The Publisher's Page BY HAROLD T. BECK

FEBRUARY 26 - MARCH 3, 2000

MARCH 3, 2K

Why aren’t you screaming now, Larry?

Good morning. It is 66 degrees at 6:33 A.M. The Gulf is rolling in on the shore and it looks like it just might be a partly cloudy day. Shucks! I won’t burn today.

We watched the sun set at Harry’s Beach Bar last night. The fiery orange red ball sank into the sea at 6:35 P.M. Harry’s clock time.

A book was on the bar. Actually several copies of the same book was on the bar. It was by the Libertarian candidate for President (can’t remember his name) and was titled Why Government Can’t Work.

The cover made several statements. “Make Tax Cuts Now.” “Cut Government Spending Now.” “Make Government Smaller Now.” I found myself wondering if I knew this guy. Those three statements were exactly what I said for the last two years. But those words fell on deaf ears. They fell on the ears of people who were bent on feathering their own nests and didn’t care what their failure to lead, rather than react, would do to the people who trusted them. And in the end, when those people came in and told them how they felt they were betrayed, they acted in public exactly how they had acted all along behind the three closed doors for the four previous years.

It was a year ago last month that Larry Stratton erupted, screaming at me, because I had taken the annual checks to the Senior Centers and was leaving the Court House to deliver them.

“This is an election year!” he roared at me. “You don’t deliver them until I can go with you.”

The account of him screaming at me was reported in The Error by Jimmy Buck. As usual, he didn’t give a factual accounting of why Larry was screaming at me. Instead he reported that a dispute from the morning public meeting (probably over the Solid Waste Authority and the appointment of Dave Hickey) continued behind closed doors after the meeting was adjourned.

Actually, had Jimmy boy cared, it would have made an interesting story.

I was the county’s representative to the Office of Human Services (The local department of aging.)  Immediately, after taking office and re-writing the budget, I saw to it that the Senior Centers were each given $4,600 EACH instead of splitting $4,600 between the six of them as was the practice for the prior five years. When those first checks were ready, somewhere in the first week of February, I delivered them.

The following year, with things looking like finances were finally under control, I wrote in $5,000 per center. As usual, in the first week of February, I delivered the checks alone without fanfare.

The same held true in the next year, 1998. With the annual contribution to our local Seniors going to $7,000 each, one more time I saw to it that the checks were cut, signed, and finally individually delivered exactly as I had in the prior two years. Then came last February.

Just as I had always done in mid-January, I requisitioned the money for the Senior Centers. The contribution had increased once more to $8,000 per center.

It took two weeks to process the request and around the end of the month the checks were cut. I was out of town to attend to Family Center business and the annual financing of the program. Larry Stratton, while I was out of town, took the checks, signed them and had Jim Weaver sign them also, and took them to the Treasurers office with orders to hold them until he could deliver them.

That rubbed me wrong. Larry had never cared about the Senior Centers except to have his picture taken at the appropriate time. I had always delivered the checks in the past, but now that an election was at hand, Larry alone was planning to deliver the checks.

I took the checks and told Larry I was delivering them that day. I invited him to join me. That was when the screaming began.

As was very evident at the meetings over the tax increase, Mr. Stratton is a bully. And on that Monday morning last February, Mr. Stratton attempted to bully me. The key word here is attempted. Anyone who knows me, knows I am not prone to cower to any bully, let alone someone like him. I took the checks and delivered half of them.

The following day, during a break in Airport Authority business, I invited Larry and drove the two of us as we delivered the other half.

In the end, it didn’t make any difference for me one way or the other. It didn’t in the respect that I didn’t win either election. No one cared what I did. Or so it seemed.

Now I am told that they do.

Now taxes in the County are at an all time high.

Now financial chaos is taking over and fingers are being pointed back and everyone would just love to point that finger directly at me because I did write the budgets. It would be easy, but I have not only the final budgets that I wrote, I also have the first and subsequent budgets for each year and have each and every change noted and explained, including the feathering of the anticipated revenues for 1999.

I was told to do that so we could give the appearance of a balanced budget even though we knew it was not.

I wanted to cut spending right then and there but no one would listen.

The record speaks for it self. Time and time again I called for a reduction in spending. And if we weren’t going to reduce spending, I wanted to sell the land fill. I wanted that so the county could reap the profit and eliminate the liability. That sale alone could have eliminated county taxes for two years, or cut them in half for four, or even cut them by 25% for eight years. And it would have given the county, local municipality, and the school district additional taxes for the life of the privately owned concern. 

That didn’t happen. That didn’t happen and now it is early March. It is early March and the Senior Centers have not received their checks. I’m not there to look out for them and see they get what they so desperately need.

As with his continued promise of “fiscal responsibility” and referring to the so called “report card” on his accomplishments, Larry Stratton has failed to keep his word.

Why haven’t the Senior Centers been paid?

Jim and Larry wanted to pay off their buddy Dick McDowell for his ball field. Why can’t they pay the Senior Centers as they have been paid in prior years? Can it be that they forgot now that they have been re-elected? It certainly seems like that.

Why aren’t you screaming now, Larry? Why aren’t you screaming that the people you promised to take care of have been forgotten?

Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.

MARCH 2, 2K

The Great Darrell Dodge 

Good morning. It is 58 degrees at 7:31 A.M. and it is another great day coming up here in paradise.

Like every other morning this week there is not a cloud in the sky. Another wonderful day is in store for us. As for me – I am the original red man. But don’t rejoice too much. That’s the way I tan. I get red, then I bronze. And bronze it will be when I get back. Eat your hearts out, pale faces and white legs.

We had a great dinner last night at the Palm Court here at the Trade Winds. But first we did happy hour and listened to the Great Darrell Dodge.

I take back what I said about him sounding like James Taylor. I take it back because James Taylor sounds like Darrell Dodge.  

It is a perfect way to spend the early evening after you have had a great day walking the beach, sitting at the pool, riding the aqua cycle out in the gulf, watching people and walking the beach again. Listening to Darrell sing his own original tune You Forgot to Remind Me, sipping on a CC and Soda, and watching the sun set on the Gulf of Mexico is just about as good as it possibly gets. Add someone very special, and I certainly had that, and you have a recipe that is guaranteed to give you more than you ever bargained for.

Comparing Darrell to JT does a disservice to both performers. While both are song writers and guitar players, and have the same sounding great voice, Darrell becomes real because he is accessible. The James Taylors of the world are there for us to see but never touch. Darrell was not only there, but he came out and let us know him. And it is like that for anyone, not just someone who might write about him.

And the Trade Winds has these performers exactly for that reason. And that tells you a whole lot about the Trade Winds because everyone is like that. From the man who picks up the garbage to the bartenders and wait persons in the restaurants and the bars, they are all accessible and very willing to be friendly.

Sam Stone, Darrell Dodge, and on and on, all of these performers interact with the people that they are there to entertain. They interact in a way that makes the stranger feel like they belong. They speak to them personally and they share parts of their lives.

When asked if he would be back tomorrow night (today), Darrell said no. Then he went on to say that he was going to attend his daughter’s (age nine) school play. And beyond that, Darrell went on to explain that he did the musical score for the play. The play? Jack and the Giant Peach. What else?

Things like this when you are on vacation are a definite bonus.

Every single one of you know what it is like to go thousands of miles to relax and enjoy yourselves and be stuck in the Hell Resort. We had that three years ago on the east coast of Florida. Then we found this place. That is the reason we came back and plan to do it again next year.

If Darrell Dodge has a draw back, if there is anything that makes his less of a performer than Sam Stone, it would be the fact that he doesn’t know any Harry Chapin. Sam can stumble through Taxi and Cats in the Cradle (He doesn’t know WOLD or I want to learn a Love Song.). Darrell doesn’t know any of them. But even with that significant drawback, Darrell remains a staunch fan of Sam’s and even plays Sam’s music is his act.

And vice versa, Sam plays Darrell. These guys are buddies and it shows when they get together.

“So,” you ask. “If they are such great performers, why haven’t we heard about them before now?”

Good question. And I answer that with one word.

Priorities.

Both men have priorities that go beyond being famous or playing to large groups of people and everything that goes with it. For Darrell it is his family and with Sam, its living the life that Jimmy Buffett only sings about and dedicating himself to Bonnie.

Ironically, the song Darrell sang for us last night that is part of the UNSUNG HEROES Compact Disc, and is professional in every aspect possible, he had to dig deep to remember it. And even when he did recall the song, he still stumbled over the words that he wrote himself.

He explained about that and any other songs that he should have written and has not.

“I can’t write in fifteen minute segments. It makes me angry and frustrated.”

“Why do you have to do that?” I asked.

“I take care of the kids while my wife works,” he said. “Someone had to stay home with the kids so it became me because she has the job. That is not conducive to song writing.”

And Darrell was serious. As talented a singer and song writer that he is, he put all that in a distant second place, far behind his family. How many men, or women for that matter, are prepared to do that for their families?

Oh well. Just another day in Paradise.

In the meantime, I have enjoyed all the e-mail I have gotten this week. I didn’t see that skinny, skanky, washed out bleach blonde yesterday. And I didn’t see Jerry Clark either. However, I am still at rdhedbud@penn.com.  

MARCH 1, 2K

The Correct Message

Good morning. It is 60 degrees at 7:12 A.M. And did I ever sleep last night.

The dolphins are feeding right now outside our room. There are probably ten to fifteen of them and all the birds are with them on the water.  Our room is on the beach and we have opened the door to hear the sounds of the birds, the gentle surf, and the people walking along the beach. The weather? Sun, sun, and more sun. Hello everyone!

I had a great night last night.

Sharyn and I went to dinner with Bonnie and Sam Stone. Bonnie is a beautiful and charming person. I’m not making any cracks about Sam because the exact same thing can be said about me in exactly the same vein. Sam and I are very lucky guys.

I also got to meet the great Darrell Dodge. He was singing at the Flying Bridge while Sam took the night off. In case you forgot, I mentioned Darrell in Monday’s column and the two cuts he has on UNSUNG HEROS.

I closed my eyes when he was singing a James Taylor tune and could have sworn it was James Taylor. But when he sang his own original music, there was no mistaking his voice and the message he had for us.

And Sam and I got into a conversation about just that.

We’ve listened to the news as the commentators repeat and repeat themselves with the same thing over and over. They do it to the point that they are almost brainwashing us with the repetition.

George W. Bush insulting the Catholics. George W. Bush apologizing to the Catholics. John McCain attacks the Religious Right. John McCain says he doesn’t care. What are they fighting about? Where is the message? What do they stand for? What is happening to us? Why are we so stupid to allow it? And these men could become President of the United States? We are really in trouble!

I haven’t changed my opinion, Amy. Your Governor is a nasty, little rich kid, a man who dodged active duty military service who really doesn’t light my fire as far as politics and leadership go. He is a phony and a Republican version of Bill Clinton.

Even as ugly as the Democratic mishmash might sound with Gore and Bradley saying one thing and then another, they are mild compared to the Republicans. Only the Republicans can take us back to 1960 and bring up religion in a Presidential Campaign. Only the Republicans, and your Governor, pander to religious fanatics who are all so sure that they have an exclusive lock on heaven and God. Being the personal target of a coalition of ministers in my own home town, I am not so sure that a group, any group, especially a minority of the population, has the right to impose their will on the rest of us because they attach their wagons to any particular political candidate.

And going further, I am not going to support any political candidate who panders for votes to that group. And Amy, that is your Governor, George W. Bush.

In the end, regardless of which Republican wins the primary, the Presidency still belongs to the Democrats, and perhaps in the process, so will Congress. Bush and McCain are showing themselves up for what they really are. Their true colors are shining through and we are seeing what they are really for and against. We are seeing that even as they do their utmost best to conceal what they stand for. They are, in spite of themselves, giving us the correct message and in doing so, showing themselves not to be fit to lead this nation.

In other messages: Six year olds are shooting one another. Why? Is it the fact that we don’t have gun control as some would say? NO!

It is because some ignorant parent left the gun in a place where the six year old knew it was and the six year old had such little supervision that he could take it from home and get it in the classroom where the tragedy occurred.

Kathy Lee Gifford, tired of being in Regis’ shadow, quits. Who cares! She is rapidly aging like The Portrait of Dorian Gray. She isn’t funny and I am tired of hearing about her kids. She should talk about Frank’s girlfriends. I will not miss her and I prefer Joy to her any day.

Jerry Clark resurfaced with the blonde yesterday. He insists he is not from Westline, PA. I tried to get a better look at him this time. (I was sober.) I was prohibited because I was staring at the blonde and what was so prominent on her. Has anyone in PA seen Jerry in the last three days?

And the skanky, skinny, washed out bleach blonde is still stalking me. I didn’t get any better look at her yesterday, but I knew she was there. In the meantime, greetings from sunny Florida and your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.

FEBRUARY 29, 2K

Just a day at the beach

Good morning. It is 59 degrees at 7 A.M. and some high clouds are out there over the Gulf. The waves are beating on the shore and the morning walkers are already out in force. The birds are at the water’s edge looking for their morning fare. And this is day two at the beach.

Sharyn is red and I am looking a bit like the bronze god that I have been known to be from time to time.  The only part of me that is red is my neck. She is already complaining about how burnt she got yesterday and from the sounds of it, I will be at the pool with the scantily clad young ladies by myself. Oh shucks!

We’re going out to dinner tonight with Bonnie and Sam Stone. Sam was his usual self at the Flying Bridge Beach Bar last evening. He was his charming self with two ladies from Iowa (who asked if I was a lawyer: “I am an honest man,” I replied. “I am not a lawyer.” Sam and I thought they were down here with lawyers. That being the case, it would be easy for them to believe that all men were dishonest.).

Then he wowed the group from North Dakota, Fargo to be exact. After the usual round of ya’s he compared them to West Virginians who were married to their sisters and brothers.

I was able to convince the girls from Iowa to buy his Compact Disc, but after accusing them of all being intermarried, the group from Fargo wasn’t about to patronize him even though he did Harry Chapin, Jimmy Buffett, and Bob Dylan.

Speaking of his Compact Disc, just as I promised, here is the info on it.

ONE MAN CREW BY Sam Stone is available through the mail. This is all original music. Sam sings it in his shows and everyone loves it.

On Sunday, one man in the audience asked who sang that song first. Sam replied, “I did. I wrote it.” And it is on his CD: You can never stay sixteen.

With it are eight others all just as good and all Sam Stone originals. Take me Back is my favorite and Sharyn likes Some people don’t know. I like it, too. And there is something for everyone in this selection.  One Man Crew, the title song, is one of those universal tunes that you just enjoy hearing time and time again, as also is the case with Restless Years, Two Ninety Two, White Knuckles, and So The Wind Won’t Blow It.

You can order ONE MAN CREW sending $14.95 with $3.00 for shipping and handling to: Sam Stone/ONE MAAN CREW; 111 63^rd Avenue S.; St Petersburg, Florida 33705.

In the meantime the Jerry Clark mystery was cleared up. Jerry e-mailed me from Westline, PA or so he claims. That e-mail could have come from anywhere. But I didn’t see him and the blonde at any time during the day. However, around four when I went over to see Sam I had some peculiar happenings.

It started when I got in the elevator. I pressed the first floor but went up to the third. A woman got on the elevator. She said: “I can’t wait to get out in the sun. I have been in class all day.” Not thinking, me with my red face and brown arms, I answered: “I don’t have that problem. I have no class.”

Then there was that skanky, skinny, emaciated bleached out blonde woman who kept following me. Stalking me!

I never got a clear look at her. I only glimpsed her out of the corner of my eye, and that was only from time to time. Once I thought she had a prom dress with her, but there was no way to be sure. Anyway, I am keeping my eye out for her today.

Sharyn and I ate here at the Trade Winds last night. They have 20 acres of beach front and seem to own this whole part of town. There are 17 different restaurants to choose from and they gave me a 20% discount card for any purchase in the restaurants or bars over $5. That makes it easy to figure out the tip.

We ate at Bermudas. It wasn’t anything spectacular but I wouldn’t complain about it either. The only thing I found wrong is they weren’t long on getting me my next drink. Actually, it took forever to get the first. It had a family atmosphere and didn’t seem to cater to the hard core like me. They had a man going around making hats out of balloons. That was interesting to watch. Sharyn’s filet was good. Mine was over done and the lobster tail was a bit tough, too. But what would I know about food? The Canadian Club Manhattan was fine.

Even if the food doesn’t rank up there with the other places I have written about in the past, the service of the staff overall, ranks up at the absolute top. Just as it was two years ago when we were here with Aunt Rose, you couldn’t ask for a more helpful and courteous group of people.

 

I will talk about them as the week goes on. In the meantime, audios from Florida. Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com. I am getting e-mail down here, too.

FEBRUARY 28, 2K

Fantastic Sam

Good morning. It is somewhere around 7 A.M. and I haven’t a clue as to the temperature except that I have the door open and my shirt off (actually, I haven’t put it on yet) and I am listening to the waves on the beach. Good morning from Florida!

I am getting ready to go walk on the beach. But before I do, I have to relay a real scary experience I had yesterday afternoon.

I was sitting at the beach bar listening to my favorite guitar player and singer of all time, Sam Stone, and I thought I saw Jerry Clark. That’s right. All the way to Florida and there was Jerry Clark, Tom and Greg’s brother, there in the beach bar with a blonde. And what a blonde, dressed in a very skimpy bikini.

“Jerry?” I asked.

“Yes?” he said.

 “Oh my God,” I thought. “Is this Jerry?”

“Do I know you?” Jerry asked me.

“I think so,” I said. “Aren’t you Jerry Clark from Westline?”

“Westline?” he said. “Where is that?”

Then I looked at the prominent parts of the blonde. I looked back at Jerry. Of course he would act like this with me. The blonde definitely was not Joanne. And where were his kids? Down here in Florida with a blonde, I would pretend that I wasn’t who I am. It had to be Jerry. It even sounded like him.

“Give me a break, Jerry,” I said. “It’s you and you know where Westline is.”

Jerry was getting irritated with me.   I could see that.

“Is this a joke?” he asked. “Did my brother Tom put you up to this?” he asked.

That really threw me. Why would he admit to Tom if he didn’t have to? Then I started to doubt that this really was Jerry Clark.

“Is your name Jerry Clark?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”

“Bud Beck,” I said proudly after five or six Mick lights.

“I don’t know you and I have never seen you before in my life. Now, will you please leave me alone?”

I wanted to stay but Sharyn took me by the arm back to my barstool and insisted I stay put. I listened and shortly after that, Jerry and the blonde left.  If Jerry is missing from Sign Design of Westline, he is here at St. Pete Beach. Anyway, he is safe. I snapped a photo of him and the blonde as they left with my digital camera. I was going to put it in this column but for some reason the 70 or so pics I took between then and this morning will not download to the computer. So the evidence stays locked up in the computer.

Unfortunately, so are the other pictures I wanted to share with you.

That includes the pictures of Sam Stone.

I met Sam Stone two years ago when we were vacationing here at The Tradewinds Resort. Sam plays the guitar and sings. He is also somewhat of a comedian.

“I had relatives at my house this weekend,” he said yesterday afternoon. “My wife was at home.”

I chided Sam. Bonnie put up with him for eleven years before finally agreeing to marry him. It was a lot easier to explain him to her friends and relatives as her husband than her boyfriend. Husbands, family and friends understand. You are stuck with them. Boyfriends, there really is no excuse. You can get rid of them. And besides, Sam does grow on you. And here is an old picture of him I stole from the MLR on-line.

 

 

He certainly has on me. Aunt Rose wrote about him two years ago and I followed up with a review of a CD he sent me. 

Sam is a great guy. He appreciated the write up Rose gave him. We sent him extra copies to give out to his friends and managed to get a few orders for Cornplanter Chronicles as a result. To show his appreciation, he sent along a Compact Disc called Un-Signed Heroes which was recorded at Trax Studios in Seminole, Florida.

This is a tremendous CD. I have been listening to it for the better part of two months now and I just love it. This is a collaboration of a group of artists who all have their own individual styles.

These guys aren’t kids and their styles are from a time in the recent past. It is our kind of music, reminiscent of the sixties and seventies ballads. Every song, which is an original work by that particular artist, tells its own story.

Sam Stone is my obvious favorite. He had two songs, Forever and Retrospective Blues. Darrell Dodge is a close second with Yesterday Again and Forgot to Remind Me with that selection as my favorite on the entire CD. Both Sam and Darrell have great voices and their choice of lyrics lends an awful lot to the fine music. Other selections I especially liked were: My Yard by Hendrix, Osborne & Tyre; Falling Down by Sal Belloise; A Few More Years by Steve Connelly; and Night Train by Rob Tyre.

I recommend this CD to anyone who likes the ballads of the sixties and the seventies. The address for ordering is PO Box 40148, St. Petersburg, FL 33743-0148. The phone number is (813) 392-0454, FAX (813) 392-6224. Paul Konitz is the owner of Trax Studios and says the CD is $13.95 plus $3 for shipping and handling.

Now Sam has his own music on a Compact Disc.

Sam Stone performs ONE MAN CREW.  It features nine of his original tunes and we will give you information on ordering this collection in tomorrow’s column.

In the meantime, I have to get out on the beach and pick up shells for Claudia Sprague so the kids can do more arts and crafts with the treasures that we bring home.

Sam is playing at the Flying Bridge Beach Barge at four this afternoon. I will be there. Until tomorrow from sunny Florida, all of your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com. And I am going to get to the bottom of this Jerry Clark thing.

FEBRUARY 26 & 27, 2K

There were no new articles.

---

If you have a comment on this article please click here.

[ Top ]  [ Home ]