DECEMBER 4 - DECEMBER 10, 1999
DECEMBER 10, 1999
What ever happened to Lieutenant Whitehead?
Good morning. Now there are 15 shopping days until Christmas and is an I told
you so in order? The Bradford Era reported today the following:
"County taxes set to go up a whopping 43 percent By JIM BUCK/Era Reporter."
Just to refresh your memories, back in September I stated Weaver and Stratton were
preparing to raise taxes by as much as 50%. After being released from the hospital
on Wednesday night, the following Monday the two of them promptly began to tear into me
and basically call me a liar. None other than the writer who reported the 43%
increase reported each and every word, however in the report of the increase today, not
one word of that exchange is included.
Who lied now? But in the scheme of things, that is not important to me. And besides, at
home a new drama is unfolding regarding the couch and love seat Sharyn and I bought last
Saturday. Suffice it to say, this is worth a column or two when it is over, but it is not
over and I am working hard to keep a wit or two about me. However, there is no bringing
back the old one. I burned it the day these two were delivered.
But I have more important things to do these days, in particular today. I am back
to playing Santa and my first appearance is this morning. Whenever I don a Santa suit and
beard, I always think of my days in the military and in particular one young Lieutenant
that I had the pleasure of meeting. His name was Bill Whitehead and he was a Penn State
Graduate with a degree in Meteorology.
Lt. Whitehead was a little guy and a smart man. Perhaps he was ahead of most of us
at the time. It was 1970. When I think about it, I am sure that he was.
War protests were raging. I was tucked away on Chanute Air Force Base teaching in
the Weather Observer Technical School so they really didn't touch me at that point. Armed
with a degree in Meteorology, Lt. Whitehead had to go through the military Weather
Forecaster School to become "useful" to the military. Somewhere, some genius
decided that it would be proper if he first completed the Weather Observer Course. That
would prove to be a mistake.
The military reduces everyone to lowest terms. The day you enter and put on a
uniform you lose your identity. You are at the bottom of the heap and in the months and
years that follow, you are working to get just a little higher than the next guy. And,
that happens to everyone, officers included.
But Bill Whitehead was different. The military tried to take his identity away and
mold him into what they wanted. It might have worked if he had been a fighter pilot or a
missile officer. But Lt. Whitehead was a Meteorologist. He was a Weatherman. And weather,
as much as you try to compartmentalize it, can not and will not operate in military terms
or under military rules. Neither did Bill Whitehead.
By 1970 I was fed up with the military. Midway that year I was supposed to be
discharged. I was, but was I ever in for a surprise. While I was taken out of the Regular
Air Force and allegedly discharged, I was immediately (like the next second) activated in
the Air Force Reserve and placed back on active duty. That earned me an additional 28
months in uniform and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. So, even though I didn't
have my orders, if anyone was ever FIGMO in the history of the military, it was
me.
Bill Whitehead was a student in one of my classes. He was also in classes taught by
Roger and Gary, my drinking buddies. One afternoon I suggested to the young Lieutenant
that he come drinking with us. And he did.
We were all in uniform - except for Gary, a shot up decorated ex-Marine who was a
Civilian Instructor. We went to our favorite watering hole, The Hideaway, for Italian
Sausage and beer. We stayed through Happy Hour and then moved on the a dive known as Boots
Tavern. It was there, after five or six rounds of shots of Jim Beam and beer that we
decided something was wrong with the Lieutenant's attire.
By now the little Lieutenant was well into the bag and feeling not one ounce of
pain. And he had conveniently forgotten all military protocol, particularly, the part
about fraternizing with enlisted men. That made him putty in our hands.
It was Roger who conceived the idea of Lieutenant Backwards. I can't take credit
for that. I am sure that anyone who was present that night, particularly if they were in
the military, were shocked at what happened. We undressed a Second Lieutenant in the
United States Air Force in the barroom for all to see. Then we carefully re-dressed him,
except all of his clothes except for his shoes were put on backwards.
Somewhere a picture exists of this sight. The barmaid at Boots snapped a picture of
the four of us. And it was worth a few more round of drinks, too.
From there we decided to head on over to the Karavan Lounge. I think they had live
entertainment or some new bartender that one of us was take with. Probably both if the
truth would be known. That was where our trouble started.
You see, some people take this military stuff seriously. Some people, like for
example, Master Sergeants with twenty-two years in the service. People like that don't
think concepts like Lieutenant Backwards are funny.
That particular Master Sergeant berated our friend as being a disgrace to the
uniform. Ho hum. Big hairy deal! He was and he didn't care.
When the big jawed GI Joe wannabe turned his attention to us, that was when the fun
began.
"If you're responsible for this," he said to me. "I'll see you are
Courts Martialed!" he roared.
I think I told him to kiss a certain part of my body or something along those
lines. You know, the usual just to keep a good thing going. It was somewhere in the
midst of him calling me something and writing my name down that I think I hit him right
under that big protruding jaw. I do remember his feet going high in the air and I do
remember two of his fellow Master Sergeants coming to his rescue. A huge fight ensued and
we escaped.
We took Lieutenant Whitehead back to his BOQ (Bachelor Officer Quarters) and all
went home to our angry wives. Facing the three of them should have been enough punishment
but by morning, 6 A.M. specifically, the base was already alive with stories about what
happened at the Karavan.
Stories like that tend to get a life of their own after awhile. That story grew in
a matter of hours. Between eleven the night before and six in the morning it had gone from
a simple altercation over how the uniform should be worn, to dishonorable discharges and
hard time in Fort Leavenworth. And to complicate matters, there was no Lieutenant
Whitehead, anywhere.
Roger, Gary, and I were steadfast. It wasn't us and we didn't know anything about
the Karavan or any Lieutenant wearing his clothes backwards. It was a simple case of
mistaken identity. We stuck to our stories but the wildcard was Whitehead. Where could he
have been?
Actually, Whitehead was fine. When we dropped him off still dressed with his
uniform on backwards, he sought out a fellow officer to help him get out of what we had
done to him. The fellow officer turned out to be a nurse, a quite attractive one, who
called in sick the next morning. When he finally did show up, it was near eleven and the
Lieutenant, in honor of the Christmas Season, was wearing his uniform with a Santa beard,
glasses, and a red Santa's hat. (The nurse must have given it to him!)
That was more than (Get this name. I swear it is real!) Major Klodniki could take.
Old Klod, as we called him, went ballistic. He grilled the good Lieutenant about the
previous night's happenings, but Bill held fast. It was not him and he would not admit it.
And, when faced with taking the word of a Master Sergeant over an officer, even Lieutenant
Backwards himself, the military always believes and officer.
But that was the end of him going through our classes and he never drank with us
again. I always think about him when I put on my Santa suit. And, over the years, I have
always wondered what happened to him.
Hey Bill. If you are out there give me a call or e-mail me. Roger is still around
and the Hideaway still exists in Rantoul. We've lost Gary but we could have some fun if
you are up to it. Maybe we could find that picture.
Comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
DECEMBER 9, 1999
No one really cares Bill
Good morning. There are 16 more shopping days until Christmas and it is 30.7 degrees
outside at 5:25 A.M.
Since running for office over four years ago, one of the people I have enjoyed more
than most has been Bill Belitskus. Bill, a Vietnam Veteran, is someone who most people
would call a kook. I might have been quick to say that about Bill, but he impressed me one
morning in the Court House. He impressed me in a way that no one heard, and no one saw,
except for me, and that was in the way he approached me about the flap The Era
started over my over publicized "war record."
"Are you or are you not a Vietnam Veteran?" Bill asked me . It was just
the two of us and we were over where the Assessment Office kept those ancient maps.
Now many people were asking me that question at that particular time. I was giving
everyone the same answer. "What difference does it make? Did I ever say I was?"
But in Bill, I felt I saw something different. I reached into my wallet and took
out a folded up piece of paper and handed it to him. "This is between us," I
said. He agreed and to this day has kept his word.
Bill is part of an exclusively small group of people who have seen the DD-214 of
Harold T. Beck, II. He has respected my wishes and I respect him for that. But beyond that
small courtesy he paid me, I have come to respect him more and more, each and every time I
come in contact with him.
Why?
Because the man believes in something and he is willing to put himself out there
for what he it is he believes. That is something very few people are willing to do.
In McKean County it is easy to be for timber, and against environmentalists.
Actually, you risk having your house burned down if you believe otherwise. But Bill has
taken the unpopular stand of wanting to protect our public lands from wanton and wholesale
cutting of timber. He believes that the 500,000 plus acres of the Allegheny National
Forest should be preserved and nurtured. He opposes the practice of keeping it as a
"tree farm."
I don't agree with Bill on that issue. Nor do I believe in the wanton and wholesale
cutting of timber in the National Forest. However, we do agree on the fact that the forest
is not as open for recreation as the Department of Agriculture would have us believe.
Recreation is recreation. The Feds want us to enjoy ourselves where, when, and
how they want. They forbid four wheelers in most of the forest as well as snow mobiling
and other activities that would help a depressed area. But unfortunately, they have done a
good job of painting anyone who speaks out against them as exactly what they call Bill. A
kook.
Bill has written me. He asked for my help. He said:
On Thursday, December 2, at 4:00 p.m., I attended the County Redevelopment
Authority meeting held for public input. Larry Stratton, myself, Penny and Gay were the
only ones in attendance. The meeting was advertised on Saturday, November 27, in the
Bradford Era. There were three items on the
agenda. Two were about Hamlin Township.
1) Decreasing the Hamlin Township/Kasson Bridge Paving Project to $64,494.
2) Adding a $30,000. Hamlin Township/Hazel Hurst Emergency Water Supply Project.
The $30,000. is for a well that has been drilled in the community park to supply more
water to Hazel Hurst. That's not the problem. The problem is that the township supervisors
did not discuss a water emergency at any public meeting nor did they approve submitting an
application for the CDBG money to the Redevelopment Authority for any water emergency at
any public
meeting. The same old story.
Bill believes in open government. He believes that elected officials should discuss
the business of the government in the open in front of the electorate, and not behind
closed doors. He has filed several Sunshine Act Lawsuits because of that. Like me, he is
afraid of what happens when things are done in an expeditious and quiet manner. At that
point, Bill and I are a minority. Most people, as long as it does not directly affect
their lives, just don't care.
Why is that?
Look at the Airport and the over publicized T-Hanger that was lobbied for by Dick
Kessel including many assurances that the hanger will be filled, and subsequently built by
Dick Kessel and his construction company. Read the paper today. The story reads:
Contractor asks airport to pay up By ANNE SWEENEY/ Era Reporter.
Dick Kessel, himself, complained that the hanger was not right. He built it. He
threatened to take his own plane out of the hanger he built. Granted he made corrections
at his own expense; but after we awarded him an additional $50,000 contract to do
"extra work" that should have been done in the first place.
As a result, at last month's board meeting we withheld, according to the contract
Mr. Kessel signed, 10% or $52,700 until April 15, 2000 to see that we did not have a
repeat of the same problem. The vote was unanimous in public after Chairman Larry Stratton
attempted to make it a secret ballot. Smell a rat?
This month eloquent Mr. Kessel came in person. This month, armed with a letter sent
by Mr. Stratton to him, and incidentally never authorized by a vote of the
Authority Board and strenuously opposed by Solicitor Joe Morasco, proceeded to put the
Authority on the spot.
Mr. Stratton took it upon himself to place the Authority between the rock and the
hard place with his letter. He spelled out items that were not the concern of the
Authority when the discussion was held. He sent the matter in a totally different
direction with the letter.
Was it a mistake? I seriously wonder, in light of the attempt to vote in secret at a
public meeting on the exact same issue. That rat keeps smelling stronger and stronger.
Well this time, instead of an 8-0 vote to hold the money, the board reversed itself
to a 3-2 vote to pay the money with Larry casting the deciding and tie breaking vote.
Ironically, the Authority does not have the money to pay anyone. We are waiting for the
money owed us from the State. What do we do when he demands payment?
Now it is over, Bill. Dick Kessel will get his money and Larry has a political
ally. That's the way it works. The story is in the paper today, but no one really cares.
No one will say anything and when the water fills the hanger this winter, and it probably
will, what do we do now that we have no hammer in the form of cash? Mr.
Kessel, true to
his word, has washed his hands of what he calls a "design flaw."
You and I are people who have been involved since our teens. We could have sat back
then, but we didn't. We thought something mattered and we still do. Unfortunately, people
care about their own lives and their own problems. A hanger for rich guys or a water well
that has to pump up hill to the top of a mountain where the reservoir is located, really
doesn't stir their imaginations.
What are we to do?
Dick Kessel, Larry Stratton, Bill Kilmer, and Penny Eddy wish we would quit.
They wish it, but it really doesn't affect them as long as they keep winning. And they do.
So what does that tell you?
No one really cares Bill! No one really cares.
Your comment, Bill, along with other comments are certainly welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
DECEMBER 8, 1999
Lost in Space
(The reader should note, this is a continuation of yesterday's and the prior day's
columns. Best reading of the issue is to go to December 6 and read forward. )
NASA/JPL/Caltech: Continued Silence on Mars: NASA officially reported that
the Martian Polar Lander was considered "Lost in space" today at 2:55
P.M. PST.
Meanwhile, back on Mars, the Martian News Service reported:
Marshburg, McKean Province: Mark Verticlecut, the son of
Mathew and Mary Verticlecut, took his new project to school. His friends, Robert Redcut
and Marvin Brushcut,
helped him take the 639 LB bullet ridden oddity to school. Both young men reported hearing
a Mars shattering sonic boom just before the object crashed into the Verticlecut storage
shed.
At the same time, the other two oddities, named
Scott and Amundsen, were sold to The Dave Lettercut nightly show. The two oddities will be shown, live on the air, this Friday.
Noted scientist and ghost buster Bill Murraycut will appear in an effort to either verify
or discredit the objects as being real or a hoax. Official Government sources have
proclaimed them as a cruel hoax designed to perpetrate Y2K hysteria. When told of the
planned showing, the government had no comment.
The battle over whether there is life on other
planets rages across Mars today. Scientists look to nearby Earth and the debate rages.
Many feel that the Earth is too close to the sun to sustain intelligent life.
"The lowest temperature we have been able to detect is twenty or so below zero.
Most temperatures range upward to seventy and higher. Much too warm for the thick Martian
blood. Perhaps spiders or roaches could live in such a climate, but not humans as we know
them."
So, if the oddities are truly space vehicles as the
Marshburg people claim, then from where did they originate? Jupiter is certainly cold
enough, but it is covered with poison gasses. Attention is drawn to Io, one of the
seventeen moons of Jupiter. Io has an atmosphere and perhaps intelligent life as we know
it.
It should be noted that this is the third such
occurrence in the past three years. The first was when a motorized vehicle terrorized
school children on a field trip to the surface. National Guard Units were called into
action to subdue the vehicle, which was later proven to be part of the well known Y2K
Conspiracy.
The second happened earlier this year when Air
Defense Command detected a flying craft in the upper atmosphere. Air Defenses shot that
craft down and debris at the crash site was proven beyond a doubt to have been
manufactured here. It was certified not to be extra-terrestrial. This is the third in the
series and until the government can examine all three of the oddities, no definitive
ruling can be made.
In the meantime, former District Attorney and well
known egotist, Charles Jeffrey Rottencut, appearing for a
second day on the planetary program Good Morning Mars, once more proclaimed this
to be the work of a cowardly cabal of the supporters of Harold T. (Bud)
Mastercut. Speaking to a planetary audience, Rottencut said:
"This is an outrage that these people are able to walk around and
perpetrate such a hoax. What is next for them? With things like this under their belts,
anything becomes possible. If this is allowed to continue, we will have anarchy. We need
to form a task force and infiltrate this un-Martian, unholy alliance of survivalists. This
must stop!"
When asked for comments on Rottencut's attacks, Mastercut laughed and declined to
make any reportable statement.
Back on Earth, NASA has been dealt a serious blow. With two expensive failures
under its belt, it is unlikely that Congress will authorize any further missions to the
Red Planet until a full investigation is held to determine the cause of the failures.
DECEMBER 7, 1999
Meanwhile, back on Earth
(The reader should note, this is a continuation of yesterday's column.)
NASA/JPL/Caltech: Silence on Mars: NASA was bracing for what it said was a
final opportunity to contact the Mars Polar Lander early Tuesday. The $165 million
spacecraft has failed to respond to repeated commands since descending toward the Red
Planet on Friday. NASA officials acknowledged Monday that it’s likely the Lander is
doomed.
When questioned about what was happening, International Reporting services were given
the following answer:
``We're pretty much reaching the point where we've used up our final silver bullets,''
project manager Richard Cook said, adding that after the Tuesday attempt the team would be
at ``the point of diminishing returns'' in trying to contact the missing craft."
On Mars, Martian Wire News Services began carrying a series of stories that ranged
from the factual to the bizarre.
Marshburg Man Perpetrates Hoax in Order to Collect Insurance! was one
headline. The accompanying story accused Mathew Verticlecut and his wife, Mary, of
fabricating the entire episode, to the point of constructing a crude space vehicle,
renting a helicopter, and dropping it on their shed in order to collect replacement cost
and construct a new one.
However, while the larger craft was crashing into the shed in Marshburg, it seems
that two other smaller craft came crashing out of the sky like bullets. Other headlines
read:
Woman nearly killed while bathing!
Hazelhurst: Fifty-two year old Kathleen Crosscut was nearly killed when a
basketball sized projectile came crashing into her home last Friday afternoon. Ms.
Crosscut was in the bathtub at the time and after crashing through the roof of the house
it entered the bathroom and passed through the floor next to the tub. From there it went
seven feet into the basement floor before finally stopping. Estimated speed of the object
was approximately 400 mph.
Immediately the object began to sprout long wire poles a half and inch in
diameter and emitting strange pulsating sounds. Ms. Crosscut took her twelve gauge shotgun
and shot the object four times until the sounds stopped. Upon further examination it
bore the name Amundsen.
And there was another similar story.
Man Fights off Strange Invader!
Willow Creek: Early Friday afternoon, Bernie Clearcut, coming out of the New
Willows Restaurant, reported that a flying object came out of the sky at a
tremendous rate of speed and attacked his pickup truck.
After pummeling the truck on the roof and creating a hole through it and into
the ground, Mr. Clearcut retaliated by taking his Winchester 30-30 Model 94 and firing six
shots into it.
"The thing tried stabbing me with little metal rods. It was sending out
weird sound. Beep, beep, beep, it kept going. I fired until the beeps stopped. It had a
name on it. Scott was on it's side. It was the damnedest thing I have ever
experienced."
At the same time other reports ranging from an invasion by fictitious Earthlings,
going back to Orson Sidecut and his hoax, War of the Planets, streamed into news
gathering services.
The President of the Martian Federation stated:
"This could get out of hand very easily. The McKean Province of the Federation
is long known for its assortment of kooks and strange personalities. They are gun toting,
Y2K believers, who base life on a survivalist theory and shun any sort of authority They
live on the surface in a desolate part of the planet and refuse to join the rest of us who
live in comfort beneath the surface.
"I believe this is an attempt by an entire region to bring Y2K Hysteria to a peak
only days before the millenium. This could cause panic in our cities and we are on alert
for that possibility. I am referring the entire matter to the Attorney General's Office
and asking Attorney General Mike Badcut to investigate. It appears to me that laws may
have been broken by the false reporting and the manipulation of the news."
At the same time, Former District Attorney and defector from the McKean Province,
Charles Jeffrey Rottencut, appeared on the planetary program Good Morning Mars.
"I know these people he said. When I felt like it, I prosecuted them. I
convened Grand Juries on them and I illegally investigated a good bunch of them. Anything
is possible up there. It's the thin air. It affects their brains. They should not be
allowed to live like that. They should come down here with the rest of us and live the
good life as hypocrites and drug users. It calms the nerves and as long as you are rich,
or have a rich cousin you can lead down the path, you got it knocked.
"No, this is a big hoax and I am with the President, these people should be
prosecuted for what they have done. Personally, I believe that Harold T. (Bud) Mastercut
is behind this whole matter. And if it isn't him directly, then it is a small cabal of his
cowardly followers."
While that was going on, back on Earth hope was fading.
News about the Deep Space 2 microprobes two grapefruit-size devices carried by the
lander to Mars which were supposed to smash into the surface at 400 mph to test NASA's new
impact technology was also bleak.
Like the lander, the microprobes, named Scott and Amundsen after the two explorers who
first went to Earth's south pole, have not responded to commands to call home. With no
contact logged by Sunday, scientists said it was growing much more likely that the $58
million probe mission had failed.
``That's when we pack up and go home,'' said David Crisp, one of the scientists on the
project.
Flight managers for the lander were still holding out hope that the 639-pound craft could
be coaxed into communicating, sending it orders to make another try Monday evening to link
with the Mars Global Surveyor satellite through its back-up UHF antenna system.
They are also transmitting an order to put the craft into ''safe mode'' if it is not there
already, a move intended to reduce the number of variables with which mission controllers
must contend.
DECEMBER 6, 1999
What's this?
Mathew was working in his back yard. Winter was all too close. He knew if he didn't
get the storage shed fixed before the first large snow, it just might collapse under the
weight. Then he'd be in a world of hurt. And that hurt would come from his wife, Mary.
That morning was warmer than usual. He had his coffee and got straight to work.
He was worried about the front wall. Only an ancient 2X6 was the sole support for
the new porch roof he was building over a new deck. He decided to add new 2X6's, one on
the inside, and one on the outside to give added strength to support the roof.
Then, very carefully, he measured and marked the places where the cross supports
would go. This roof over the new porch that he was adding to the storage shed, would
keep out the snow and give better access when they had to get something out in the dead of
winter. He kept at it and by two in the afternoon he had completed everything except the
final sheeting which would cover the entire building and new porch and become a new roof.
Mary was pleased. She brought him a large glass of the new bottled Polar Cap water.
The weather had stayed unusually warm for that time of year and she was wearing a tight
pair of shorts and a tee shirt that showed her figure wonderfully. Mathew enjoyed looking
at her and was doing just that when a strange sound in the sky got his attention.
The sound whistled and hummed at the same time. It was coming from the
northeast and seemed to, as it grew constantly louder, coming directly at him. He walked
out from under the new porch roof he had constructed on his fully renovated storage shed
to try and find the source of the sound. All the while it grew continually louder. Then he
saw something.
It was high in the sky when he first saw it. It was really high in the sky but it
was descending. It was descending at a constant speed and seemed like there was some sort
of exhaust coming from the bottom. And it was descending right at him. He realized that it
was.
"Run, Mary!" he screamed. "Get Mark. Get him out of the house. Do it
now.I'm going for my gun!"
Mary ran into the house and scooped up their son who was playing on the floor and
watching television. She took him and ran out the front door into the yard. By now the
sound was really loud and as she looked up into the sky she could see the fire clearly.
What was it she thought to herself? Was this the end of the world? Was it a meteor? What
could it be?
In the meantime, realizing Mary and Mark were out of the house, Mathew ran for his
hunting rifle. Hunting season still had another week, plus Doe Season, and his rifle and
ammunition were handy. He quickly loaded his weapon and prepared to defend his family with
his life if need be.
It kept coming.
Mark knew it was coming right at him. He moved across his back yard and tried to take
up some defensive position behind some trees. He didn't know what to do. Should he fire
first or should he wait it out and see what this was? Mathew held his fire and watched as
it came directly at his house.
He heard Mary scream and run away from the house. It looked as if it would hit it
directly but it flew over it and went at his storage shed. Then there was the sound of
motors screaming and wood cracking as it crashed into it. Mathew couldn't help himself. He
unloaded his Magnum 300 deer rifle into it. As he did, with the second shot, the motors
stopped.
There were the initial moments of shock. It all had happened so fast. And, he still
didn't know what it was. All he knew was his storage shed was wrecked. It was wrecked and
someone, somewhere, was going to pay. He would see to that.
He tried to see what it was. He approached slowly. As he did he reloaded his rifle
with the extra cartridges he has thrown is his pocket. As he drew close the object became
clearer to him.
It was metal. It has a silver metal skin with markings on it. The was a flag and
words the looked like UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
"What the hell is that?" he said aloud.
He saw numbers and the letters MPL. It was about that time Mary came
around with their son, Mark.
"Look at this!" she screamed. "Look at it. All my things that were
in our storage shed are wrecked. I've lost every thing. What are you going to do about
this?" she demanded from her husband.
The sound of her voice enraged him. He drew up his rifle and fired five more shots
directly into the metal object.
"This is all your fault," Mary said to her husband. "We were
comfortable in the subterranean city. We had everything we needed. And then you got all
shook up over this Y2K Millenium deal and you moved us up on the surface so we could
survive when chaos hit. The only chaos I have seen so far is living where it is cold and
miserable, and now this. I hate this place and Mark and I are going back to live with my
sister where any self respecting Martian would live. Not up here on the surface like some
savage. I honestly believe you have lost your mind!"
Mathew was aggravated. All of his hard work was destroyed, and now this. Now his
wife was going to leave and go back to the stale air and the Government regulation. That
was no life for anyone. He had to try and talk sense to her.
"This is only the beginning. Wait this out," he implored her. "The
first of the year is only a few weeks away. You agreed with me about what would happen
down there if all the machines stopped at the stroke of midnight. This thing that attacked
us and that I have now killed, is just the beginning. Now that they know they can't mess
with us and get away with it, they will move on to somewhere else."
Mary listened and realized that her husband did have a point. And, about that time,
the neighbors began showing up to see what was going on. One by one they patted her
husband on the back. He had successfully defeated what ever it was. He had stood tall, as
a man, and defended his family and his community.
The Mayor came by. Really, he wasn't the mayor. It was kind of an honorary thing.
"You have successfully defended your family and the community," he
proclaimed for all to hear. "The people of Marshburg, Mars are proud to have you as
our newest citizen."
Meanwhile, millions of miles away, somewhere in a place called California, in
another place called THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, scientists were desperately
trying to contact the Mars Polar Lander. They tried but there was no answer. Mathew's
second shot took out the radio. The third the computer. The Polar Lander fell victim of
Y2K hysteria millions of miles away.
In the meantime, Mathew called his lawyer and stocked up on more ammunition.
Your comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
DECEMBER 5, 1999
There is no new article
DECEMBER 4, 1999
Stop The Drop By Tom Clark
When my friend first told me of Bradford's new slogan, I thought she was just pulling
my chain. "The Drop That Won't Stop Until Bradford's On Top." She said
there was a front page article in The Era that morning announcing the slogan,
along with a picture of the new mascot.
When I got home later that evening, I looked at the paper to see if she was kidding
me. There, dead center of the front page, was the headline, "Isn't that Slick:
Downtown Merchants unveil mascot."
What are these people trying to do? At first, I thought they had a contest with
grade school kids to come up with a cute slogan that the merchants may throw on a few
posters, maybe give the winning kid a $50 gift certificate. After all, no adult could come
up with a slogan that stupid, nor would our civic leaders tag this idiotic phrase to a
serious public campaign. Boy, was I wrong!
The accompanying picture to The Era story shows the Main Street Manager,
John Yale, standing between the guy who came up with this lame slogan and what appears to
be a small person in a feces costume. Upon reading the caption, I found that this strange
looking costume is supposed to replicate a drop of oil. Could have fooled me, it's the
spitting image of a good B.M.
I hate to be the one that bursts the bubble, but this slogan and mascot campaign
really, really sucks. It paints Bradford as a town with no imagination and sends a message
that we want to be represented by a cheesy slogan, accompanied by a ridiculous mascot.
"Mommy, mommy, I sewed my costume all by myself!."
Let us dissect this whole thing to see what images we are portraying for the rest
of the world to see. First, why are we still attaching ourselves to the oil industry?
Sure, it's part of our history but that is what it is...history, it is time to move on.
ARG, the former Kendall and Witco, is operating at a fraction of what it used to be and
rumors have the place closed in a few years. Drilling around here is next to nothing,
except for the controversial projects in the Allegheny National Forest.
The mascot's name is "Slick", although it looks like it should be
"Turd." When it comes to oil, "Slick" is a bad thing. Can you say
Exxon Valdez? Anyone remember the constant oil slick in Tuna Creek before the EPA cracked
down? This is the equivalent of New York City coming out with a trash bag mascot.
Why do we need a mascot? Mascots are for sports teams, not dying business
districts. When choosing a mascot, if the merchants are so Hell-bent on having one, I wish
the would have found one that would represent Bradford's future. Even if they went for the
obvious, like Larry Lighter or Casey the Knife. See how easy it is? I didn't even have to
give it any thought and came up with two better mascots than the Slickster.
Let's look at the slogan. "The Drop That Won't Stop Until Bradford's On Top."
Think about it for a second and then let's all join in for a chorus of "What The Hell
Are You Talking About?!?" Two negatives jump out of this lame attempt of sloganeering
(is that a word?) Bradford, drop and stop.
What does "drop" signify? The drop in business in downtown Bradford? The
drop in our overall population? Oh, yeah, the drop in oil prices, that must be it. It goes
really nice with the new mascot, Slick Valdez.
What will Bradford be on top of? My guess is a major EPA Superfund clean up site,
especially after ARG closes its gates and we have an abandoned refinery sitting in the
middle of B-town.
I could go on and on, which I usually do, about the new slogan and mascot. Someone
told me they gave the guy who came up with this crap a bunch of gift certificates, so I am
relieved that the merchants weren't so stupid to actually pay anyone for this moronic
slogan and mascot.
The Downtown Merchants are a strange bunch. Not unlike those cultists who tried to
hitch a ride on Halle-Bopp, the merchants seem to get sucked in on bad ideas very easily.
I've told a few of them that I have some ideas that could increase business, but they
would be wasted on these people, so I keep them to myself.
Perhaps Warren or Wellsboro would be more receptive. Most of the merchants are
quite comfortable with failure and wouldn't get off their wallets to spend a buck towards
making $20. No matter what propaganda or snow jobs the Chamber of Commerce or the Main
Street Managers have put in the public's eye, the bottom line is that Bradford's retailers
are selfish and uncooperative towards a common goal.
The Era article was littered with comments from merchants who were trying
to make this slogan sound like the greatest thing that ever happened to Bradford. It also
quotes the guy who came up with Fecal Man about his thought process to create this stupid
mascot. Hey, pal, this ain't NASA! It's a goofy little costume that looks like the product
of a good bender. "I designed what when I was drunk?"
I hope that the Downtown Merchants rethink this inane slogan and mascot. I don't
have a catchy slogan for these people, nor would I waste any time trying to think of one.
If they absolutely have to display a slogan, they should stick with the one painted on the
side of the oil tank along US 219, something about cool town and warm hearts. At least it
sounds like it was created by someone older than a 2nd grader.
Comments are welcome at rdhedbud@penn.com.
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