously read it, please reread it. You can easily find a copy online (I’ve provided a link below) and it only takes ten or fifteen minutes. It is as fresh and important today, as it was in 1963. King’s message is there for all of us who care about equality in America. My friend Mary and I were discussing this, and she said “As we Christians renew our faith, we should also emulate Jesus by renewing our commitment to justice.” How appropriate and true.

We’ve certainly made progress as a country since 1963. Having said that, we still have a long ways to go. Racial inequality is something that hurts all of us and we need to stay active in our efforts to stop it. As King said, “Injustice anywhere, is a threat to justice everywhere”.

Happy Easter.

Addendum:

⁃ Thanks to my friend Mary Haak for help with this blog. Mary’s one of those people who do good deeds as a matter of course. Another comment from Mary to me was: “I encourage everyone to read…no, study, MLK’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail.”  Certainly, the “I Have a Dream” speech was moving and inspiring, but too many people use it as a prop to mischaracterize who MLK was and what he wanted.  You simply can’t read his “Letter from Birmingham Jail” in its entirety and continue to misunderstand his purpose. “

⁃ Here’s one online link to “Letter from Birmingham Jail” – http://web.cn.edu/kwheeler/documents/letter_birmingham_jail.pdf

⁃ You can also buy a copy on Amazon at: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=letter+from+birmingham+jail+by+martin+luther+king+jr&crid=3V2Y8GN7ME770&sprefix=Letter+from%2Caps%2C293&ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_11

⁃ If not familiar with the folks trying to start a race war at the Second Amendment rally in Richmond this year, you can read more here: https://www.cnn.com/2020/01/21/us/the-base-suspects-race-war-virginia-gun-rally/index.html

⁃ Looking for info on voter purging or polling place shutdown? There are numerous articles online. Here are some interesting examples. These were provided by the AP, Vox, the ACLU, and others:

• Seventy percent of Georgia voters purged in 2018 were Black.

• Across the country, one in 13 Black Americans cannot vote due to disenfranchisement laws.

• Across the country, counties with larger minority populations have fewer polling sites and poll workers per voter. Texas and Georgia are particularly guilty of closing polling locations in minority communities.

⁃ Want to read a bit more about environmental racism here in Virginia? Try this article: https://www.virginiamercury.com/2019/12/05/in-virginia-union-hill-and-racial-tensions-have-put-environmental-justice-back-on-the-map/

⁃ Here’s an NPR story about potential health care bias as we face the current Coronavirus crisis: https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2020/04/02/825730141/the-coronavirus-doesnt-discriminate-but-u-s-health-care-showing-familiar-biases?fbclid=IwAR3GMb-jW388WCwrE_1FjWC5sFcLhTySFl1Z7dzXp36IZkKdZNKH4acpFhU

The phrase “Tasty Tongue Tacos” rolls off the tongue quite nicely (pun intended). More importantly, beef tongue tacos taste MUCH better than a tongue looks before you have cooked and shredded it.

While hunkering down for the Coronavirus, I did an inventory of our freezer to see how much and what types of meat we have available. As I was searching through the roasts, the burger, the lamb and other various and sundry pieces of meat, I came across a beef tongue. I had completely forgotten it was there. I immediately knew what was in our near-term future for dinner.

About a year ago, I mentioned to my sister, Roberta, I had a beef tongue in the freezer from half a steer we bought, but I didn’t know what I was going to do with it. I suppose I was hoping to shock her a bit, but she just laughed and said, “I have the perfect recipe for you – Tongue Tacos.” What? How do you even know a Tongue recipe? It turns out she’d made the recipe a couple of times, and she and her husband Jack both love it. The first time she made it, the tongue came from a steer they raised. She added, “You just have to get past how ugly the tongue looks when you start cooking it”.

Yesterday, we had all of the ingredients, so I decided it was time to try the tongue. Later that morning, everything went into the crock pot, and I turned it to high. It would be a slow cook with garlic, onions, salt, and water.

About six hours later, I removed the tongue from the broth, and looked at it. The skin had turned off-white. You know the white your feet or fingers turn if they’ve been in the water too long? Then you know this white. It was not the most pleasant sight.

After allowing the tongue to cool just a bit, I used a knife to slit the skin of the tongue from the tip, all the way to the other end. Amazingly, the skin peeled off easily, and I’m happy to say I was glad this part of the recipe was complete.

From there, things were pretty straight forward. Shred the tongue, and then make the salsa. This recipe calls for a cooked salsa, and then you add the shredded meat to it. As I was doing this, Cathy set the table, and readied the accompaniments. For us, that meant chopped onions, slices of avocado, shredded cheese, hot sauce, and just because we happened to have it in the fridge, some sour cream.

And the verdict? I think the tacos were damned tasty. More importantly, Cathy, the in-house skeptic on the whole concept of tongue tacos, was impressed. She said if I hadn’t shown her the tongue ahead of time, she would have scored it a 10. ;-). (The recipe is at the bottom of the blog).

Addendum:

Coronavirus Thanks – This is the second thing I have to thank the Coronavirus for. The first was giving us spare time and no where to go. Using that time, I cleaned the garage AND the attic, hauling three pickup truck loads of junk to the dump.

Special thanks to my sister Roberta for sharing the recipe, and clarifying a couple of points for me.

Lengua – I need to mention that a couple of friends I was discussing this dish with mentioned lengua or “tacos de lengua“, a classic Mexican beef tongue taco dish. The recipes I found online were fairly similar to the one I used, except that after boiling/braising, they chopped up the meat rather than shredding it, and then seared it in a frying pan. It’s also evidently a regular dish in Costa Rica, although I don’t recall seeing it when we visited.

Taquerias – Another person told me the way you know you are at an authentic taqueria is when “tacos de lengua” are on the menu. If you find yourself at such a taqueria, definitely try them. I’ve always thought the same thing in the past about places serving Menudo, a Mexican stew made with cow tripe (stomach). It’s said to be a sure fire cure for a hangover.

Recipe for Beef Tongue Tacos with Homemade Salsa

Ingredients:

For the Tongue:

• 1 Beef Tongue

• 1 onion chopped in half

• 4 garlic cloves smashed

• 1 Tsp sea salt

• Filtered water (consider using part beer as well?)

For the Salsa:

• 1/2 LB tomatoes (2-3 large) roughly chopped

• 1/2 Onion chopped or minced

• 1/2 – 1 Jalapeño minced or chopped (I would up this next time)

• 2 Cloves Garlic chopped or minced

• Sea salt

• Juice of 1/2 lime (I would up to whole lime next time)

(Alternately, 1 1/2 C of your favorite Salsa)

Instructions:

1. Place whole tongue in slow cooker. Add onion, garlic, bay leaves and sea salt. Cover with filtered water (I used tap water)

2. Cook tongue for 6 hours on high, or overnight on low.

3. Remove tongue from cooker. While still hot (or very warm), peel off and discard skin.

4. Place tongue in bowl. Using two forks, shred/pull apart the tongue

5. In a skillet, heat some olive oil and sauté the onion until translucent.

6. Add the tomatoes, jalapeño and garlic. Cook for about 10 minutes until it reduces.

7. Add the meat and lime juice. Cook until sticky and delicious.

8. Check seasoning. Add salt if needed.

Note: if using store bought salsa, add to pan, heat it, cook down some and proceed to step 7.

Serve with raw or pickled onions, additional lime juice, cilantro, or other typical taco accompaniments. We used soft wraps, but you can use taco shells, soft wraps, or large lettuce leaves.

They always say “It’s Five o’ Clock somewhere”. Well, last night at Five o’ Clock, we participated in our first virtual Happy Hour. I have to say, while it may not have been perfect, it was pretty fun. Ten of us were on line, making the most of it.

There were jokes told, old friends, new friends, updates on the Corona Virus, rumors, awkward moments, people that disappeared for a few minutes, and lots of laughs. In other words, it was pretty much like a regular happy hour, other than hugs and handshakes.

Drinks? Yes, people shared what they were having. Everything from Bubly, to seltzer, beer, wine, sangria, Negronis, and my Manhattan. As with a regular happy hour, conversation ebbed and flowed. I think I detected people going for refills, and a couple of folk moved from outside to inside, but otherwise, not tons of movement “around the room”.

One difference from a regular Happy Hour? There were at least four dogs present.

The whole thing lasted an hour. It started around five, and ended about six, when people started dropping off to go make dinner. All in all, it was a great time. There’s another one scheduled for next Friday – I think we’ll be there. Self isolation is going to continue for a while, and this is a nice addition to our routine.

My advice? Live life exuberantly, no matter what that means at a particular juncture in time. With the Corona Virus happening, maybe it’s time to get just a little bit creative. What say you?

Addendum:

Special thanks to Laura Jackson and Virginia Jackson for organizing the Happy Hour – it truly was perfect!

We used Zoom software/app to connect….

On Thursday, as I was walking with our dog Carmen on Swains Road, a UPS truck came by. I waved and he stopped – it was Chris, our regular UPS driver. We spoke for a bit and I asked how it was going. He said their current deliveries were running near Christmas levels, with most packages coming from Costco and Amazon.

This is the life we are all living right now, or at least most of us. Self isolation is the new norm, but it also takes on an individual definition for each of us. For some, particularly with compromised immune systems, it’s not going out at all. For others of us, it’s not going out except to buy food, and maybe some Beefeater gin…;-). And for those working, well, they’re still confined to work and home, or should be. Of course while many are able to telework, lots of folk must still drive to work. Not only UPS drivers, and grocery store employees, but factory workers, doctors, pharmacists, truck drivers, store owners, many office workers, and any number of other jobs. The people who keep America running.

Snippets of stories and questions run through my brain these days. Things I’ve heard or seen over the past week or so. Here are some of them in no particular order.

• Stores are still short of toilet paper and soap/disinfectant products. We now see ample chicken, which was totally depleted a week ago.

• Our neighbors at the end of Swains Road run an AirBnB. They have people renting their spare home for a month due to the Corona Virus threat. They think it’s safer here in the country. They are now extending the lease another two weeks.

• Several US Senators, all members of the Senate Intel committee, sold significant amounts of stock in mid February after receiving Corona Virus briefings. The stock market plunged a few days later. Insider Trading? I don’t know if there’s a legal problem, but in my book, it’s an ethical one.

• In the DC area, for those driving to work, they are actually enjoying their commutes – they are significantly shorter right now.

• On my one trip to town this week, I bought five bags of horse feed, instead of our normal three. We go through about a bag of feed per week. Is that hoarding?

• I was going to go to H Mart in Centreville (H Mart is the largest Asian supermarket chain in America, and is Korean in origin) to buy some Korean spices for a recipe I recently received. Given Centreville is part of the near ‘burbs, I opted to stay safe, skip the trip and shop online. I was happy to see Amazon carries Doenjang, Gochugaru, and Gochujang (words and products I didn’t know two weeks ago), although at a higher price.

• All politicians, national and local, now seem to hold Corona Virus updates on a regular basis. I don’t watch any of them, but I’m glad to see locally, Democrats and Republicans are holding a joint FB town hall. Wow, something finally brings us together – adversity. Maybe that’s what always does the trick.

• My favorite local wine shop, The Galloping Grape, (yes, they sell wine and equine equipment and supplies – this is horse country) is happily procuring a case of French wine for me that I read about online.
• One of our favorite local restaurants, Field and Main, has switched on the fly to a total takeout menu. In addition to sandwiches, they will feature a daily special. Tonight’s offering is Confit Chicken Thighs with black beans, Carolina Gold Rice, pickled jalepeño and tomatillo cream. Can you say “yum”?
• The rumor mill is running rampant, both online, and in phone calls. This is a Dem plot to bring down Trump. This is a Trump plot to do away with elections this fall. This is a test Chinese plot to bring down America – see how easy it was? Martial law is about to be declared. People are dying left and right, it’s just not being reported. This is all still just a hoax….

I guess I’m looking for balance, but it seems a bit elusive at this point. We aren’t suppose to be in groups larger than 10 (or 50 – take your pick), but College kids still flocked to the beaches of Florida, and St Patrick’s Day had a huge turnout. Other folks are in a near panic at home. I understand we all need to be vigilant, practice good isolation and cleanliness measures, and still try to help local businesses with online or drive-by support. Having said all of that, there are some people I wish would take a chill-pill and stay calmer.

• Do the best you can, and then be at peace with where you are.

• If a rumor sounds too wild to be true, it probably isn’t (true).

• Quit ranting about the folk who don’t appear to take this situation as seriously as you are. There are always some people like that and you aren’t going to change their minds. All you are really doing is upsetting yourself.

• This thing is going to run for awhile. Get use to it, and then live this new life we are all sharing.
• Wash your hands with soap and water. A lot.

That’s it for now. Just some ramblings from the farm. By the way, a couple of friends are hosting a virtual Happy Hour via Zoom later this afternoon. I think we’ll go. And, we won’t have to worry about a DD.

Humor is sometimes useful. The current Corona Virus induced run on toilet paper got me and a couple of old friends talking. Between Army days, hunting trips, and traveling in countries with less than ideal “facilities”, the three of us have all suffered through paperless situations, and miraculously, survived.

If you are having this kind of conversation, even via text message (maybe even more so if via text message), you can bet the people you are having the conversation with are good friends, and probably old friends. The kind of people you can share anything with, and you won’t be judged. Tim, Mark and I are old, old friends. We’ve all known each other since grade school and Boy Scout days back in the ‘60s. We definitely qualify as both good, and old, friends.

We started creating a list of items we’v all used at one time or another, when there wasn’t a square to spare:

– Paper towels

– Paper napkins

– Handkerchiefs (which hardly anyone carries anymore)

– T-shirts

– Leaves

– Plants (not poison ivy though)

– Corn Husks

– Jumping in a lake

Of course, we couldn’t let it go. We added other items people could use, if push came to shove:

– Your old copy of The Whole Earth Catalog

– Changing a $20 bill into $1 bills, and using judiciously

– Old stock certificates issued by Enron, Continental Bank, and Worldcom

There were other suggestions, but I won’t print them here. We all had a good laugh, and eventually the messages started dying off, but not quite.

When all was said and done, Tim had the best story. He was traveling in Leningrad in 1979. The hotel he was staying in had a common bathroom for all to use. In the bathroom, there was no toilet paper. Instead, there were perfectly cut up squares of the official Soviet newspaper “Pravda”. In the USSR, lack of toilet paper was seen as a job creation opportunity. Someone had been delegated to cutting the paper in perfect squares for use as toilet paper. As my friend Tim was contemplating this at the time, an idea came to him. He took one of the squares, and in Russian wrote: “The Truth hurts in Soviet toilets” and stuck it on the bathroom wall. In Russian, Pravda means truth.

We all laughed at that one, and then the conversation, mercifully, ended.

As an addendum, Pravda was the official Newspaper of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and was the newspaper of the Communist Party Central Committee from 1912-1991. We may finally know why Lenin was so angry, as he crushed a copy of Pravda in his hand in this famous picture.

This may not be “The End of the World as we Know it” (sorry about the R.E.M. ear worm), but I believe you can just about see the end from the Food Lion grocery store in Marshall, Virginia. The only time I’ve seen this many empty shelves was at a store in East Berlin in the early ‘80s.

This virus has everyone second guessing themselves and thinking twice about things. Of course we all know this is serious and is affecting us in many ways. We all know to wash our hands frequently, avoid touching our faces, and avoid large crowds. If you are sick, we know to stay home. We’ve watched the market drop like a stone. Sport Leagues, whether the NBA, NHL, MLB, MLS, or the NCAA have all suspended games/their seasons. My Nats opening day tickets will hopefully be good later in the season. And the usefulness of those James McMurtry concert tickets we have for next week? Gone, baby, gone.

And in daily life? I was chuckling on Thursday when I read in the paper about two large nearby suburban Costcos running out of toilet paper in response to the Corona Virus. I understand Purell and counter sanitizers, but toilet paper?

Fast forward to yesterday, Friday the 13th (maybe the date should have been the first clue). I went to Marshall to do a bit of shopping for this weekend and next week. I was, to say the least, caught of guard. As I went into Food Lion, I noticed:

Purell, hand sanitizer, Clorox wipes, Lysol, rubbing alcohol? All gone, as expected. What I didn’t expect to see was the shelves also empty of soap bars and soap dispensers. The produce area was half empty. Rice shelves were all empty, except for three bags of brown rice.

In the meat section, there were no chicken products left at all. I mean, not even a package of wings.

The paper aisle was empty of toilet paper and paper towels.

The refrigerated milk area was three fourths empty.

Don’t get me wrong, there were still lots of items in the store. There were also a lot of empty areas. The checkout lady told me people have been cleaning out the store for the last three days.

Marshall is not DC, nor the suburbs. People tend not to panic here like they sometimes do in the city, or the ‘burbs. We deal with winter storms, or ice storms OK. We don’t empty stores of milk and toilet paper anytime there’s a storm warning.

Having said all that, what was my reaction on seeing the Food Lion aisles yesterday? I know we’ll deal with this “crisis” as we have with other problems in the past, and we’ll get through it. I tell you what though. We like to think we Americans are “hearty stock” and tough, and will rise to any occasion. I suppose we ultimately do, but in the meantime, people better buckle up for the ride. It’s going to get interesting.

For now, I recommend people wash their hands vigorously and often, drink that good bottle of wine you’ve been saving, and if you have any spare cash, invest in companies that deal with health products, toilet paper, and chickens. You’ll do just fine.

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine….

_________

PS – Our Bombed Shelter (The wine room) will hold Cathy, me, Carmen and two others. PM me if interested. Bidding starts at four bottles of Purell.

In sixth grade, when Wally secretly stole our teacher’s wooden paddle, we were in shock. When he later chopped it into little pieces and threw them down a storm drain, we were in awe. Of course, that wasn’t the end of the story.

In 1966, corporal punishment was still a thing in Ottawa, Illinois. At the time, I was in Sixth Grade at McKinley School. From Kindergarten through Fifth grade, all our teachers were women. If you caused trouble, you were sent to the front office, where Mr Powell, our Principal, would dole out the appropriate punishment. You could receive anything from sitting in the office for an hour, to a paddling, to a note to your parents. Everything changed in sixth grade, when Mr. Ledbetter became our teacher.

Mr Ledbetter (known affectionately as “Leadbottom” in our class) administered punishment in our classroom, and rarely, if ever, sent anyone to the Principal’s office. As my good friend Howard recalled “His exact words, — I remember them well after all these years — were:  “I don’t like to play policeman, but sometimes I have to. (Pause for effect.) This is my badge.” He said this while holding up a wooden paddle. The words were chilling. He delivered it on the first day of sixth grade.”

I don’t know if this was because he was a male teacher, or it’s just the way he was. If you acted up repeatedly, you were called to the front of the class. Once there, you put your hands on a desk facing the class. Mr. Ledbetter would walk over to the closet, reach in, and pull out his wooden paddle. He’d then stroll back to the offender, and administer the appropriate number of whacks. I say stroll, because I think he liked to let the moment build, before administering the punishment. Perhaps this was to serve as an added deterrent for the rest of us students.

As the year progressed, there weren’t that many paddlings, but I suppose several of us received a whack now and then. Our classmate Wally seemed to receive more than most. Wally was a good kid, fellow Boy Scout, and friend. He was also one of those guys who always seemed to push the limit on things, and eventually, Mr Ledbetter would respond. We’ve all had Wallys in our classes, and in our lives. You know this guy – not a bad sort, just always acting out. In Sixth Grade, it got you more than your share of paddling.

One day after school let out for the day, my buddies and I were outside the school horsing around. Suddenly, Wally came running out of the school with something under his arm, and yelled “follow me!”. Naturally we all took off after Wally. When we were a bit away from the school he showed us what was under his arm. Holy hell, it was Leadbottom’s wooden paddle! We were literally in shock – how is it possible Wally could have stolen this? We all started talking at once, when Wally said “Wait here, I’ll be right back”, and went running off to his house, which was directly across from the school yard.

A few minutes later, he returned, with the paddle in one hand, and something else in the other – his Boy Scout axe! As we looked on in amazement, Wally, with a smile on his face, proceeded to chop the paddle into little pieces and threw the pieces down a nearby storm drain. This was all so far beyond the pale, no one knew what to say, or do. How was it even possible this was happening? Eventually, the group broke up and I jumped on my bike and rode home. Wally and the paddle were all I could think about.

Although only a few of us saw Wally chop up the paddle, the stories and rumors spread among us kids over the next few days. Wally was a hero, or out of control, depending on who you talked to.

Time passed, and perhaps two weeks went by.

Wally once again did something bad, and Mr Ledbetter called him to the front of the room for a paddling. Wally walked to the front with something of a strut. As he turned to face us, he had a bit of a smirk on his face. He knew, as many of us did, the paddle was no longer there.

Mr Ledbetter reached into the closet, felt around a bit, then smiled, and pulled his hand out of the closet. There in his hand, was a steel paddle… With air holes drilled in it. Wally’s face went from a smirk to bulging eyes faster than anything I’ve ever seen. Ledbottom strolled over to Wally and administered the whacks. It’s probably my imagination, but he seemed to have a smile on his face while paddling Wally.

I’ve thought back to that day, and I have no idea whether Mr Ledbetter actually saw Wally steal the paddle, or just knew it had to be him. What I am sure of, is he waited till Wally was the one who acted up before producing and using the new paddle. The scene created a lasting memory, and I remember Wally’s eyes to this day.

Addendum:

Special thanks to my sixth grade classmates Howard Johnson, Lynne Galley Robinson, Cathy Habben, Linda Baker, and Becky Ohlendorf-Jobe for providing input, or corroboration to various parts of this blog.

Thanks to my niece Jordan Zarka, who took the photos of McKinley School and the storm drain. I told her were I thought the drain was, and she found it.

Corporal Punishment: I didn’t realize corporal punishment was still used in many places after all these years, but found this in Wikipedia: “Corporal punishment was held constitutional in 1977 by the Supreme Court. The court stated that the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause of the 8th Amendment did not apply to disciplinary corporal punishment in public schools, being restricted to the treatment of prisoners convicted of a crime. In the years since, a number of U.S. states have banned corporal punishment in public schools. As of 2018, corporal punishment is still legal in private schools in every U.S. state except New Jersey and Iowa, and legal in public schools in nineteen states. The practice is banned in 128 countries around the world.”

Mr Ledbetter was actually a pretty good teacher, as far as I was concerned. In talking with several of my classmates, some weren’t so keen on him, while many others credited him with getting them interested in math, and making learning fun. He taught for many years, and eventually retired from McKinley School.

Leadbottom: I debated using the nickname “Leadbottom” here, but it seemed to capture our 6th grade spirit, so I decided to include it. I should also point out Disney apparently stole our nickname for Mr Ledbetter. Leadbottom is now a character in the Disney animated feature film, Planes. In the movie, Leadbottom is a grumpy old biplane who spends his life working, rather than racing. Disney’s description is that he’s a “grumbling taskmaster, a real “tank-half-empty” kind of guy. For Leadbottom, it’s work first, then … well, more work.” This seems to conform with our Sixth Grade opinion of Mr. Ledbetter.

Paddles: In researching this blog, I went online to look for pictures of paddles. All I can say is there are an extraordinary number of paddles available for sale on the internet.

If you ask Cath how she grows such great orchids, she’ll answer “Oh, I just water them. Otherwise, it’s tough love. They go outside in the summer, come back in for the winter, and are never fed orchid food”.

I know others can find her answer frustrating. Many people receive orchids in bloom as gifts, but the plants never rebloom. They’re sort of “one and done”, if you get my drift.

After years of living with Cathy and her orchids, I’ve grown to love them. Maybe not as much as she does, but I enjoy it when they bloom in the winter. The plants themselves aren’t all that much to look at, but oh, the flowers. Whether looking at the numerous budscapes, and seeing the blooms as a rush or color,

or viewing just a couple of flowers and taking in their amazing detail, I find them fascinating.

I love to look at and consider just one individual flower. They are intimate in their own way. The color, the texture, the patterns, the beauty of the flower and all of it’s individual parts – Sepals, Petals, Lip, and Column, make each orchid unique.

Looking closer, there is a sensual feeling to the view. I can become lost in thought, as I contemplate them and their allure.

It’s a nice way to spend a few moments.

I’m not an orchid expert, a flower expert, or even much of a grower of green things, but I do appreciate beauty. In monochromatic wintertime, I love the bursts of color these orchids provide…

.

Addendum:

– Watching Cathy raise orchids for several years, I can add two other “tricks” she uses. First, she only rarely changes the pots they are in – orchid roots evidently like confined spaces, with not a lot of extra dirt. So, at our home, even as the plants grow bigger and bigger outside the pot, they stay in the same planter. Her second trick? In the winter time, the orchids are always in our large east-facing windows – they receive wonderful morning sun, but none in the afternoon.

– Cath comes by her growing and gardening skills honestly. Both she and her sister Bonnie inherited their mom Faye’s green thumb. And Faye? She inherited it from her mom – Juda Catherine Strickland. Grandma Strickland always had beautiful plants and flowers at her home in Alabama. Always.