NOVEMBER 27 - DECEMBER 3, 1999
DECEMBER 3, 1999
Dear Mildred
Good morning. Actually, it is the middle of the night. It is 37.9 degrees outside. It
is a far cry from four the other day.
I received a note from a nice lady. Her name is Mildred. It wasn't an e-mail note. It
was a handwritten note on a card that said on the front of it Just a Note to Say
Hello. Inside, Mildred wrote:
Dear Mr. Beck: I am sorry you lost the election. I will nevr vote anymore. I
only voted for you. I knew you were trying to get the county out of debt and to straighten
out the Court House. I am glad you were there when you were for you found out what we have
in Smethport. I am so sorry. It is my last time to vote.
I don't know Mildred personally. She has written to me from time to time. This
time, she set me back. I had today's column already planned, but when I read what she had
written to me, I knew it was time to say what I haven't since the election.
Dear Mildred:
Thank you for your note and your heart felt thoughts of me. When you lose
anything, it is easy to think only of yourself. I hope I haven't done that.
Many good people just like you voted on November 2nd. Many of them voted
for me. Many others did not. You voted for me because you believed in what I was trying to
do for people like you in this county. Over 2500 other people believed the same thing.
There were not enough of us. We lost.
Why we lost is another thing.
We lost partly because of my style. Not everyone likes someone who
questions everything. It gets on peoples nerves and it becomes very annoying. People want
to believe that everything is good and bad news and contention upsets them. It is also
upsetting to people who have something to hide.
We also lost because I bucked the system. When you think about it, I wasn't
supposed to win four years ago. I wasn't supposed to, but I did.
Immediately the system went to work to attempt to discredit me and when that
didn't work, it tried to drive me from office before my term was completed. Well it looks
like I will complete my term.
Your support of me was a good thing. You knew that and so did many other
people. However, too many people believe, or want to believe what they read in the local
news. So, when the Dukes sued Mr. John Doe and others over that letter and made it sound
like only me and people who supported me could have written it, ones who were going to
vote for me changed their minds.
We knew, Mildred. We knew because we were calling the entire county. Up to
Friday before the election it was 3 to 1 in my favor. On Saturday, after the story came
out in the paper, it changed drastically. Saturday, Sunday, and Monday we knew we were in
trouble and it was too late to do anything.
That was dirty, Mildred; but that was politics.
Think of something else. About 9300 people voted out of a possible total of
over 24,000. Where were the other 10,700? Why didn't they vote? What if they would
have voted? Would it have been different? Who can say?
Just because your candidate loses, that is no reason to stop voting. It stands
to reason that now your vote becomes more important than ever. It does because now the
county has a bench mark. Like it or not, Mr. Weaver and Mr. Stratton are going to be
judged for the next four years on what happened in the past four years. It is starting
already. The addition of Mr. Pingie is incidental and the exclusion of me becomes
the main issue.
People, everyone who voted for me or for someone else and against me, will ask
themselves over and over if things are better? How have they changed? What is different?
Just as sure as the sun comes up, it will happen. And when it does, that is when your vote
will really count. Four years from now we will know. People like you did it once. You can
do it again.
Someone, probably not me, will come forward and genuinely represent all the
people once more. That person will really need your support and your vote. What you said
is exactly what the system wants you to say. As long as there are people like you out
there voting, then it is possible for someone else to do what I did. Without you, they
can't.
In all my life I never intended to run for office. I grew up around politicians
and I didn't like them. I find that I still don't like them very much and I tried very
hard not to be one of them. But people expect that of their elected officials for some
reason. And in my trying to be different, here we are today.
The past four years were interesting. I am glad they are ending. They took a
toll on me. Now I can heal. For people like you who genuinely depended on me and supported
me, I am sorry I lost. For me, I am happy that I am getting my life back. Good comes out
of everything so please don't keep your word about not voting. You vote was and still is
important. I am going to keep voting and I hope I see you at the polls.
God Bless and keep you, Mildred.
Harold T. Beck
DECEMBER 2, 1999
The Deerhunter
Good morning. It is 14.5 degrees at 5:43 A.M. I still haven't calculated the number of
shopping days left until Christmas but the pile grew again yesterday. And it did while I
was in the woods hunting with Sharyn's dad.
Yesterday was one of those great days in the woods. It started off cold, but if you
were dressed properly and you moved around (like I did) you really didn't notice it very
much. I did a bit more than most because my beard kept freezing.
What a great feeling to be out there. It really didn't mean much that I was
hunting. To me, hunting is just a source of relaxation and exercise - two things I haven't
had much of in the past four years. Right now I am drinking it up and I love it.
Tom Reil and I were the "hound dogs." Our job was to come down over the
top of a mountain and push deer to my father-in-law and our friend, Rod. The push centered
on an area of heavy brush, mature forest, and an area that was clear cut by logging. A
logging road cut through the heart of the area and George and Rod were at the bottom of
the mountain waiting for what we forced down to the bottom.
It sounds easy enough, but it isn't.
The deer don't walk on roads - at least when you are there. They know where they
live. They know it so well, they can go through seemingly impossible terrain on a complete
dead run. They can leap twenty feet with one bound and land in the middle of an area of
dead fall trees and then leap once more, landing in an area that would take you ten
minutes to reach, after you climb over what they just leaped past.
And deer are smart, too.
Smarter than us in most cases. They hear you coming long before you even get near
to them. One acts as a sentinel and leads the others. The bucks use the doe as cover and
keep them out in front of them so if there is any gunfire, they get it first. (It doesn't
work like that with people, does it?) Also they have the unique ability to double back on
you and stand somewhere, not far from where you have already been, and watch you walk away
from them. That's what I call survival.
On three different occasions, once in the morning, and twice in the afternoon, I
had deer in the sights of my rifle. On each occasion, they were doe and there was not a
horn in the bunch. (We were looking for an eight point and a four point that had been seen
with the seven we chased yesterday.)
In the end, by the time we adjourned to The Rainbow Inn to tell and re-tell what
happened, and what didn't happen, all of us had a pretty good workout. And that's what it
has been for me of late. It isn't killing or getting the meat. No. It is just being out
there.
True, I don't need a rifle to do it. Maybe someday I won't carry one. But there is
that game that goes on between me, as a hunter, and that big buck. I have always enjoyed
that. I will shoot him when I get a good clean shot; but there is the big catch in itself.
Like Robert DiNero in The Deerhunter, it is that one clean shot to the head. The
one that is never heard or felt. It has to be that kind of shot.
Maybe that's why I have so many unused deer tags on my back, every year stacked on
top of the previous years. Maybe that's why the herd gets large each year. Maybe in my own
small way, by being the kind of hunter that I am, I am helping the ecological balance in
the forest. Maybe.
I'll leave that to you. In the meantime, all the deer are safe today. I am going to
the Commissioner's meeting this morning and to town this afternoon. Comments are welcome
at rdhedbud@penn.com.
DECEMBER 1, 1999
My apologies
Good morning. I have 4.1 degrees on my front porch today. I have no clue as to
how many shopping days are left until Christmas, but if judging what Sharyn has stockpiled
is any indication, there can't be many left.
I missed my column yesterday because I was in Cleveland for the past two days.
After posting "Bozo," I left at 3 A.M. to meet my mother and brother at the
Cleveland Clinic. Mom had a heartattack sometime in the past month or so and never knew
it. They were going to repair a damaged valve and give the old heart a good cleaning. I
had other things on my mind and never even thought to at least post some of the "Best
of Bud."
Mom is doing well. She was sent home yesterday morning and I drove back. Thinking I
was having sympathy pains for my mom, I called Sharyn from the road and told her how my
whole left arm was going numb. She called Dr. Kirsch and told me to get to his office at 3
P.M.
Evidently losing elections agrees with me. I have lost 10lbs since just before the
election (the first time I have been under 200 on his scale with the clothes on in a very
long time) and the old blood pressure was 106 over 68 instead of the usual 139 over 90
that I was consistently month in and month out when they took it at the Court House.
The tingling in my arm appears to be the result of the good doctor telling me I was
taking too many vitamins.
He had diagnosed a B-12 deficiency several years ago. I stopped taking the B-12
pills at his advice without reminding him so he gave me a shot and put me back on the
pills. The sleepy arm is just about gone.
Anyway, that is what I have been doing for the past two days. Today, Laura, I am
going hunting. And, we have e-mail from you on the last column where I appear to have been
politically incorrect and thoughtless. I will include others just because they make good
reading. Several of you have some fine thoughts about Bozo.
I take offence to the statement " Real men are in the woods hunting for
meat" First of all this is the nineties and there are many WOMAN out there that are
not necessarily trying to become "Real Men" ( although some may be!). Second -
There are a lot of "Real-men-wannabes" out there irresponsibly "shooting up
the woods" who think that by killing a harmless, defenseless deer with a high powered
rifle will make them a
"Real Man".
I stand corrected.
What if " BOZO " figures it out that paying someone else
to make you go away, is ( or could be ) far cheaper than paying you five mill to go away?
Would he be able to write the MLR as good as you?........I don't think so!
LOL. I have that covered already. That would be a very bad move. My gumba has assured
me of that.
Bud, I could go on and on but I will say real simple ''You're the best. You remind
me of Bufford Pusser from the movie ''Walken Tall''. Bud I just came up with a good idea
make a movie about BOZO and his drug habit in Bradford, Pa. P.S. Bud with movie rights
tell BOZO you want ten mill.
Great idea! Ya got that, Boz? The new price is ten million and if you move on me, you
know what to expect.
And of course our peanut gallery, Tom Clark has something to say about all of this,
too.
I wish you wouldn't have included the MLR in your package deal. I don't want to
be a guest columnist for a guy named Bozo. Change your asking price to $4,238,426 and
leave me the publication as a gift. On a sad note, for you, not me, I'm sorry to hear that
Kordell & Co. lost another tough game to a semi-pro team. NOT!
Who has more fun than us. And about the Steelers, some gossip from downstate.
Hey Bud. Greg and I were in the 'Burgh for Thanksgiving and heard these rumors
about Bill Cowher--he is out drinking and carousing all the time, is cheating on his wife
and has a pregnant girlfriend. Those are the rumors, unconfirmed. If true, no wonder the
Steelers are in a state of confusion! (we won't even get into the rumors about Cordell...)
The other story about him is that he is leaving Pittsburgh after the season, either to
take over the Houston expansion team or to join Monday Night football. This was in the
Post-Gazette on Saturday. Common feeling seems to be that the Rooneys are asking him to
leave based on the above rumors...Just thought I'd share the gossip with you in case you
hadn't heard it! Go Bills! haha.
Yes. I heard the rumors and I heard they were not rumors. Does Cowher know Bozo? I
heard the coach got himself a white Porsche, too. Maybe that is his car parked on Mechanic
Street every weekend into the wee hours. And, did they say he was doing coke, too? If he
is, I wonder who his connection is. I wonder if it comes from Manhattan or Florida?
As for rumors, I understand the "prom queen" was packing when she was here.
But, that's just a rumor. Who is to say? Are you talking, Bozo? Didn't you used to party
up on the hill with her and your supplier?
Oh well. We will get back to normal tomorrow. Comments are definitely welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
NOVEMBER 30, 1999
No new article today
NOVEMBER 29, 1999
Bozo’s Place
Good morning. Today is the first day of deer season. Men are in the woods. Cowards,
like Bozo, and his cousin, The Tuna, are home in bed. Why? Because they were never raised
to learn to fend for themselves in a way that men do. Because they are not men. They are
parasites living off men who earn and create and make things. Bozo, by right of birth, can
live off his millions; and the Tuna, by right of the fact that he is an attorney and a man
with no scruples or integrity, can live off his cousin. Real men are in the woods hunting
for meat.
Bozo and his cousin, the Tuna , are home in bed.
It was nice to be at The Rainbow yesterday with real men. It was nice to drink and even
watch the Steelers, their strange quarterback and their wayward coach lose. It was nice
because it was real. We all knew what was up - even if we didn’t like it. We said it
out loud and we put it on the bar for everyone to talk about. Nothing was hidden. There
were no secrets. Life in the big city - so to speak.
But there are secrets here. No one is supposed to know that George allegedly does Coke.
Everyone does. But no one is supposed to know.
And then the DRUG TASK FORCE, by the Tuna’s own hand, names Bozo as a user. It was
a secret until he crossed the line and made himself a public figure by suing John Doe and
naming me in that suit. Now the Genie is out of the bottle so to speak. Everyone knows his
dirty little secret, and his dirty little secret is shared with a whole lot of other
people, too.
The secret is simple enough. Bozo uses drugs. Bozo uses Coke and in doing so,
supports criminals in Columbia against the wishes of his own government. Bozo, according
to that line of thinking, is a criminal, too.
But so are a lot of other people.
Ask Al. He knows them. He’s related to them. Coke to them is recreation. Coke to
them is sex. Coke to them is fun. Who cares what it costs? Who cares if people give their
lives to fight it being brought into this country? Who cares if it is something that is
forbidden to the rest of us?
Now, even The Mountain Laurel Review is under attack.
Why? Because it has the ability to tell the truth. It has the ability to tell the truth
about a slimy little, funny looking, bad personality man who, like the football coach,
cheats on his wife. Good company, many would say. But, is it? Millionaires don’t get
a free pass just because of who they are, or more important, who their daddies were, or
who their mommies went to bed with. Isn’t that the case with Bozo?
Let me tell you something, Bozo. You can call me a Fascist. And, for your information,
my wife, and the rest of my family can all spell the word. But, Bozo, I know what it means
to be an American. Not by birth, but by service. You see, I served, as did most of my own
family. Can you say that?
So, we will cut to the quick.
I am for sale.
You are concerned about what I will say. You want to stop me. Your buddies can’t
stop me. They aren’t made men. If they try, things will happen. If you try to buy it,
other things will happen. So be smart for once. Buy me off. The price is FIVE MILLION
DOLLARS.
For that price you get my seat on the Airport Authority, good until 2002; The Rainbow
Inn and all associated property; my homestead; Mountain Laurel Review Publishing; this net
site; and me, gone.
Good deal for a millionaire like you who can afford to support South American Drug
Dealers and a joke of a cousin. Buy me out and I will be gone. Think about it. You
won’t have to pay Private Investigators to waste their time $1.000 a day to
investigate me an my friends. How much have you spent to date?
You won’t have to worry about the next issue, The Drug Issue, and how I
plan to distribute 25,000 copies of it.
End this now. Buy me out. Change the name from The Rainbow to Bozo’s Place and you
can go back to the way things used to be. Then, Bozo, you can pretend the sniffle you have
is a cold, and not what it really is.
Contact me at rdhedbud@penn.com.
NOVEMBER 28, 1999
There is no new article.
NOVEMBER 27, 1999
Dr. Dirty And The Last Odd Day Of My Life
By Tom Clark
A week ago Friday was an odd day. And, I'm happy to say that I will
never have to put up with an odd day again. I woke up that morning with
a severe comedy hangover, not from too much booze but an overdose of John
Valby. I walked
around all day with a grin on my face that few
would understand
The night before, I and 400 other lucky people had a great time at the
John Valby show in Rock'n Rick's Concert Club in Limestone, NY. Many of you may know the
building as the Rusty Nail, Toppers, etc. Rick and Rob Pecora have extensively renovated
the joint into a showplace for national acts and local bands alike.
For those who are unfamiliar with John Valby, A.K.A. Dr. Dirty, here
are a few words to describe this pianist/singer/comedian. Vile,
disgusting, obnoxious, tasteless, racist, sexist, vulgar, degrading,
perverted, sick. Here's a few more...hilarious, entertaining, original,
talented, longevity, cult following, sold out.
John Valby, from Buffalo, is a master pianist who has been making a great living at
singing perverted versions of popular songs since the early 1970's. In the early days
Valby was a rebel on the bar circuits, banned from many clubs because of his off-color
reportoire. I've heard, perhaps a myth, that some towns wouldn't even let him drive
through and others had warrants on him for his lewd act.
Roughly thirty years later, John and his road manager, Ron, are still doing
windshield time in a van carrying his scratched and worn upright piano, packing houses
from Grand Rapids to Providence. Besides Rock'n Rick's, I've seen Dr. Dirty perform at
Melody Fair, the Funhouse in Lackawanna and Letchworth Pines in Portageville, NY.
In his trademark white tux and black bowler that night at Rock'n
Rick's, Valby had the crowd roaring from the moment he sat on his bench. A few veteran
Valby fans chant the traditional "Sing, f#@%er, sing" yell. The sheet music rack
on his road-weary piano is full of tattered loose leaf notebooks, containing hastily
written lyrics to hundreds of songs. A bottle of Molson Canadian and a shot of Cuervo rest
on the piano top. Valby runs his fingers down the keys, shouts "F#@% You!" into
the mike and breaks into his customary warm up song, "Philosophical Bulls@#%".
Valby's act involves the audience in thunderous shouting and rousing sing-alongs.
Playing Rock'n Rick's for the first time, he was relieved to find that a large percentage
of the crowd were seasoned Dr. Dirty fans. Among them were Bradford City firemen, lawyers,
housewives, radio personalities, police officers and school teachers. Most everyone there
joined in on hearty choruses of such Valby favorites as "Roll Your Leg
Over" and the "Ya Ya" song.
Valby's show is not for the closed minded. His twisted lyrics would make a Southern
Baptist minister have a B.M. in his boxers. He is the antichrist of the Moral Majority and
the Politically Correct. Some of the most conservative people I know were able to set
aside their credos that night and have some no holds barred fun.
Check out John Valby's website at www.valby.com if you are a fan or curious as to what
the Hell I've been writing about for the last few paragraphs. Why not order a CD while you
are there? John Valby will be back to Rock'n Rick's in the Spring and I'm sure that it
will sell out fast.
OK, with that said, let me tell you about my last odd day, the day of my Valby
comedy hangover. A few weird things happened that day that made me think that it was me
that was odd. I came home around lunch time to check my e-mail and had one from a
joke-swapping friend from North Carolna that explained everything.
Last Friday was 11-11-1999. This date will be the last one containing all odd digits
until 11-11-3111. So, it is safe to say that I will never have another odd day, unless
science finds a way to keep me around for another 1000 years, which I would have to
politely refuse.
Do you like betting the even numbers? Then 02-02-2000 will be the first of many
even days in the 21st century. This is roughly the time that the Mir space station will
plummet back to Earth, as I wrote about in a previous column.
I've recovered from my comedy hangover and the last odd day. Life is back to
normal...well, as normal as I get. I will warn you that you may see me laughing when I
drive by in traffic someday. No, I haven't lost it, I'm probably just listening to a John
Valby CD.
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