JUNE 5 - JUNE 11, 1999
JUNE 11, 1999
A hot night at the hotel
"I loved the way you ended today’s column," Grant said. He picked it up
and read it aloud.
"I know I sound like a cynic. I know I am negative. I did not like what I
witnessed yesterday. I am loyal to a fault and it hurt to watch a pathetic old woman not
even speak for herself except to say that everyone mis-spells her name. I expected more
from Connie. I respected her. I thought she was a leader. She indeed was not! She was none
of what I supported and endorsed. In admitting that, I admit my own failure in judging
human nature - something I had always prided myself with. Sorry, folks. I was wrong. I was
wrong about that just as I was wrong about you caring about you children being exposed to
Asbestos, or how School Taxes go up every year. I was wrong."
"That was as powerful as I have ever read," Grant said. Coming from him, it
was a real compliment.
"I disagree with you about Greg Henry, though," he told me.
With that, Dave Sheffer’s ears perked up. "What do you have against Greg
Henry?" he asked. "I’m inclined to agree with Bud regarding his
talent."
"Oh, he’s talented. That’s for sure that he’s talented. It’s
just such an incredible waste, him practicing here in Bradford. What does he do that is
important?" he asked.
"My case," I answered. "He’s defending my sister-in-law and now is
my co-council. We collaborate on a unified defense for the two of us."
"That’s my point," he said. "That is a penny ante case. It is over
$378 in contributions that you reported. What is the big deal?"
"You tell me," I said to him. "I did report every penny. Why is the
Attorney General prosecuting me? It may be penny ante to you, but it certainly isn’t
to me or my sister-in-law. And, what I have been forced to spend on my own defense is
anything but penny ante."
"People just don’t understand what this is all about." Grant shook his
head. He didn’t understand even though he had written about it and had taken my side.
If he didn’t, he was right when he generalized and said that the people at large did
not understand. Many of them thought the whole thing was over.
Dave Sheffer spoke up. "It’s about getting Bud out of office. They don’t
want him there. They went after him from the moment he won the Primary in 1995. I was
never really a fan of his back then, but the way they kept coming and coming at him. The
way they made him run is a special election and then the way they blew where he served
during the Viet Nam War up in his face, anyone with half a brain should have been able to
see what was going on. They have been playing games with him every step of the way. Look
at the way the newspaper twists every single story against him. They are going to change
public opinion no matter what it takes or costs. The word is out and whether you realize
it or not, they are well into a program. "
"In that you are totally correct," Grant said. "The Era has
always done one of two things. They manufacture a problem." (Grant pointed at me.)
"Then they make that problem acute with their slanted stories. Finally, they offer
the solution to that problem.
"Bud’s a problem in the sense that he is not dependent on them. He writes his
own magazine and writes better than anyone on their staff. They are all jealous of him. To
make it worse, he becomes a genuine pain in the ass for them by shooting at them.
That’s unheard of and it becomes totally distressful for them. That drives them nuts!
"We’ve read their reporting of him and his efforts to help the county and the
people. They hate what he’s done and is trying to do. Not so much the actual result.
In fact, they support the result. The entire staff is a bunch of populists - nothing more
than bleeding heart liberals, and of all places to find someone to finally support
programs they endorse, they find him." (Once more Grant pointed at me.)
Other people at the bar were listening more intently than I realized. One was Welfare
Wes.
Now old Welfare was as lazy as they come. He’d been working the bad back routine
for years and had literally beaten the system out close to a million dollars and was no
dummy by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been listening and decided to put in
his two cents worth.
"So the solution to the problem becomes Al Pingie!" he said, speaking more to
himself than everyone else. "It was laughable. He supported everything Bud did. He
said he invented open government in one ad. That was a joke! If he invented open
government then everyone would know about everything he’d done for himself at the
Bradford Township taxpayers expense. Some open government," he said.
I said nothing. I had heard a lot of what old Welfare was saying, but I had no solid
proof of any wrong doing on the man’s part.
At that point, Wes’s friend, a dirty looking guy who was missing a few teeth in
the front, chimed in. "Yea," he said. "And they get a bunch of other people
to run too and take more votes away from him. I’m glad I am a Democrat and I wrote in
your name," he said speaking directly to me. "I didn’t write it like I
should have, but DuPont told me the way I did, everyone would know who it was. He assured
me that everyone would know who the vote was for."
I knew too. I thanked the man for voting for me, knowing full well I had found the
second "Red Headed Prick" vote.
Bernie spoke up then. "And you are so damn irreverent! They might have supported
you if you just weren’t so down on all of them."
"Who is them?" I asked him.
"The Boys in the Club. The Bradford Area Alliance. The Bradford Club. The local
movers and shakers. You named every one of them at one time or another. Heck! One of them
brings in more drugs than anyone else and he is so big no one ever says anything about it.
You know who he is. We all do. Even when the police stop him, do they search his car? Hell
no! He’s protected by the fact of who he is. And follow the connection and see where
it leads. The people of this county are being sold a bill of goods and don’t have a
clue."
"And they like it that way," Grant said. "Bud was telling me about Kathy
Wilson’s parents."
"Who?" Sheffer asked.
"The woman he wrote about from Jamestown who was kidnapped and murdered.."
Grant continued. "It was easier for them to believe that Buckley killed her when
he hadn’t. Bud showing all the inconsistencies only upset them. They wanted to have
closure. They want to believe that Buckley did it and know that he got off. That is easier
than being told that the murderer is still out there and has not been, because of
corruption and incompetence, brought to justice. And the same holds true for what Bud does
here."
"How?" Wes’s toothless friend asked.
"What Bud tells them is all true. It upsets them to know all of that is going on.
They would rather not know. They will bitch about the high taxes and people getting off
and getting light sentences for raping women and molesting children. They can accept all
that. When Bud writes about it and makes it an issue in the Commissioners’ meetings,
then they are forced to really look and ask questions. They like it better the other way.
Bud knows that."
I stayed quiet. As usual, everyone knew more of what I was thinking than me. It was at
that lull the door opened and John Satterwhite walked in.
"Look at what I have!" he said excitedly.
Everyone’s attention turned to him. He walked up to the bar and put a wad of
dollar bills, fives, and a few tens out.
"More contributions for the Committee to Elect Beck. Total contributions to date
are $378," he said.
"Good God!" I groaned. "The exact amount of money I am being prosecuted
over. Will this ever end?"
Comment on this at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JUNE 10, 1999
An Obituary
Yesterday I finally accomplished something.. I arranged for the Election Board to have
a place in which to meet. That was the sum total of my real accomplishments for the entire
day, even though, to some, I put in a full day. I don’t exactly see it that way. I
never have. To me an accomplishment is something that does not come with just sitting
around and waiting for things to happen. That would be like bestowing medals for courage
on Generals who have done nothing except occupy space in the Pentagon - which, I am told
is a regular practice.
That must hold for politicians, too. Why wouldn’t it? It is obvious that they are
judged by the issues they don’t raise, versus the ones that they should and ignore.
Connie Cavallaro is one of those politicians. At the same time, her opponent and
challenger for the office of Mayor of the City of Bradford, Michele Corrignani, is one,
too. As I sat through the hearing held by the Board of Elections and watched Connie
sitting only six feet from me, I recognized what brought her to this point. It was sad and
it hurt me to realize how much had change, and, at the same time, had stayed the same in
four years.
Connie hadn’t been to the beauty shop. If she had, the hair dresser had done a
lousy job. Her hair looked as if she had just gotten out of bed. I had never seen Connie
look the way she did. She was always so meticulous about her appearance. Still, knowing
Connie, I wondered if it wasn’t some ruse, some ploy to play on the sympathies of the
Election Board. But while that was possible, I suspected that all of what was going on
around her and because of her, had certainly taken its toll.
I wondered why she wasn’t represented by competent council. The last time she went
before the Election Board in 1995 she had Greg Henry presenting her case. This time she
was opposed by Greg Henry and was represented by Lee Ann Lyons Doynow, a Council Woman and
by any stretch of the imagination, hardly considered competent in any sense of the word,
considering the circumstances and what was at stake.
All the stories I wrote. All the fun I had at Connie’s expense. All of it came
home to roost with me yesterday. As I sat there watching her and listening to the pathetic
rambling of Mrs. Doynow, wondering all the time why that woman wasn’t in a kitchen
somewhere burning chocolate chip cookies, I realized that the questions I had asked were
all true. Especially the main one: Will the Real Mayor of Bradford Please Stand Up?
No one stood up yesterday. Everyone was seated as gentle persons around the great table
in the Commissioners’ Meeting Room. In their turn they quietly, and with great
reverence, stated their cases. An argument could have been presented that the real mayor
was talking. It may have seemed that way to some. That would have been Mrs. Doynow, and at
times, even I have fallen into that obvious trap. Mrs. Doynow, as smart as she believes
that she is, really is a far stretch and a weak choice for the person who is really
calling the shots. That person is Richard McDowell, President of the University of
Pittsburgh at Bradford..
Everyone loves Dick! Just ask Judge Cleland. He will tell you. So will Al Pingie and
Ray McMahon and Stan Pecora and Jeff Duke and Rick Esch and any number of the members of
the Bradford Club. Dick is great. Lee Ann says so. When asked by Representative Jim Lynch
what gave her the drive that she had, Mrs. Doynow answered: "I guess it’s the
Dick in me!" How can you argue with a statement like that? Obviously, Lee Ann holds
her boss and mentor in the highest esteem.
No, Connie’s heart was not in the proceedings yesterday. When confronted by the
facts of the case. When given case law to combat the way she wanted and wished things
would have turned out, Connie turned and looked to Bob Hand for solace. What a pathetic
place to seek refuge!
Personally, if I was Connie, I would never have depended on such an incompetent and
inept person to represent me as Mrs. Doynow. Personally, I would have hired Ron Langella.
If you want to defeat a vampire like Greg Henry, why not hire Count Dracula himself! It
takes one to know one and believe me, the two can suck blood with the best of them. Even
after watching the movie Blade, Aunt Rose and I are at a loss as to who the real power is
in the Vampire Nation. Is it the pure bloods who were born into Vampireism? Or, is the
humans who were turned? I am sure that argument will rage as long as there are Vampires
and as long as Greg and Ron practice law in opposition to one another.
Still, in an effort to end the conflict and settle the question, logic prevails over
materialism. The Vulcan logic is superior to the greed of a lawyer’s wife, arguing
over parking spaces on Main Street. And even after defeat after defeat by the Dark Side of
the Force in Appellate Courts, young Obie Wan Henry, armed with the wisdom of the ageless
force, was able to present to the Board of Elections a twist to election law, which, to
this point, was unknown. The fact that Greg had to do that only serves to accent how
really bizzare the politics of this County really are. Oh well. What do they say? We
deserve the government that we get. I guess that is absolutely correct.
Even with Connie’s obvious demise in her bid to be on the ballot as a Democrat, I
cannot help wondering how much of an improvement, if any, Michele will be? I had great
hopes for Connie. She let a whole lot of us down. She just wanted the office and was happy
to be a rubber stamp for whoever came along and talked the best game. Obviously it was not
the people who worked to get her elected in the first place. No, instead it was the people
who had always controlled the way things happened. The Bradford Club lost Arvid but
readily embraced Connie, only because she met them more than half way, and with open arms.
What happens to Michele when the first time the interests of Zippo, or an ally in The
Bradford Area Alliance is at odds with the best interests of all the people?
Don’t look at me like that? The question needs to be asked. She works for Zippo
and while the $5,000 a year salary was just fine for Connie, what happens when what is
right comes in conflict with the Supervisors salary at Zippo? Who will be the Mayor then?
Who will be served? Will it be the Alliance, or will it be the people? Lately, the people
have been coming up short more often than not. Is that to stay in our future? Who will the
mayor really be under those circumstances?
I know I sound like a cynic. I know I am negative. I did not like what I witnessed
yesterday. I am loyal to a fault and it hurt to watch a pathetic old woman not even speak
for herself except to say that everyone mis-spells her name. I expected more from Connie.
I respected her. I thought she was a leader. She indeed was not! She was none of what I
supported and endorsed. In admitting that, I admit my own failure in judging human nature
- something I had always prided myself with. Sorry, folks. I was wrong. I was wrong about
that just as I was wrong about you caring about you children being exposed to Asbestos, or
how School Taxes go up every year. I was wrong.
Yesterday I watched an ungrateful old woman and an arrogant middle aged woman get
crushed by perhaps one of the most talented and intelligent attorneys in six contiguous
counties, if not the entire state. I kept asking myself why did it have to come to this?
There really is no answer. If I had to write an obituary it would be in the form of a
question. It would be simple and to the point. It would ask: "You tell me why?"
Comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JUNE 9, 1999
Giving advice
Publisher's Note: Today's column is dedicated to wartime drinking
buddies everywhere.
A month or so ago I got a phone call from an old service buddy. He was stuck in traffic
on some multi lane expressway outside of Miami on his way home from work.
My friendship with Gary goes back to my days in the Air Force when I was finishing up
six years and two months in uniform (2 years three months of which was in the Active
Reserve, keeping me from being discharged and returned to the so called normal world.).
Actually, there were three of us who were buddies back then. We were all instructors and
our wives worked together and shared rides.
Life was simple then. Gary had been a Marine and was shot up in a place called Khe
Sanh. He was a civilian when I knew him. The military kept him for what he knew and was
able to pass on to the classes of airmen that rolled through on their ways to world wide
assignments, which also included Viet Nam. Like me, Gary had practical experience in
rawinsonde (radio weather balloons). He had been trained by the Navy and then sent to the
"field" for practical work. He got plenty of that.
Roger was the third of the buddies. He was still on active duty and not in the limbo
that I was. He, like Gary and I, had also been in the field and brought a strong
background in Meteorology with him.
But even at that, the three of us were just faces in the crowd. We weren't anything
special. We were part of a machine that trained replacements that kept our bases around
the world manned with young men and women who benefited from our experience so they could
keep the aircraft flying as safely as possible. I was the youngest and I was FIGMO
(forget it I got my orders- also interchangeable with another anachronism), just waiting
for the Air Force to finally cut the cord and let me go. Under those circumstance,
it was little wonder that we did drink together, just a bit.
During that time the three of us shared our most inner thoughts, as drunken service
buddies are apt to do. We shared our life experiences, including what did and did
not go on in our marriages. Gary was the oldest and had been married the longest.
If there was a thing back then such as Delayed Stress Syndrome, it didn't have a
name we could hang on it much beyond just being crazy from the war. Gary was that
and then some. While Judy and Gary did love one another, Judy was less than
understanding when it came to his episodes of down right insanity.
She never approved of his drinking and she especially did not approve of him drinking
with us as a group. In so many ways, Judy was the adult and through her association
with our wives, was able to exert some control over us. As much as we hated that, she is
probably the reason why we survived those final "war years."
Roger and I were eventually discharged. We went our ways and even Gary left and moved
to Florida. There he became very successful in the mortgage business. He had the
ability to put the very very large deals together. Like he used to say: "When you buy
Doctor Pepper, not a bottle of it, but the whole company for $45 million, you don't go
down to the bank on the corner to borrow the money." That was Gary's specialty,
arranging the money. I think they call that investment banking. That's what
Gary is, an investment banker.
Judy stuck it out with him. They had three daughters before finally having a son, quite
by surprise, in their late thirties. In all, they had been married thirty-six years
when Gary, stuck in traffic, told me Judy had filed for a divorce.
I don't know what I expected. Roger and I had both been divorced. We understood
the circumstances of the times and grew to understand it as a growing and a learning
experience that benefits us in our present marriages. As far as Gary and Judy, at the risk
of speaking out of turn for Roger, we just assumed that they, of all people, were beyond
that.
Gary said he hadn't moved out. "I'm still wearing my wedding ring," he told
me. "I really don't know what to make of this. She's had me served with papers and it
seems that this is going to get moving along pretty fast now. I'm not sure what I'm going
to do."
I tried to be a good friend to Gary. I kept my mouth shut and didn't offer any advice.
I listened and I promised him that I would be there for him if he needed me. With
that, we ended the conversation.
I told Sharyn about Gary and Judy. She had met them the year before while we were on
vacation. The four of us spent a great evening together and when it ended, promised to do
it again.
"It doesn't surprise me," Sharyn said. "Judy all but said they had
nothing in common now that the children were grown and have all moved away. That's
why she went back to college. She wanted something that interested her. Gary didn't
anymore."
I shook my head. She had been with those people for about four hours and had been
able to get all of that. I was amazed. Without a doubt, my wife is one of the smartest
people I have ever known. But, wives are like that. Judy was always smarter than Gary. She
just reached a point that she just had a real belly full of him. That's Life!
Even though Judy was also a fellow red head, my loyalties were with Gary. He was
my drinking buddy and if drinking buddies don't stick together, who the devil will! It
made no difference to me that Gary had taken a sweet and innocent woman away from her home
and her parents and for the next thirty plus years had abused her mentally and stolen her
youth. So what if he had robbed her of her dreams! He was my friend.
No. None of that mattered to me. He was my drinking buddy and I was going to rally to
his side and help him in his hour of need. I had been through this myself and I knew what
needed to be done. With that I made the first overt action. I picked up the phone and
called Gary.
"Get out of that house," I told him.
"I'm staying to establish ownership," he said.
"Bull," I told him "You already have that. If the divorce goes through
you can force her to sell and split the proceeds."
He gave me that point.
"Get yourself an apartment in a fashionable part of town. Get one on the ocean and
find yourself a twenty-five year old," I told him "I know for a fact that even
though Judy does not want you, she doesn't want anyone else to have you, either. I will
guarantee that within three months she will have you back home and you will think you are
newlyweds once more."
Gary laughed. "You don't know Judy anymore. She'd rather go shopping than anything
else in the world."
Once more I drew on the profound intelligence of my wife. "I have it on the
highest authority that women Judy's age prefer sex to shopping."
"What?" Gary asked. "Have you gone nuts?"
"No," I insisted. "In the meantime you are a kid again. Live it up! You
owe it to yourself. Think about it. A twenty-five year old!"
"Yea. What if I have to talk to her," Gary asked.
"Just treat her like you did Judy. You never talked to her. That's why you are in
the mess you are."
Sometimes I scare even myself. Gary saw the wisdom of what I was saying. Within two
days he was out of the house and within a month he had a young woman on his arm. It didn't
take Judy long to get wind of that, either. And, as I predicted, she did not like it one
bit. As much as she did not think she wanted any part of Gary, she definitely did not want
the twenty-nine year old attorney who wore short skirts and tight sweaters having him
either. The war was on.
If I have a fault, I am too loyal. I have another fault that is equally as grave. I
depend on my friends to be as loyal to me as I am to them. And, it never fails that I am
disappointed time and time again because not one of them, including Gary, are willing to
take the proverbial bullet for me, even though I would for them.
When push came to shove and, as I predicted, Judy ran off the young attorney, she
finally asked Gary what the devil got into him. Probably without even flinching Gary, just
as he had years ago, immediately blamed the whole thing on me. And with me, the chickens
always come home to roost and with them comes the rest of the dirty package.
In the midst of digging up and pumping my septic system yesterday, the phone rang. You
guessed it. It wasn't Gary calling to say what a great guy I am for giving him the insight
to save his marriage, not to mention his fortune and vast holdings. No. It was Judy and in
the fashion that only a red head can take apart another human being, not to mention a
fellow red head, she did me.
I was a man about it. I did not hang up. No. I took my medicine because this is the
beginning of the summer of penance for me. I deserved everything I was getting. I deserve
that and even more! Judy was right with all the names she called me. And, when she was
through and had vented completely, she hung up without even saying goodbye. Oh well.
I never did hear from Gary once he went home. I probably never will unless he messes up
and Judy throws him out or files new papers on him. You would think I would learn a lesson
from all of this, but I probably haven't. My drinking buddy was miserable and then was
happy for a brief time with that young attorney. He's back where he belongs now and
getting what he deserves. If there is any solace in what I have done, Judy is getting what
she deserves, too.
That is what happens when you give advice.
Comment on this at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JUNE 8, 1999
The Committee to Elect Beck?
It really makes no difference. Where ever I go the subject always turns to politics.
It's my own fault. Things were no different last night in the air conditioned Bradford
Hotel.
"You've been quiet, lately," Dave Sheffer said to me. "What
gives?"
"Nothing special," I said. "Haven't had much to say."
"I guess they are bugging you about this Democrat thing," he said to me.
"I wouldn't call it bugging me," I answered. "Wonderboy asked me and
I told him it was none of his *!#$$*! business. The Power Woman asked and I
think I said no comment or something like that, just because she is a lady, though
she is more of a man than Wonderboy ever will be, and she could take it better than he
could. Georgie boy asked today and I told him no comment and Jimmie Boy said that
was his question, too. Even in losing and not saying anything, I seem to still keep them
talking."
"What would they do without you?" Dave asked.
I laughed. "Yea," I said sarcastically. "What will they do?"
Grant Nichols chimed in on that statement. "That sounds like you've made up
your mind."
Once more I smiled. "No comment, Grant," I said. He laughed and because
he was a good sport about it, I made him a promise. "When I do decide, I will give The
Bradford Journal and you the exclusive story, even before I write it. How's
that?"
He laughed as did Sheffer. "It's a deal! This could get interesting," he
said. "You could keep people dangling indefinitely and never announce one way or the
other."
"Not really," I told him. "There is a time limit on this
thing." I showed him a letter I received from the Board of Elections. It read:
"Please be advised you are the successful write-in candidate for the
Office of Commissioner on the Democratic Party.
"Find enclosed your loyalty oath and statement of financial interest.
"Your statement of financial interest should be filed with the County
Board of Elections and your Local Municipality within 30 days from the date of this
letter.
"If you wish to accept this nomination, your loyalty oath and $100
filing fee should be filed with the McKean County Board of Elections by August 9th, 1999.
"If you have any questions do not hesitate to call."
"That's interesting," Sheffer said. Grant agreed.
"So it isn't automatic," Grant said.
"No," I answered. "Nothing is. Everything has to follow a procedure
and, there is always a payment attached."
"Yes, the payment," Grant said.
He had a funny look on his face. I could tell, just from knowing him the short time
that I had, he was cooking something up. From the way he was looking at me, I knew it not
only included me, but probably was about me. Just then Grant reached into his pocket and
put a twenty on the bar.
"I wrote you in," he said. "Here's twenty dollars toward the filing
fee."
Not to be out done by Grant, Sheffer threw forty dollars on the bar. "Here's
forty more. Now we have sixty." He looked around the room and called Jose over.
"We need forty more so Bud can file as a Democrat," he said waving the sixty
dollars in the air.
Jose didn't pull any punches. "Bud knows I don't like him all that much. He's
always hugging Judy and kissing her on the neck just to aggravate me. He does a darn good
job of doing just that." He threw a ten dollar bill on the bar. "That's all I'm
giving. Let him pay the rest if he wants to run."
"That's just it," Grant said. "He hasn't said that he will. We're
trying to convince him."
I shook my head. I couldn't believe what I was hearing or, for that matter, seeing
evolve right before my eyes.
Sheffer had seventy dollars. He got another five from the bartender and hit up a
few more people sitting at the bar. When he came back he had ninety-two dollars and a
paper with the name of everyone and how much they had given.
"We're eight dollars away!" he announced. "We're eight dollars away
from our goal.
About that time Doug DuPont walked in. He heard Sheffer carrying on about the eight
dollars.
"Eight dollars away from what?" he asked.
"The money we need for his filing fee as a Democrat."
DuPont laughed and produced a five and three ones from his pocket.
"Here," he said. "This will get the red headed prick on the
ballot."
I turned my head. "So you're the one," I said.
DuPont didn't answer. He knew what I was talking about. We were the only two.
"What?" Grant asked. Sheffer was equally confused.
Doug tried to look innocent. That was hard, especially for him.
I reached into my pocket and produced a pen. It was one of my pens from the
campaign. It was supposed to say "Re-Elect Harold T. Beck" but the ingenious
Doug DuPont had superimposed RED HEADED PRICK over my name. As the pen was passed around,
everyone laughed. It was then that I informed them that two votes in Lafayette Township
had been written in on the Democratic side in just that way. That got a huge laugh.
Doug never admitted that he was the one, but I believed that he was.
Everyone had a great time throwing the idea around. As people came in as the night
went on Sheffer continued raising money. By eleven he had two hundred and seventy-eight
dollars that had been donated by 34 people. It seemed that the whole thing had gotten out
of hand.
About that time John Satterwhite walked in. He was surprised by the flurry of
activity and asked what was going on. When Sheffer told him he added his opinion.
"It looks to me like we have the beginnings of the Committee to Elect
Beck," he said.
At the sound of the utterance of the name of the very committee that had gotten me
in trouble over $378, I groaned.
"Good God," I said. "Not again!"
Comment at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JUNE 7, 1999
Sunday shopping with your wife
Good morning. It is 3:05 A.M. and it is a sticky hot 66.4 degrees outside.
As I stood on one foot and then the other in an attempt to keep my legs from
falling asleep, I realized father time was catching up with me. I remember standing for an
hour or so while The Secretary of Defense, then it was Clark Clifford, read over the
graves of brave men who had died. That was 31 years ago and I was not in uniform any more.
I was in the Women's Department of a department store waiting while my wife tried on
clothes.
I suppose that this really started last Thursday when Sharyn came home and told me
that while listening to Sandy Beach's afternoon radio show she heard that men my age ( 53
next Monday) would rather take care of their lawn than have sex. I laughed. She also told
me that women her age (you don't really think I am that stupid, do you!) would rather have
sex than go shopping. I am not going to go into the nitty gritty details as he did over
this matter, but there was a message there, somewhere, or my wife never would have passed
that along to me following a hard day of work at the hospital.
The lawn thing bothered me. I looked at the lawn on Friday and knew it had to
be cut. Do you think I did it? Heck no! Wildflowers were starting to peek up out of the
grass, but I made no move on them. Saturday came and went. It was a beautiful day. Instead
of being out in that sun, I cleaned up the basement and did a dozen other odd jobs around
the house. As nice as it was, I did not look in the direction of the lawn.
Sunday dawned a new day. Following coffee and the Sunday morning news, my wife
mentioned that the lawn needed cut. I didn't need a skyscraper to fall on me. Forty-five
minutes later as I started up the Craftsman 21 HP 5 Speed 46 inch cut tractor (which, with
the snow plow attachment, will also do a nifty job of plowing out the driveway in the
winter) and carefully backed it out of the garage, I began to ponder what had really taken
place. Still, the sun was shining and I was King of the World sitting atop my green lawn
tractor cutting my grass.
It took me a little over an hour and a half to cut two acres. Pretty good time
considering I still remember the days when I used those rebuilt power mowers you bought
out of someone's front yard for 25 to 50 bucks that you had to push and never quite made
it through the full summer. I also remember the neat little self propelled job with
the mulcher I splurged on and how it suddenly began to look like I had a real lawn. I
liked the feel of it too. I liked walking around on it bare footed. The dogs suddenly
realized that they were forever banned to the back yard where I do not walk around bare
footed, ever!
As I carefully put the big green monster back in the garage, shut it down, and
wiped the dust from the shining paint job, I began to understand men my age. If, as Sandy
Beach's poll reported, that men were more interested in taking care of their lawns than
having sex, while I may not readily put myself in their category, I could understand. It
was kind of like that Cigarette ad from the 60's or 70's - the Virginia Slims - where they
said: "You've come a long way baby to get where you got to today!"
It was kind of like that. After all those years of pushing headlong into grass knee
high and having rocks thrown back into your shins and then raking the grass after you cut
it, is it any wonder a man would not enjoy the power and the ease with which he is able to
do the same job today?
On the other side of the coin, after a certain age when the PMS is gone along with
the night time headaches, why wouldn't women become sex maniacs? The only part of the
equation that is missing is the fact that their husbands, having been conditioned by years
of refusals and excuses, have taken refuge in keeping the lawn in tip top shape in the
summer, and the NFL in the fall and early winter. That of course is followed by Basketball
and Hockey. So, in a manner of speaking, I am doing a bit of a public service by making
Sandy Beach's Thursday afternoon program known across the internet.
Copy this and pass it along! Millions of men who left the game years ago are out
there, unaware of what is waiting for them. This is a whole new world and a sexual
revolution (Part Two) of sorts, awaits them. And, with any luck, it is probably sanctioned
by NOW (the National Organization of Women)!
As I left my beloved tractor and came back in the house, Sharyn told me that our
son had "volunteered" to stay with Aunt Rose for the day so we could go
shopping. That was the final part of what the Thursday afternoon radio show had set in
motion. What else would you do on a beautiful Sunday afternoon but hike through the vast
expanse of a shopping mall!
I am not stupid and I am a quick study for sure. If she wanted to go shopping,
shopping it was. As I stood there waiting while my wife was trying on clothes, I noticed
the other men who were taken along, much like small children, and forced to stand and
wait. As they did, they were trying to remain un-noticed behind a rack of pants suits
marked down 25% for a final closeout before the year end closeout takes what's left and
cuts that another 25%. Although I was a few years younger than the rest of them, I could
tell their wives had them well conditioned. No doubt they had done this many times,
probably after their grass was cut, too.
All of them wore that same look on their faces. One by one, each in their own
times, became instantly interested when their wives emerged and summoned them to the
threshold of the fitting rooms for consultation. Heads moved up and down vigorously
and then, being marginally satisfied, the women went back to try something else, generally
disregarding what the men had said. The men each returned to their perch and waited until
their wives attention shifted to something else.
I, like the other men, was patient. I had been promised several Old Fashions after
we were through. I was easy. I wondered what the other men had been promised.
Comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JUNE 6, 1999
ALL THE NEWS THAT'S FIT TO PRINT, or BRAINWASHING THE PEOPLE?
Publisher's Note: This is the second of a ten part series to appear each
Sunday. It is an in depth look at the media in McKean County and an exploration of their
reporting practices. Do they tell the truth? Do they tell the whole story? Or, are
they presenting a side of the news that they want the people to accept as fact? We
will explore the people reporting the news. What do you know about them? How do the
events in their lives affect or parallel the way they spin the news to us?
Part Two The Asbestos Cover-up
Before I start my nonsense, this little item was sent to me concerning a note a little
boy sent to God, regarding the Littleton, Co school disaster:
Boy's note: "Dear God, Why didn't you do something to prevent all of those deaths in
the Littleton, Colo. school"?
God's reply: "Dear Student, I am not allowed in school"!!!
At the risk of being accused of blasphemy, that is definitely something that God
and I have in common. We are not allowed in the Bradford Area High School.
When the asbestos story first came into the eye of the public in late January,
1999, the story had been unraveling since June, 1998. There literally had been thousands
of hours that invisible asbestos fibers could have been and allegedly were, airborne and
being inhaled into the bodies of teachers, construction workers, and students alike. The
two maligned construction workers who brought the story out in the open made valid points,
all of which were dismissed off hand in an editorial style, very common to The
Bradford Era, buried within the supposed news story.
Instead of reporting the facts as the workers alleged them, The Era staff
systematically took the allegations one at a time and editorialized within the story
in a very excellent effort to quash a real and very present danger to all who were
exposed. In the meantime, the school district regrouped and got their house in order.
Why did The Bradford Era participate in such a way? What did they have to gain
by misleading concerned parents, teachers, and construction workers alike? That, in
itself, is a very real and very pertinent question.
At the same time, where was the local radio station? Where was Bob Hand and the
WESB-AM news staff? Where was their in depth coverage of this story? Why did they only
mimic and repeat the printed word and not dig into the story themselves? The extent of
their coverage was to interview students after the fact and ask them if they
thought they had been placed in danger. What would they know about
asbestos? Still, it made an interesting sound bite for the afternoon news.
When we published eighteen photos of the asbestos in April, once more they were
dismissed by the press and the radio. They were both quick to point out that the
asbestos in the pictures was in fact inert and unless disturbed, posed no threat to
anyone. True! However, the asbestos was disturbed and what we did not see in the
photographs was and had been very possibly hurting everyone who had stepped foot in the
High School during that period.
Bradford Area School District Superintendent of Schools, Cheri O'Mara must have been
concerned. She was concerned enough to have a secret luncheon meeting with President
Judge John M. Cleland, District Attorney Michele Alfieri and her own solicitor, Fred
Gallup, to discuss measures that could be taken to stop me and my continuing to expose the
issue.
Even when the 53 minute video was made public the denials continued. The
Bradford Era called it a "home movie" even though great pains were taken to
insure that the production was done professionally. Those who have seen it would
certainly say that it just a tad better than a "home movie."
Even setting that aside, the content of the film is startling.
There is no way to accurately describe the anguish that certain parents have felt.
There is no way to accurately describe the other workers who have secretly met with me and
privately discussed what happened on the job site. To a man, and each of the eight
additional construction workers who spoke with me, could not understand why the job
laborers were allowed to perform demolition in area where they knew they would find
asbestos.
"The way a job is supposed to be done," an electrician said. "Is to
set up the containment before any walls are opened. The area is sealed off from the rest
of the job site and then they go in and do the work. The asbestos removal people open the
walls and remove the asbestos in a proper manner according to law. That was not
done."
"How so?" I asked.
"There was no containment. Just like Clint and Dave said in your movie, the
asbestos removal people wore no protective gear and they held bags open and brushed the
asbestos away and allowed it to fall into the bag and onto the floor below. I walked
away because I knew at that moment asbestos particles were airborne and everyone around
was breathing them into their bodies. What they did was wrong."
"So why didn't they do it right?" I asked.
"I don't know," he answered. "They could have. It would have been
easy to do it right. They just didn't."
"Why do you think the paper and the radio didn't tell the whole story like I
have been trying to do?"
"That's another good question," he said. "I don't know what they had
to gain or lose one way or the other. For some reason they didn't want to and they didn't.
You know them better than me. You tell me."
As I spoke to the construction workers I realized that they all shared one
thing. No one from the radio or the newspaper had ever tried to talk to them.
"If you would have been approached by Jim Buck or Bob Hand, would you have
talked to them?" I asked.
"Yes," the one man said quickly. "I wanted to talk to someone but I
didn't want to start it like Clint and Dave did. I would have backed up what they said if
my name wasn't used. You're the first to even try to talk to me. I thought the EPA would
be coming to talk to all of us. We were waiting for them to do that so we could have told
the truth and not had to worry about being black balled for future jobs.
"We figured the EPA would have to protect us, but they never came. They
weren't interested in what we saw happen. They didn't want to know about what we had to
say. They just walked through and said everything was okay. We could have shown
them where asbestos was still open behind the walls. We say them close it up."
So, the question persists. What did The Bradford Era and WESB have to gain by
not reporting the full and complete story? Who were they protecting? What was the
agenda?
Last week we pointed out how they in reporting stories were able to sway public
opinion for and against candidates for public office. We used the smears against Police
Chief Dick Cavallero and the creation of a piece of fluff to place their friend and
ally, Chris Hauser in a favorable light. Perhaps the agenda in this matter is not too very
far from that same scenario.
I have long been a critic of the free spending and high taxes required to run the
Bradford Area School District. I, like The Era, questioned the need for a
full time Public Relations Director. That was the only instance where The Era and
I agreed.
When school taxes increased ten percent, the legal limit allowed in a year following a
countywide reassessment, The Bradford Era purposely misled the people of the
school district to believe that it was the fault of the county commissioners and not the
greedy and financially unsound school district. While the people of the Bradford Area
School District spoke out last July, the rest of the county was oddly quiet. Their
school taxes were not affected by the reassessment. It was a phenomena associated
only with Bradford and the surrounding area, all, ironically in the same taxing district.
What did they have to gain by shifting the focus of high school taxes away from
where they rightfully belonged? Was it the Managing Editor of The Bradford Era,
Marty Robacker Wilder, doing a favor for her friend and fellow Power Woman, Cheri
O'Mara? Was this a scheme they hatched at The Corner Bar the night that Cheri had trouble
walking out of the ladies room yet was good enough to drive home?
As far as who was being protected, the answer is very obvious. Cheri O'Mara and her
$80,000 a year salary. Along with her are the other people who were charged with the
responsibility to see that the renovation of the high school go according to schedule and
stay on budget. The lapse in safety added a new dimension. From that the softening
of the story began.
Through all of this I find something very odd about the behavior of The
Bradford Era and its staff. When I made my request to come into the high school and
inspect the records associated with the removal of asbestos; and, when Cheri O'Mara, in
writing, refused to admit me to inspect record that under law are public records, why
didn't they come to my defense? Why didn't The Bradford Era assert, not
only my right as a citizen to inspect the records, but also as a fellow journalist?
Instead they sat back and said nothing. They allowed Cheri O'Mara to stand in
the door, so to speak, and bar my entrance to verify for myself and our readers that the
records were kept in a manner consistent with what is required by law. No mention of
the illegal nature of her denial was ever made by either The Bradford Era or
WESB. Why, if it was not a designed and purposeful way of killing the story?
For all practical purposes the story is dead, for the present at least. School is
out and all the parents who were aroused by the claims of the two workers and The
Mountain Laurel Review now seem to be as apathetic as ever. Their kids seem healthy
enough. What is the problem?
Exactly! That apathy, that lack of staying power with any issue is exactly what
they were all counting on. They knew that if they ignored the stories and the movie,
eventually it would all die down. That is what has happened, but not in the same vein that
they had hoped.
A core group has been put in touch with a firm of lawyers who specialize in Class
Action Law Suits for asbestos related matters. They have already asked for materials that
we have assembled in support of the case. Initial indications are favorable that an action
will be brought.
It appears that the EPA did not do its job!
If that is the case, did the media do its job? Did they, or did they participate in a
cover-up?
Comment on this at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JUNE 5, 1999
Global Petition Campaign
Several months ago a reader sent me the opportunity to join the Global Petition Campaign
to Mark the Tenth Anniversary of Tiananmen Square Massacre. Yesterday wa the anniversary
of the masacere in Tianamen Square. We mark that by reprinting the following:
PRESS RELEASE NEW YORK- June 4, 1999
Wang Dan, student leader of the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests, announced today that his
Global Petition Campaign has received over 100,000 signatures. Wang also extended his
campaign to October 1, 1999 to coincide with the 50th anniversary of the founding of the
People1s Republic of China.
"From Andorra to Zimbabwe, we are encouraged by the overwhelming support for the
campaign," Wang said from New York where he is attending commemorative events for the
tenth anniversary of Tiananmen. "By October 1, we hope to
collect enough signatures to send a strong message to the Chinese Government-that it must
take responsibility for the Beijing massacre."
Wang and his fellow protesters initiated the Global Petition Campaign to mark the tenth
anniversary of Tiananmen Square. The petition calls on the Chinese Government to overturn
of the official verdict on the 1989 pro-democracy movement, to release all political
prisoners, and to respect international human rights covenants. Wang's campaign received
endorsements from international human rights and labor organizations such as Amnesty
International, International PEN, Human Rights in China, Human Rights Watch and the
International Confederation of Free Trade Unions (ICFTU).
The campaign1s Internet Web site ( www.june4.org )
has received 20,000 electronic signatures from 120 countries. It links with other sites
worldwide including those of the New York Academy of Sciences and Canadian Journalists for
Free Expression.
In addition to the Web, the Hong Kong Alliance to Support Patriotic Democratic Movement
in China collected over 50,000 signatures on the street and Amnesty International USA has
sent in 12,000 more. Taiwan provided another 10,000 through an island-wide campaign and an
associated Web site www.6-4.org
News of the petition broke through the Chinese information blockade. The Web site
received 1,000 signatures from Mainland China to-date. However, those who were trying to
gather signatures within China were harassed, detained and arrested. In an earlier media
report on March 16, a man from
Jinan, the capital of Shandong province, had gathered 167 signatures before he was warned
by the authorities to desist such action. His goal was to collect 500 signatures from
mainland residents before June 4, 1999.
New features on www.june4.org include
Gallery, Multimedia Page, June4 Victims, and much more.
For further information, contact:
Cheuk Kwan, Director, International Campaign
Tel: +1.416.804.1527 e-mail: Toronto@june4.org
Sanching Lau, Director, Cyber Petition
Tel: +852.9684.5164 e-mail: sanching@june4.org
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