JANUARY 22 - JANUARY 28, 2000
JANUARY 28, 2K
Taking phone calls at the Bradford Hotel
Good morning. It is 8.8 degrees outside at 6:01 A.M.
I hadn't been to the Bradford Hotel since late last millenium and seeing how I had a
driver last night, I decided to stop in. It was good to see nothing had changed.
Dave Sheffer was in his usual seat with a glass of whiskey in front of him. He was
complaining about the taxes the commissioners raised after being elected. As I walked in I
heard my named mentioned.
"Beck is the only one who fought against it," Sheffer said. "You don't
have to like the guy, but you had to like what he tried to do for us. Weaver and Stratton
only care about themselves. That's obvious. We really were sold out this time. I hope
everyone is happy."
"I'm happy," I said, surprising my loyal supporter.
Billy Peckham, the great Irish tenor and finest Chief of Police in the entire history
of Bradford, PA, looked up. "Brother Beck!" he said in a surprised and happy
voice. "Welcome."
I ordered a round of drinks for the bar.
"You must be happy," Sheffer said.
"I am. Since losing the election my blood pressure is the lowest it has been in
ten years, I have lost eighteen pounds, and I feel absolutely great!"
"And you look great, too," Peckham said. "Except you need a haircut and
your beard trimmed. Get the gray out of it. Makes you look older than you are."
I laughed. "I guess it does if you say so. My wife has been saying the same thing
for weeks now."
"I was just talking about you when you came in," Sheffer said.
"I heard," I told him. "Forget that stuff. I'm done with politics. I'm a
legitimate businessman now," I said, faking a godfather type accent.
That got a laugh up and down the bar.
"Some legitimate businessman you are," Welfare Wes said. "You are going
to open a nude bar and make Bradford into a smut capital of this part of the state."
I quickly shot back at Wes.
"I could open ten nude clubs and Bradford would not change one bit. It is what it
is because of people like you, Wes. Don't feed me that and believe that I will accept it
for one minute."
Toothless Tim agreed with me.
"Don't pay any attention to him," Tim said. "He was over at the meeting
of the pastors who are uniting against you. His new girl friend made him go with her if he
wants any in the near future. He's just all fired up now that they made him pray for your
forgiveness."
"Pastors uniting against me?" I asked.
"That's right," Wes said. And with that he rattled off their names.
"There are a whole bunch of them against you. Rev. Robert Brest, pastor of the First
Free Methodist Church.is leading them. And then there are Rev. William Watson of the
Foursquare Gospel Church, the Rev. Leon Canfield of the First Baptist Church, the Rev.
David Souder of the First Wesleyan Church, the Rev. David Bunnell of Hill Memorial United
Methodist Church, the Rev. Mark Hollis of the Bradford Alliance Church, the Rev. Mike
Sarna of the Bolivar Drive Baptist Church and Capt. Tom Dressler of The Salvation
Army."
"No kidding!" I said. "Are they going to pray for me or are they going
to sue me?" I asked.
"Probably sue you," Wes said. "It doesn't look like they have much
confidence in their prayers about now. They want to find some legal way of stopping
you."
"Like repealing the First Amendment?" I asked. "I suppose they want our
guns, too. Why aren't they protesting the open sale of drugs in Bradford? Or how about the
pornography that is being sold right now to high school kids on Main Street?
About that time the phone rang. No one paid a whole lot of attention until the
bartender said the phone call was for me. Then the bar watched as I took the phone.
"Hello?" I said.
"Is this former County Commissioner Harold T. Beck?" the voice on the other
end asked in a heavy southern accent.
"Yes," I said. "And who am I speaking with?" I asked.
"This is the Reverend Jimmy Swaggart," the voice said in an authoritative
tone.
"Right," I said. "Who is this?" I demanded.
"This is the Reverend Jimmy Swaggart," the voice said once more.
I was listening closer that time. I had watched him on television when I was in Texas
and I knew his voice. It did sound like him, but I knew my buddy the Gateser. He probably
put someone up to this and whoever it was, it was a very good imitation.
"Did John Gates put you up to this?" I asked.
"John Gates?" the voice questioned. "No. I have been asked to call you
on behalf of local pastors in your fine city."
"Fine city?" I asked. "Have you ever been here?"
"Well no," the voice said. "I am relying on what the pastors told me.
And, as long as God is present, all cities are fine cities," he said.
He had me there. I had to agree with him. Bradford was indeed a fine city because I was
very certain that God was indeed present.
"What do you want?" I asked. "Why are you calling me here?"
"I want you to change your ways. I was told you are in that place every night and
I could find you there so I could try and change your mind."
I laughed. "You change my mind! I still have the pictures of you and your old
girlfriend that Hustler did years ago," I told him. (Really, I think Sharyn
got rid of all that stuff a long time ago, but if it really was Jimmy Swaggart, it was a
good argument.) "And, I remember a few stories about you being arrested again for
soliciting prostitutes."
"Those stories are damn lies!" the man calling himself Jimmy Swaggart roared
from the other end of the phone line. "Nothing but damn lies!"
"Oh?" I asked. "Seems to me you were arrested," I said.
"Just an outrageous mistake," he said. "Nothing but a mistake."
"Really?" I asked. "Didn't you wife divorce you?"
"We are not divorced. Only separated while I am out preaching the Good Word."
"And raking in big bucks, too," I said.
"Spreading the Good Word is expensive," he said. "My suits cost $2000
each. And then there is my personal jet and my staff of attendants. It all costs
money."
"Get out of here," I said. I was sure John Gates put someone up to making the
phone call. With that I hung up.
"Who was that?" Billy Peckham asked me.
"The Reverend Jimmy Swaggart," I said sarcastically.
Peckham laughed. "Gates probably put someone up to it," he said.
"I agree," I said.
Everyone was laughing when the phone rang again. The bartender handed me the phone.
"Hello?" I asked.
"Is this former County Commissioner Harold T. Beck?" the voice on the other
end asked in another heavy southern accent.
"Yes," I said. "And who am I speaking with this time?" I
asked.
"This is the Reverend Jim Baker," the voice said in an authoritative tone.
"Right," I said. "Who is this? Why are you doing this?" I demanded.
"This is the Reverend Jim Baker," the voice insisted.
I was listening closer that time. I had watched him on television when I was in Texas,
too. I knew his voice just like I knew Swaggart's. It did sound like him! Could my buddy
the Gateser have found two that sound like both of those men? I thought about it and
figured he probably could. He probably put someone up to this and whoever it was, they
also were a very good imitation.
"Did John Gates put you up to this?" I asked once more.
"Why no," the voice on the other end said in a confused tone. "Who is
John Gates?"
I was getting irritated being bothered in the bar. " Are you in or out of jail and
have you ever made restitution to all those people you swindled?" I demanded.
"And what do you want anyway?" I asked.
He ignored my questions about being in or out of jail and the one about making
restitution. Instead he spoke from the script. I was sure it was Gates.
" I have been asked to call you on behalf of local pastors in your fine
city."
I'd been through the fine city routine and was not about to do it again.
"Fine," I said. "You've called. Have a nice evening. And how is Tammy
Faye?" I asked.
He stammered and stuttered when I asked about his ex-wife. I laughed and hung up one
him, too.
"I suppose that was the Reverend Jim Baker?" Peckham asked.
"You got it," I said.
"Gates is really into it tonight," Peckham said.
"You're telling me," I agreed. No sooner had I spoken, the phone rang once
more. "I'm not here," I said. "No more phone calls!"
The phone was for me. I could hear the bartender saying I wasn't there. I could see her
pick up a pen and begin writing. Then she hung up and handed me the paper with the name
and the number on it.
"Who was it this time?" Peckham asked.
I handed him the paper. He had a stunned look on his face as he handed it back to me.
"Who was it?" Welfare Wes asked. Who was it?"
Peckham looked him in the eyes and with a very serious voice answered him. "Tammy
Faye Baker," he answered. "Tammy Faye Baker."
I put the number in my pocket and left the bar. I was going to call her back. Maybe she
would appear when the club opened.
Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JANUARY 27, 2K
Three degrees
Good morning. That's what it is outside right now. Will we remember this in July
when it is hot, hot, hot? I doubt it. We will complain about the heat, just like we are
complaining about the cold. That is one thing certain about us. We Compton.
A lovely little letter to the editor appeared in The Error yesterday. It had a
nifty little title attached to it.
Beck accused of striking at city with club
It was written by a Debbie Bauer and she feels that because I lost the election in
November I am behind bringing down Bradford.
"Harold Beck, what are you doing?" she begins. "If you had won the
election would you have allowed a nude club to come to Bradford?"
Debbie, yes.
Wasn't I County Commissioner when Busty Hearts opened? I guess I allowed that.
And as for you no longer respecting me, big hairy deal! As for being a sad excuse for a
past politician, Debbie, had I been a politician to begin with, I would still be County
Commissioner. I never was a politician. I was a target for the people at The Error,
and others, to do with as they chose. And you, Debbie, played your part. You were just
like the other stupid ones who believed what they said about me.
Funny. I was a liar when I said taxes were going up. They went up. Where was that
reported that I was no longer a liar? NO WHERE, that's where. Instead we had some high
minded editorial that said I knew this day was coming all along. That was why I wanted to
sell the Land Fill and refinance Sena Kean Manor.
That editorial was 100% correct and dead on the target.
Any idiot who understood how to read a balance sheet could have seen what I saw. I knew
the County needed additional sources of revenue. I knew we needed more taxpayers and
sources that would not add new taxes. The Land Fill sale would have given the county
$5million in profit and a reoccurring revenue flow of $650,000 a year plus what we
received in taxes. Dollars and sense should have prevailed, but no, because my name was
attached to it, nothing came of it.
So now you have what you got. Higher taxes and the promise of even more in the future.
No concerned taxpayer group will ever stem this tide. It is here to stay and the few of us
who do pay taxes are going to pay even more.
Ruining Bradford, Debbie?
I think not. Bradford was ruined years ago when the mall was built. That was in 1978
and it started then. When WalMart was stopped by a few status quo business leaders who did
not want to compete for workers, it continued. Every time you go to Olean, or Jamestown,
or Erie to shop, you ruin Bradford.
A nude club is the last thing that will ruin a city that is already in the final stages
of death. If anything, it might even help. Remember O'Malley's? Did that kill Bradford?
There were topless and sometimes even totally nude dancers there. How did that hurt? Is
that the shame you are talking about?
I didn't buy the building because I lost the election. No. I was negotiating for it
since September. But that's my business and none of yours.
Reading your letter, Debbie, made me lose respect for you. Do you care? Well then, why
should I care what you think of me. Just think of me when you pay taxes, if you do. Think
of me and then look at what you have done to yourself and your wonderful Bradford.
Comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JANUARY 26, 2K
Listening to the wind
Good morning. It is 16.7 degrees at 6:14 A.M.
And the e-mails continue! However, a definite turn of events after yesterday's
column.
"What planet are these people coming from? They can't read. Everytime you
try and make a point, you are accused of something else. Can you win?"
"I am tired of reading letters to the editor from women who are scared that
their husbands will attend Club Bradford. If they want their husbands to stay home, THEY
SHOULD GIVE THEM A REASON TO STAY HOME AND NOT GO TO NUDE CLUBS! Wake up ladies. Get a
life. How many Hustler Magazines do your husbands have hidden in the closet? That says a
whole lot for you now, doesn't it!"
"A new idea that just might solve
everyones problems, put Club Bradford at the airport then customers could fly in &
out. The flying public could get a preview, looking through the big window as they taxi
down the runway. This would draw more people to the airport which means more income for
the airport & less taxes. Just a thought. Keep up to good work, I enjoy your articles." articles."
And we had more, too.
"Keep causing trouble. We love what you do. You hold a
mirror up and make them look at themselves."
"Bud. You are too much. If you did call John Yale a
Lesbian you must have had your reasons. Is he a woman in disguise or something worse?
Could this have happened twice in a row? You crack me up. Keep writing. Your articles are
the highlight of my day."
Bud's first comment: You need to get a life if my article is the
highlight of your day. And I didn't call John Yale a Lesbian - just a moron, and that is
because of his moronic statements regarding Main Street and the development of it.
"Hey Bud! What did you do to incur so much wrath from
the villagers of Bradford? City Council is a bunch of hens cackling in unison. Listen to
them. Once more you are dead on. I know John Yale. He is a
moron. Right again. People must just hate the truth."
Bud's second comment: I did not call City Council a bunch of cackling
hens. I did call John Yale a moron because he is. However, it seems that the consensus is
growing about City Council. I have not had any (well maybe a very small part) or much to
do with this.
"Is Chester the Molester real or just another figment
of your overactive imagination? "
Bud's third comment: Yes.
"I've never been to Bradford but this place sounds like
the original Dogpatch, USA. Am I right is assuming that? If I am not, then you have done
the place a disservice because you surely make them sound like a bunch of hicks, boob,
idiots, and loafers. And what ever happened to Gizmo and the Y2K'ers?"
Bud's final comment: Gizmo and the Y2k'ers are alive and well. Following
being thrown off welfare because their five years of lifetime benefits were exhausted, it
appears they have begun another lifetime. I was behind one of them in Tops the other day.
He didn't have enough to pay for the T-Bone Steaks and dog food on his card, so he dug out
three more and used them until he reached the magic amount to make the cash register
click. Nothing has changed here. It is still just like it always has been. Just different
people saying the same thing and not meaning it either. It is like listening to the wind.
Comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JANUARY 25, 2K
Bud, have you lost you mind!
That's the way eight of my e-mails began yesterday. Good morning. It is 10.4
degrees at 6 A.M.
"Writing a story about a chicken! Really! You must have had a few of the
screws in your noggin come loose. I enjoy reading your fictitious ramblings - but now
you've gone too far. Even for me and I am very open minded."
"The Chester the Molester story is typical of you. Only you would try and
compare City Council to a Hen House. When are you going to stop calling people names and
grow up?"
Bud's Comment: Did I miss something? Who did I call a name? As for growing up, after
all of these years, it is highly unlikely that will happen any time in the near future. I
am having too good of a time.
"You have clearly lost your grip on reality. Chester the Molester
was a waste of your talent. And why did you have to pick on City Council comparing them to
hens in a chicken coop?"
Bud's Second Comment: The exact text was:
I might have tried to explain it to him, but he was still wondering why the City of
Bradford had targeted him and denied his building permit application.
With that still unexplained in his mind, how could I possibly explain the goings on
in the hen house, or City Council for that matter?
Suddenly I saw a comparison developing! And as that comparison developed in my
mind, I looked at Chester's red head and really didn't want to go any farther. That one
was best left alone.
Has anyone ever heard of tongue in the cheek humor? Get a life the whole bunch of you.
Where do I say that City Council is like a Hen House or a Chicken Coop? The comparison was
between Chester's red head and mine - or the loss of such.
"What is wrong with you! You have no right to compare City Council to
a bunch of cackling hens. They are dedicated women who serve the people. What are you!
Nothing more than a filthy person who wants to pervert our young women and lead them into
prostitution! You should be horse whipped."
Bud's Third Comment: Drop dead! Learn to read before you write. I didn't call any of
the ladies on Council "cackling hens." I didn't do that and I didn't call John
Yale, the Main Street Manager a lesbian or a high school drop out as the next letter says.
"You really go too far with the name calling. How could you possibly
imply that John Yale is a Lesbian? Why would you also say that he is a high school drop
out? John Yale is a good guy who is working hard to revitalize our Main Street. You and
Tom Riel are working against him. Get with the big boys and get in the big leagues. Maybe
then you will accomplish something you can be proud of."
Bud's Final Comment: I have never called John Yale a lesbian or a high school drop out.
However, he is a moron. The big league statement is very similar to one he made to Tom
Riel about the two of us. Hence, I believe the man, John Yale, and now you, to be morons
for even insinuating that anything about what he is trying to do is "big
league." How many new businesses have come to Bradford since he became Main Street
Manager.? How many more businesses have closed since he became Main Street Manager? Big
League or Bush League?
All of this is diverting attention away from what is going on in Smethport. Did you
read the paper today and hear the garbage that Larry Stratton is dishing out about the
airport and the Airport Authority? Larry has an interesting way of saying things and
making them sound true. Only this time Jimmy Olsen of The Error finally did some
homework and talked to people about what Larry said. Oh how wrong Larry was!
If you want comments from me, ask me about the county and the finances. I have been
right since day one. I was right about how they over spent in 1999 and put us in the hole
we are in now. They didn't care. They called me the liar when I told you they were going
to raise taxes. Now were are we and who lied to who?
Ho hum. Ho hum. Ho hum.
If you want to comment on chickens, keep them to yourselves. Otherwise I'm still here
at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JANUARY 24, 2K
Chester the Molester
Good morning. There is a big beautiful silver moon out there this morning. It
is 14.0 degrees at 5:25 A.M.
I was warmed yesterday when I visited an old friend and saw that he was recovering. Two
young thugs, several weeks ago, ganged up on Chester and nearly killed him. What had
Chester done to provoke this? Nothing more than he has done most of his life. Just being
himself seemed to do the trick.
I guess it is unfortunate that the world was not a kinder and gentler place for
Chester, but it isn't. It is probably the world that Chester created for himself. Did he
deserve what he got? That, I would guess, is hard to say. You can judge for yourself.
Chester at one time was a well known bar room character in Bradford. For awhile,
Chester and his sidekick, Tom Riel, would make the rounds together. Tom would take him
with him as Chester didn't drive. Chester liked those times together with his buddy. And
the people enjoyed seeing him - at least most of them. Sometimes, Chester, because of his
nickname the Molester, would provoke the wrong reaction. Tom was careful where and when he
took Chester along with him.
Once, the owner of the Option House bet Tom he didn't dare bring Chester in - the crowd
was unruly and seemed to be the kind that would not take kindly to the womanizing that
Chester was known for. Tom Riel ( of Club Bradford fame) never the one to turn down a
challenge left and came right back with Chester. The bet was fifty dollars and Riel could
use the money.
He boldly walked back into the bar with Chester the Molester and put him right on the
bar. There the old game cock stood up on his legs and proudly crowed for the bar. It
erupted into laugher and cheers. Abbas never paid up. Let it be known that along with his
other sins, he welsched on his bet!
What happened to Chester?
Several weeks ago two of the other roosters in the hen house, each unable to beat
Chester on their own, decided to join forces and challenge for the right to the hens. In
biblical fashion Chester's own son and a young and ruthless up and comer ambushed the old
man and gave him a near death beating. Feigning death was the only way Chester escaped
with his life.
Tom returned home to find Chester on his back, feet in the air and his eyes pecked
shut.
"I never expected him to make it," Tom said. "Chester was like part of
the family. He kept those hens laying eggs and he was always good for waking me up in the
morning. I was stunned at the possibility of losing him."
Tom took Chester and put him in a cage by himself. He would attend to the old rooster
and move him to water and feed. For awhile Tom never left his side.
"He couldn't see. His eyes were closed at first. But then, with some care, the old
bird started to come around."
Now, as I visited Chester, he was up and around walking in his cage. The two aggressors
still try to get at Chester. They want to finish the job they started. They didn't count
on him living. That, they realize, was a major mistake on their part.
"I think I'll cage them and give Chester back his hen house," Tom said.
"That will teach them. And it's a shame, too. It is all over sex! Why do they have to
be like this? I have a lot of hens in the hen house. Aren't there enough for all three of
them? Why do they have to fight like that?"
I shook my head.
I might have tried to explain it to him, but he was still wondering why the City of
Bradford had targeted him and denied his building permit application.
With that still unexplained in his mind, how could I possibly explain the goings on in
the hen house, or City Council for that matter?
Suddenly I saw a comparison developing! And as that comparison developed in my mind, I
looked at Chester's red head and really didn't want to go any farther. That one was best
left alone.
What is important is Chester is on the mend. We hope to have Chester up, out, and
around soon!
JANUARY 22 & 23, 2K
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