JUNE 26 - JULY 2, 1999
JULY 2, 1999
The Un-comfortable inn
Good morning. It is 66.7 degrees at 6:02 A.M. following a full night of rain. The
forest needed this week. Many of us were worrying about how dry it was. If it had kept up,
we would have been looking at the danger of serious fires by August. Now we can breath a
little easier.
I was out for awhile last night. I stooped in a few places but by nine I was ready for
the Bradford Hotel. Something was on my mind and I wanted to bring it up. The
diverse crowd that is there on Thursday nights always gave me a fresh view on any subject.
Ironically, I was not the only person who had noticed the same thing.
Dave Sheffer was there, as was Welfare Wes, George Petrisek and a friend of his,
Connie Wangus, were there, as were Doug DuPont, Bob Cummins, and Ray McMahon. When McMahon
saw me come in, he finished his beer and left. I said hello to him but he ignored me. He
just left. Oh well.
I was in an exceptionally good mood and had a few dollars in my pocket. With
McMahon gone, I felt generous. I told the bar tender to set everyone up. About that time
Marty Robacker Wilder came in and the girl behind the bar asked if I meant everyone and I
said I did, and that included Marty.
"Where was Ray McMahon going in such a snit?" Marty asked as the
bartender gave her a cold Budweiser.
"Bud came in," DuPont said.
"Say no more," Marty said. "I understand completely. What's he doing
here anyway? Is this a possible alternate location for Tops?"
Several people laughed but Sheffer and I just looked at one another. What was he
doing in The Bradford Hotel?
I thought about it. If the Bradford River Walk took off, the Hotel would have a key
location. Once the water level was raised the gondolas could put in here and tourists
could dine and drink on the back patio, not to mention stay in the rooms. Dave and I
suddenly understood what just might be in the works.
"Has Dave Lunden been around?" I asked.
At that Welfare Wes spoke up. "He was here yesterday. He was in with Dick
Kessel for lunch."
That confirmed it. Kessel was the expert on water and water related construction.
Obviously, it was either the River Walk plan coming to fruition; or, it was Plan B for
Tops. Either way, with water so close, Kessel figured into it. But that wasn't what was on
my mind.
"Tell me something," I asked. "Have any of you taken a close look at
the new motel going up across from Howard Johnsons? Have you noticed the quality of
the building going up? I would be interested in knowing if it meets all the safety
and fire codes. I know in Florida commercial construction has to be out of block and
steel. This is nothing but two by fours and sheet rock. I thought this was a $1.8
million project. Are they counting their legal costs, too?"
"Yeah," Wes
said. "And what about the windfall for local contractors? Have you seen any of that,
Bobby?"
"Me?" Bob Cummins asked. "On a Ray McMahon job? Are you kidding?
I stand a better chance of remodeling Judge Cleland's house than ever winning a bid
McMahon puts out or is in any way shape or form involved with."
George spoke up at that point. "McMahon wasn't involved in the new motel, was
he?"
At that point everyone in the bar, including Marty Robacker Wilder, laughed. McMahon
was involved in everything, whether it was made public or not. And, if it was
going to be built, Kessel would build it. That's why I was sure he had his eye on the
Bradford Hotel. It was the River Walk project. Kessel and water were a natural.
"Back to the motel," Bob Cummins said. "I envisioned something else.
I thought it was going to be raised with parking underneath it. I never envisioned a strip
of wooden rooms built from two by fours. Are there any two by sixes on the job site?"
Connie Wangus, new to the hotel, brought up an interesting point.
"All of these people who are spouting off about the re-vitalization of
Bradford had better take a real close look at what they are doing. What is this place
going to be like in ten or twenty years if the construction is as cheaply done as it is?
What are we going to have? Don't we have building codes with minimum requirements? I agree
with Bud. I thought commercial construction had to be done with steel supports. I didn't
know you could use sticks to build something like a motel. What about fire safety?"
I had to agree with everything I was hearing. I looked at Marty and it appeared
that she was thinking that maybe we weren't all that far from the mark. I don't think even
Connie Cavallaro bargained for the structure that was going up on the hotly contested site
adjacent to Route 219.
"You know," I said. "Once this is depreciated down to nothing and
the owners can't take a write off any more, it will go the way of cheap motels
everywhere. We will have transients living there and the neighborhood will go down with
the building. We are creating a future slum right now in 1999 and we are watching it be
built."
"Hey," Wes said. "Don't start knocking people who are down and out
on their luck. They need a place to live. Forty-eight families on welfare can live there
some day. Think about it."
I did think about it and I didn't like the prospect one bit. From the looks of the
people with me, they didn't either.
Comment on this at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JULY 1, 1999
And the hummingbird affair continues....
Good morning. It is 59.4 degrees and the authorities have just left. I was darn near
put in jail. Instead, they had netted eleven of the twenty-seven hummingbirds that have
made me their official pusher. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I should go back to
where I left off. It gets better.
When I stopped telling the story the hummingbirds were sipping from a red bowl I found.
It was one of those plastic things with a white top that never stayed on because it seemed
like it was never mated to the bottom properly. It was red. And, if you want to feed
hummingbirds, the red color is imperative. I don’t know why, but that’s the way
it is. Anyway, Sharyn brought it home from one of those parties someone had at their home
where they invite all their friends and even women they hate so they could get a free
gift.
Finally, after all these years, it was useful. In fact, it proved to be more useful
than I imagined because instead of feeding four at one time, all eight of them were able
to sit on the lip and feed. It was at that point I realized that there were no longer
eight. There were thirteen.
Faced with thirteen pointy beaks to feed, I got out the sauce pan, a cup of sugar, and
a cup of water. Realizing that the red bowl was large enough to handle more than the two
cup limit of the impounded feeder, I decided to triple the quantity. I used three cups of
sugar and three cups of water. Oddly enough it took no longer to prepare the larger
quantity than it did to prepare the smaller amount.
I stirred the mixture rapidly until all the sugar dissolved into the water. Then I
removed it from the heat and added three ice cubes to speed (maybe a poor choice of words)
the cooling process. Then I went off to get dressed. By the time I returned, the number of
hummingbirds had grown. Instead of the thirteen I had when I began making more nectar, I
now had sixteen. The bowl was jam packed with little birds with long pointy beaks sitting
around on it.
The funny thing about those house parties selling plastic bowls, women never seem to
buy just one of anything. If they are going to buy one of the two quart container, why not
buy two - or how about three? Fortunately for the little birds Sharyn had done just that.
We had three red plastic containers, none of which the white tops ever were able to fit on
the top as she was led to believe.
Finally, after being purchased at the home of some woman named Olivia who lived in
Round Rock, Texas; and, after being stored there, then moved to Pennsylvania where we
stored them one more time, and moving them around to make room for useful items, they
finally had a purpose for their existence. I took the other two and poured equal amounts
of the nectar in them. Then, one at a time, I took them out on the porch to join the third
bowl which by now was in need of a refill.
I placed the other two bowls on different parts of the porch. I was attempting to act
as an air traffic controller of sorts. I noted the number had once more grown. No longer
did we have sixteen. Instead there were twenty-one. I was concerned about mid air
collisions and the little birds damaging a wing or breaking one of their beaks. If that
would happen the little fellows would not be able to feed or get back to their nests. I
did not want to take the responsibility for that happening.
After I refilled the bowl that I first placed on the porch, I was careful to put out
seed for the other birds, too. I didn’t want the morning dove, or the chickadees, or
even the black birds to feel slighted. Then I went to the court house. I was secure in
knowing that the hummingbirds were taken care of in spite of the bureaucratic nonsense and
the selective political prosecution of a law abiding individual who only wanted to feed
the birds.
While I was gone the number of hummingbirds continued to increase. Don’t ask me
how that happened. Evidently, they talk to one another somehow and the word was out that
at Bud’s house you could get a fix on the best tasting nectar this side of the
Yucatan Peninsula. It was at that point my ninety-four year old Aunt Rose, who seldom uses
the phone anymore, called me.
"Harold," she said. "All the little birds that are out on the porch are
just wonderful. They are like bees buzzing around going from bowl to bowl. Even the other
birds are having fun, too. You should see them all."
Aunt Rose was still asleep when I left for work. She’s a bit of a night owl and
she likes watching the re-runs of Law and Order on A&E that come on at eleven.
That’s after my bed time but on the opposite end she sleeps until ten when she and
Sue go off to the Senior Center (which I must add, I have placed Red Jacket on notice to
stay away from my aunt because she is much too young for him). Anyway, the birds made
quite an impression on Aunt Rose.
"I’ve never seen so many at once," she said. "It is marvelous. It
is just marvelous."
I sat back in my chair and nearly put my feet up on the desk. I smiled within myself.
Anytime you can make your ninety-four year old aunt and a whole lot of birds happy at the
same time, you have done well. I was pleased with myself, but as we know, pleasure can be,
and usually is, fleeting.
When I returned home that evening two state investigators, a man and a woman, under the
supervision of Phinneas T. Bluster, along with the District Attorney herself, just back
from knitting camp, were chasing the poor little hummingbirds around with nets. As they
caught them they deposited them in a large cage in the back of Bluster’s state car.
They immediately set out to catch more. Fortunately for the hummingbirds, they were
smarter than Bluster, Alfieri, and the two state investigators put together. They would
have needed Mike Fisher’s superior intellect, added to theirs of course, to outsmart
the hummingbirds as a whole.
Still, the captured hummingbirds were letting out pathetic little squeals. It was
obvious that they did not like the recent turn of events. They were not used to
imprisonment and they were probably hungry after being chased around. I had not been
seen as of yet so I snuck up on the car where the cage was and opened it. As I did,
Bluster drew his .40 caliber automatic and aimed it at me.
"Stop, or I’ll shoot," he ordered.
I stopped but the hummingbirds didn’t, all eleven of them got away. I looked at
the two state investigators and recognized Porky and Petunia. They were breathing heavily
and sweating profusely. (Neither one of them are in any kind of shape to chase down
hummingbirds.) Alfieri was just as pathetic. Knitting needles all over the place, her hair
a mess, and her eye makeup was running down her cheeks. I couldn’t help laughing at
the sight. As I laughed they cuffed my hands tightly behind my back.
I had the foresight to call Greg Henry before I got home. I knew he was on his way but
to my surprise, it would not be the famous McKean County Criminal Attorney who would come
in like the Seventh Calvary to my rescue. On the contrary, it would be two old Indians -
one of them carrying a bag of dead skunks.
"What is the meaning of this?" Cornplanter demanded. Next to him, Red Jacket
had placed down the bag of skunks. He was holding a fearsome looking war axe. Cornplanter
continued.
"Why are you chasing and capturing my hummingbirds?"
Bluster spoke up. "The hummingbirds are the property of the Pennsylvania
Game Commission. They are wildlife and the Game Commission owns all wildlife in the
Commonwealth.
"I have a prior claim," Cornplanter said smugly.
Now keep in mind I am handcuffed and being pushed against the car by a pretty hefty
Petunia. So I am watching this unfold over my shoulder. But when the old chief said he had
a prior claim, I knew old Mr. Bluster was in trouble. Just then Greg arrived. The look on
his face when he saw the two old Indians was priceless, but he didn’t miss a beat.
Immediately he took up the chief’s case and began spouting legal prescident .
Bluster wanted to take the lawyer on right then and there but Porky talked him out of
it. "We need to call Tony Krastek. We are going to need the really big guns on this
one. This Beck guy really knows how to gum up the works. Now he has taken his illegal
activities with hummingbirds and escalated it into an international event between the
government and the Senecas. How could this have happened?"
I was released. Mr. Bluster, Porky, Petunia, and even the ditsy DA all went away
wondering where they went wrong. Looking around the hummingbirds were jubilantly flying
around our heads. Red Jacket looked around and asked about Aunt Rose, but even before I
could say a word, Cornplanter spoke up.
"We're taking on the government. You don't need to mess with Bud. Leave his aunt
alone."
Red Jacket nodded that he understood.
There we stood, The Hummingbird Four, steadfastly standing up for the rights of
hummingbirds to drink whatever mixture of nectar they wanted. In the meantime I still had
my date before Judge Cleland on July 16th. I went in the house and began my
defense.
By the way, have a happy Mozart's birthday. Cornplanter and Red Jacket say he's doing
well and promise to bring him by.
Comment on this story at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JUNE 30, 1999
The Audubon Police
Good morning. It is 44.6 degrees at 5:46 A.M. and I might as well get right to the
point this morning.
What a seven days this has been! I hope today with the change in the weather we can
finally turn a corner. Tomorrow I will tell you. In the meantime, consider this.
Last Tuesday it started out with The Bradford Error and Liars Club
reporting that we had an outside firm managing our nursing home. That was followed the
next day with the report on my filings in court - also inaccurately reported and purposely
slanted to make me look like the bad guy even though I am the one who is coming forth with
what seems to be evidence of prosecutorial misconduct - and maybe a whole lot of laws
being broken in the meantime, too.
Then Cheri O'Mara went on the radio and blamed me because they were $100,000
or so over budget on the high school renovation.
Let me tell you something about our Superintendent Shopper of the Year and Power
Woman: If she is admitting that they are $100,000 over budget, bet your last pair of
clean socks that they are closer to being a half a million over budget. And, you can bet
your last clean under drawers that I had nothing to do with it by drawing attention to the
asbestos. When have they ever done a job that stayed in budget?
After Cheri on the radio, I become embroiled in the Connie Cavallaro Corporate
Scandal and write a letter to our esteemed District Attorney. I am told that Michele is on
vacation by the office staff - then I find out she is off to Knitting School at Pitt.
(This is the fourth year of Knitting School for her. Shouldn't she have graduated by now?)
Justice is forced to wait while our DA learns to loop and pearl all over again. And, in
the meantime, this little deal just may be a whole lot larger than anyone has and eye for.
Then in Saturday's paper, as the truth about how the asbestos was way under estimated
came out, we also heard from former County Commissioner Richard (I love the sound of my
own voice) Kallenborn demanding that Stratton, Weaver, and I be forced to pay back the
county treasury over the inaccurately reported and totally misrepresented Affinity
Affair. Maybe the three of us should have gone after him for the $1.65 million
deficit he and his cohorts left the county with when they left office.
I really thought things were finally turning around yesterday. We were getting long
need rain and even the morning paper wasn't all that bad. The headline was laughable, but
Pat Cercone writes them and she has always had a flair for that sort of thing. "Mayor
unknowingly accepted money for her campaign from corporation." That's kind
of like reporting "President unknowingly accepted $20 million from Chinese
while they borrowed our nuclear secrets." But that's politics and you have
to keep an open mind and a good sense of humor. Just imagine what the headline would have
read if it was me!
"Beck bumbles and blames corporation for giving him
contributions." Or, "Attorney General closes in on Beck's
continued campaign wrong doing."
I do need to step back and say that Sandra Rhodes did an excellent job of writing
the article. That is very refreshing when you consider how they (not Sandra) covered up
the asbestos issue. Saturday's story, while months late and long over due in the writing,
pointed to the fact that the School District and their architects under estimated the
amount of asbestos on the job. It also pointed to the fact that they knew in early
November, not January or February or even March.
Even Jim Buck found some religion in yesterday's paper and the meeting he attended
on Monday appeared to finally be the same meeting I attended. He accurately reported my
actions when he said:
"The commissioners took umbrage (good word, I had to look that one
up) at a story that appeared in The Era's June 22 edition, dealing with Affinity.
"(The Era)(and I've never understood why that is in parenthesis,
either) made it sound like Affinity is running the nursing home. It is not. County
employees run the nursing home, not Affinity." Beck said. "It made it sound like
there were Affinity employees all over the nursing home. There aren't."
His voice rising and his eyes fixed on an Era reporter (That was Jimmy), Beck
said, "So you can write all the stories you want and you can twist it any way you
want....(I don't remember those periods - maybe I burped or something) and you
can lie to the people, which is what you've done, but what we did was in the best interest
of the taxpayers and ...(must have burped again) Sena Kean Manor."
I said that, I just don't remember burping. I hope I excused myself. Oh well,
better late than never. Excuse me.
With reporting like that and with the afternoon wind shift that brought cool air in
from the north I felt like things were finally turning around. Then it happened. Then came
the knock at the door.
I went to the door and was greeted by a man who had on a tropical looking shirt and
a hat with bird feathers in it. He had a clip board in his hand and an apparatus that
looked like a turkey baster except for a long pointed needle looking thing on the end.
"Audubon Police," he said to me. With that he handed
me his card. I read it and it said he was Phinneas T. Bluster, Chief Inspector for
Hummingbird Affairs, Bureau of Enforcement. I was impressed.
I noticed the seal of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania on his card. I was at a
loss. Since taking office in 1996 I had learned about many state agencies, but had never
heard of the Audubon Police. I inquired as to the particular part of government that he
was affiliated with.
"We work for the Attorney General's Office," he said in an official
voice.
"Oh," I answered. I knew I was in trouble even before he said anything
else. Mike Fisher has never gotten over me calling him Elmer Fudd and he's never forgiven
me for what happened in the school yard a real long time ago. "What can I do for
you?" I asked.
"I received a report that you are over stimulating hummingbirds." He
paused and shuffled through some papers. "Agents Surma and Rice read your editorial
column daily and you reported an unusually high amount of hummingbird activity."
"Surma and Rice?" I said. "Who are they?"
Agents Surma and Rice are special investigators for the Attorney General. General
Fisher."
"General Fisher!" I exclaimed. "Give me a break. I thought Mike was
a draft dodger! He never served as far as I know."
"Sir," Mr. Bluster told me in an official tone. "One should address
the Attorney General with the proper amount of respect at all times. Hence, we call him
General Fisher."
"You can call him whatever you want," I said. "Calling that jerk a
General is a travesty." Then I thought about it. It did have a ring to it and it did
make some sense. "General Elmer Fudd," I said aloud. It was then that I realized
who Surma and Rice were. "Porky and Petunia!" I blurted out. "That's who
they are. Porky and Petunia. They turned me in?"
"Yes sir," Bluster said.
"Figures," I answered.
"I am going to cite you, Mr. Beck. The citation is for dispensing a dangerous and
over stimulating level of nectar to hummingbirds. I have tested your feeder and have taken
samples. Initial results indicate that you are dispensing a mixture of 50% sugar and 50%
water. You are obviously cooking the solution which gives it the qualities of crack
cocaine for hummingbirds.
"By Executive Order of the Tom Ridge Administration, in order to protect
unsuspecting hummingbirds, solutions in feeders cannot exceed a 1 to 3 mix and it is
unlawful to cook it. You are hereby ordered to immediately cease and desist and I will
impound and remove the feeder from your porch. Furthermore, you are ordered to appear
before Judge Cleland, who is also recently appointed to head the Governors Committee on
Hummingbird Affairs. The date of your hearing is July 16th at 9:30 A.M."
With that he left and he took my feeder with him for evidence.
I went back into the house. I sat in my chair that looked out the window to the
place where the feeder used to hang. First one, then two, and finally six hummingbirds
were hovering around looking for their food. It broke my heart to see them in such a
state. The poor little creatures of God had fallen under the controls and clutches of an
autonomous and Fascist State Government. General Fisher was in charge! That was a scary as
Alexander Haig saying he was in charge after Regan was shot.
Then they were all lined up in front of the window looking in at me. It was as if
the six hummingbirds were begging me. I could almost hear their little voices crying out
in unison. I couldn't resist them. I got a saucer and filled it up with some extra nectar
I had just made. I put it in a red bowl and set it up on a ledge. Sure enough they all
came and one by one they fed themselves. Hummingbird Police or not, I am buying a new
feeder today and it will be hanging by four this afternoon. Enough of this foolishness.
General Fisher. How absurd! He should have been a private first.
Comment on this at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JUNE 29, 1999
Redheads united!
Good morning. It is a balmy 68.7 degrees at 5:50 A.M. There is a summer breeze
blowing in from the south following a night of heavy rains. Everything outside smells
fresh and new.
I couldn't resist sitting on the front porch watching the night turn into morning.
The birds were the first to wake - after my dog Star (actually Miss Blaze Star on the
pedigree papers) woke me at three - she's afraid of thunder but is not afraid of gunfire -
she loves to hunt with me. Oh well.
Anyway, the front porch in the morning is a great place to just sit and enjoy the
beginning of the day. With the first light two rabbits are eating clover in the front yard
and then the hummingbirds arrive. There are two pairs of them and they fight constantly
for control of the hummingbird feeder I keep filled with nectar for them. (It is a home
brew of sorts, one cup of sugar to one cup of water, heated until all the sugar dissolves.
They seem to love it.)
Sharyn likes to watch for the buck she saw several weeks ago. He was a big one and
just walked nonchalantly down the road in front of the house. He stopped to eat on a few
greens that were growing along the road and then went on about his business. Now that the
purple clover is up, I expect we will see more of him. That appears to be one of his
treats starting about this time of year.
I could hear a my son's dog barking at a bear that was probably having breakfast in
the dumpster at the Rainbow and a chipmunk ran across the porch trying to retrieve some
bird seed the sparrows knocked out of their feeder. All the time the trees moved with the
southern winds that brought us the much need rain. It was a good way to start the day.
Loyal to you, I broke away from the serenity of my front porch and came in here to
turn on the computer. As I checked my mail, it was then that I discovered I had hit a sore
spot with a certain group of people. It seems that I had stirred Red Heads.
* The greatest day of my life was when they took Woody Woodpecker off television. I got
tired of being called Woody, or Pecker head, and the rest of the names associated with
being a red head. Thank you for telling of our plight!
* Only another red head knows the pain and anguish that we have been forced to endure
only because of a cruel and sadistic quirk of nature. We are not Martians like
that moron Tom Robbins wrote in his book Still Life with Woodpecker. Robbins
isn't a red head and has no right to hold us up for ridicule. He needs to have his hair
dyed for a month so he could experience first hand what if really is like. Even a month
would not be long enough. Only a red head knows from the day of their birth what it is
really like!
* Your piece on red heads was great. It got me off dead center. The next time someone
makes that racial slur comparing red heads to a part of a dog I am going to punch that
person right smack in the face.
* Judge John Cleland began dyeing his hair the day he became Judge about fifteen years
ago. He has red hair. He has freckles, too. In fact, he looked exactly like Howdy Doody!
Imagine a Judge that looked like Howdy Doody! Just saying "Howdy your honor"
would land you in jail for contempt. I suspect there are more people like the Judge
who are "passing" for normal people because they are not proud of their
heritage. I think that is disgusting!
* I am sick and tired of listening to black people moan and complain about how they are
discriminated against. Until they have spent a year in my shoes as a red head they don't
have anything to complain about. They are all a bunch of whiners and complainers. They do
not understand what it is really like to be discriminated against. I would gladly trade my
hair for theirs any day.
I really had no idea the cord I was striking when I took my wife's innocent, but
deliberate remark and related it to you. For the benefit of those who took the time to
e-mail me, I have saved your addresses in a special file marked "fellow red
heads" and will keep you abreast of any and all underground activities we may embark
upon. We could have the beginning of a militia for red heads - no doubt a very fierce band
- and as Humphrey Bogart said at the end of Casablanca:
"This could be the beginning of a wonderful relationship," or
something like that. You get my drift.
Comment at rdhedbud@penn.com.
JUNE 28, 1999
Who are you married to?
JUNE 26 & 27, 1999 there were no new articles and you should have seen the mail I
had because of it.
Really, it is very flattering that so many of you read this little column every day
- personally, I think you are a bit nuts like me. And Sharyn, you know the way wives
are - she thinks I am nuts because I am not getting paid.
Really, your comments and your support are payment enough. Wives don't understand
things like that. They see a formula something like this: TE
- ( e + bp ) x (tafm) = $$$$$. For those of you who do not understand the algebraic
motivation of a wife's mind, it means: Time expended minus energy plus all the brain
power you waste writing this crap, times the time you spend away from me must add
up to money. And, if it doesn't Bud, you are a big red headed boob.
Somehow it always comes down to being red headed. I don't understand that. My hair
was a lot redder when she met me. I was in Texas in the sun and then I went to Arabia
where it was really sunny and my hair turned the reddest it ever was. She must have loved
me inspite of the red hair back then. I guess the years kind of grind at one's
inner feelings. Looking at red hair every single day must really get to those of other
colored hair (especially if that color does happen to change from time to time).
Maybe that's it. Maybe it is the fact that I don't color my hair - and red heads
seldom do except for Lucille Ball and she was back in the days of black and white TV, and
probably good for her, because she just might not have been all that funny if people had
to see her red hair on television every week. You can almost bet your last quarter on the
fact that we never would have seen all those I Love Lucy re-runs if they were in color.
Look at what happened to her career once television went to color. Looking at that
red hair was without a doubt the single thing that did her in. They never syndicated those
later color programs like they did LUCY. It was the red hair. It had to have been.
Oh well! What are you supposed to do?
Don't ask me why people don't like red heads. But every one has a comment and I
wonder why?
Little Orphan Annie was a red head. That was probably why she was an orphan. Faced
with raising a red head, her mother put her up for adoption.
Rasputin was a red head too. The Czar's buddies had him killed. They didn't like
Rasputin being as close to Alexandria as he was. They were afraid he just might convince
her to convice the Czar not to join World War I against the Germans. Just think what might
have happened if ten million Russians wouldn't have died in that war. We might not have
had a Russian Revolution. What would have historians and political scientists have done
then?
Jimmy Pierceal (that isn't how you spell his last name! Where are my old baseball
cards when I need them?) was a red head. He was a baseball player who was certifiable. He
hit a home run once and ran around the bases backwards. They made a big thing out of it
because of the red hair. If he was bald nothing ever would have been said. Because he had
red hair, it was a federal case and they stuck him in a nut house for desecrating the
National Pastime in such a way.
Then there are the wannabes. Look at Dennis Rodman. He wants red hair and he is
really confused. He has a beautiful little wife and he still wants to be a red head. He is
a great basketball player and that's not enough for him. He wants red hair. I don't
understand. Madonna became a red head - out of a bottle of course, and she found her life
didn't change. She went on and accepted the fact you had to be born a red head. Dennis,
for some reason, just can't. He should be careful. He should take heed of what happened to
Jimmy Piercall (That isn't it either. I called Gateser but got the answering machine. He
usually knows stuff like this.). Oh well.
Anyway, back to the reason why there were no stories on Saturday and Sunday,
especially my expose on the newspaper and others - very simply I was tired and my wife was
asking me if I was married to her or this computer. There was never a choice for me -
although some of you might have chose differently. It was a whole lot easier not turning
this on at the expense of what was sure to follow if I did. In that respect being a red
head does not necessarily mean you are dirt dumb. On the contrary. Dealing with an obvious
handicap like red hair, you learn to adapt and over come all obstacles. But, you'd have to
be a red head to understand that.
In the meantime, checking out my buddy the JERK I found this to be very interesting.
FROM THE JERK'S JOURNAL (check this guy out!)
Saturday, June 26, 1999
POLICE CERTIFICATION TO EXPIRE JUNE 30
Certification for the entire Bradford Police Department is due to expire at midnight June
30th. That means, in theory, that unless the certification is renewed before that time no
officer on the force can make a legal arrest or even be armed as well as Barney Fife.
Seem ridiculous?
Yes, but very true considering the fact that just this week a DUI case was thrown out of
court for just that reason, one of Bradford's newest additions to the boys in blue had yet
to be certified by the Pennsylvania Municipal Police Officers Education and Training
Commission when making the initial
arrest.
That is pure fact, the case was covered by Anne Sweeney Holliday of the Bradford Era (and
close neighbor of mine) but what Anne was not made aware of was the fact that the whole
force's certification was due to expire within a week of her story.
Peggy Comilla and Connie Cavallaro both knew about it. It seems that the police department
had been sent two notices reminding them of the pending expiration date. They were either
ignored or overlooked by the Chief . A (little birdie) brought yet a third notification to
the attention of Peggy and
Connie and they quickly took action and expedited the paperwork before the above news
story broke.
They kept the information to themselves without even informing the rest of City Council
until a closed
door session just prior to Tuesday night's public meeting. The Bradford Era was kept in
the dark and
even Michelle (I have to look up the spelling) Corignani (Mayor to be) had no reason to
release the
information.
How did that happen?
Anne touched a little on it when she talked about the incident back in 1997 when Chief
Cavallero and Lt. Roger Sager were at odds as to who was responsible for submitting the
certification paperwork, it seems that is yet to be resolved. The problem goes back even
further but could have some far reaching effects on present day life and politics.
I would not go out and break the law to test the system, I'm pretty sure they will have
their (and our) butts covered one way or the other so don't expect a big crime wave. But
others need to worry!
Chief Cavallero is already being haunted by former mayor Arvid Nelson's removal of him as
Chief for sloppy record keeping and the 1997 incident seems to have justified the action.
Though he claims the certification paperwork to be the job of the training officer and he
might well have delegated the
authority to the training officer, responsibility ultimately cannot be delegated, it
remains with the highest office of any department.
That being as it is and short of Chris Hauser relocating to Phoenix with us, Dick
Cavallero has little chance of being elected District Justice.
Roger Sager is also in a kind of catch 22 situation, as the training officer does he now
pass the buck to himself as the Chief and if he does, will he pass it back? As acting
Chief for several months and obviously not performing the required duties to the letter,
is Michelle going to let him stay after the
election?
Of course there is the possibility that Dick's leg will get better and decide against
running for District Justice and if he does...........
Bradford is back to normal, another SNAFU, just for YOU!
Comment on this at rdhedbud@penn.com.
If you have a comment on this article please click here.
[ Top ] [ Home ]
[_private/toc_for_second_level_pages.html]
