Save Water; Fix That Leaky Light Switch
The great thing about shows like Extreme Home Makeover is that they inspire ideas on how to improve your home. The bad news is that people like me then try to implement these ideas without the benefit of a trained professional. The result is our bathroom, which currently has a commode with hot running water and a wall heater that can only be turned on by unscrewing the third bulb in our vanity mirror. Continue reading
Teaching Your Child To Bowl? Try Some Gutter Talk
Teaching a child to bowl is truly a bonding experience — meaning that you should really consider taking out a bond before entering the bowling alley.
As someone who escaped the experience with only a minor skull fracture and minimal orthodontic surgery, I feel I’ve acquired a level of expertise that could be helpful. Continue reading
Tired Of Looking At The Same Old Killer Asteroid? Give It A New Paint Job
Scientists tell us it’s only a matter of time before a giant asteroid threatens to crash into the Earth. This of course would lead to a cataclysmic event unleashing tidal waves, earthquakes, 6,000 years of winter, and, theoretically, mankind’s final offering as an evolved species:
Survivor: Oh great—now what?
Scientists warn that the only way to avoid total extinction would be to somehow divert the offending asteroid into a different orbit, therefore altering its path into a collision course with something less vital, like, say… New Jersey. Continue reading
When It Comes To Looking Ahead, Look No Further Than Your Behind
You should be aware that the idea of promoting an important issue through a week of “National Awareness” has gotten plain silly. There was a time when, in order to command the attention of our entire country for a whole week, you actually needed to have an issue that was important—something that could save lives, improve society, or, at the very least, boost the sale of Hallmark cards.
But not anymore.
I say this because, as you may or may not know, we’re in the middle of “National Psychic Week.” (For those of you who weren’t aware of this, I’m sorry: But there’s a very good chance you are NOT psychic.) According to one website, the purpose of this week-long focus is to “dispel skepticism [of psychics] through factual awareness.”
Thanks to an article that appeared in the Chicago Sun-Times, I have a better understanding of how it might take an entire week to dispel all that skepticism—especially after reading about Ulf Buck, a blind psychic from Meldorf, Germany, who claims he can read people’s futures by feeling their naked buttocks.
(Warning to women who frequent singles bars: Men who frequent singles bars may be reading this column.)
According to Buck, creases representing success, career and artistic ability extend inward from the extremities of the buttocks (Similar to a map of Hollywood), while five other creases radiate outward. Though Buck explained that those creases represent areas such as love and money, when asked about that crease radiating down the middle, he just said, “Ewww.”
My point is, if you have a habit of sitting naked on wicker furniture, don’t waste your time getting a buttocks reading.
No. My real point is that people no longer pay ANY attention to “National Awareness” weeks because the topics have gotten so stupid.
For example, when’s the last time you observed “National Fresh Breath” week with any level of enthusiasm? Did you gargle more? Brush better? Buy an extra roll of Certs?
(No one in THIS office did, I can tell you that.)
The problem is that there are no guidelines when it comes to petitioning for “National Awareness” status — which is why we have 40 states that participate in “Sky Awareness” week each year. First of all, do we really need a whole week? Unless you’re lying face down getting a buttocks reading, how long does it take to look straight up? Considering that there are 10 states that don’t observe “Sky Awareness” week at all, we can conclude that they either, 1) Think it’s stupid, 2) Put all of their efforts into having a great “Fresh Breath” week, or 3) Have no idea the sky actually exists.
Which could explain the idea behind “Brain Awareness” week.
That’s right. The same people who brought us “Mustard” week and “Bat Survey” week would like us to remember that we have brains. (Even though, oddly enough, those same people scheduled “National Hot Dog” week to take place three months AFTER “National Mustard” week.)
The bottom line, of course, is that coming up with wisecracks about buttocks readings, while cheeky, requires more brain activity than most “Awareness Week” topics.
Though I’m sure that’ll change some day, exactly when is anybody’s guess.
Then again, they do say hindsight is 20/20….
(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at the Siuslaw News at P.O. Box 10, Florence, OR. 97439)
Tales Of Combative Licensed Handgun Owners
THE ADDLED PARANOIACS AMONG US
Okay. Here I go again.
Although I had hoped to expound upon another topic, those delightful paranoiacs who put so much faith in their handguns continue to escalate my agita.
Last week, I came across an article in the Atlanta Journal Constitution about an altercation that transpired – allegedly – following a minor fender bender. Continue reading
Businessman’s Novel Twice As Long As ‘Gone With The Wind’
Afraid no editor would take the time to read a two-and-a-half-foot thick manuscript, a wealthy Waco businessman mailed the first 300 pages of his record-breaking novel to an East Coast publishing house sometime in mid-August 1951.
Madison Alexander Cooper, Jr. was born in 1894 with, as he good-naturedly conceded, “at least a silver-plated spoon in my mouth.” His father was a well-to-do grocer and prominent pillar of the Central Texas city, that would be “Matt” Cooper’s home for life.
After graduating from the University of Texas with a degree in English, he fought in France as a doughboy captain. Returning in one piece to Waco, he honored his parents’ wishes by taking his rightful place in the family business.
Afterhours, however, the young executive pursued a very private dream. He spent nights and weekends writing short stories and even sold a few to national magazines. But those early efforts failed to meet his high standards, and in the 1930’s he moth-balled his typewriter.
Although Cooper kept his nose to the grindstone during the Depression, he did not neglect his first love. He took three correspondence courses in creative writing from Columbia University, which inspired his switch from the short story to the novel.
Before putting a single word down on paper, Cooper thought his epic tale through from beginning to end. Allowing ten years to write, ten years to sell and another decade to edit, he did not expect to see the book in print before 1970.
Cooper’s pet project was a secret he shared with no one. His elaborate precautions were so effective than even his closest friends never suspected the plain-vanilla businessman was hard at work on the Great American Novel.
Cooper brought the imaginary town of Sironia, Texas to life in a study on the third floor of his turn-of-the-century mansion. A detailed map of the fictitious place and a genealogical chart with the 83 main characters hung on the wall behind his desk. Visitors were admitted to the sanctuary only by appointment, and prior to their entrance a large map of the Lone Star State was pulled down to hide the fantasy props.
Self-discipline enabled Cooper to change hats without derailing his train of thought. “I can be in the middle of writing what I consider a poignant love scene,” he once explained, “be interrupted by a tenant whose plumbing has to be repaired, and then after arranging the repair I can return effortlessly to my interrupted scene.”
Learning from the bitter experience of a fellow novelist, who lost his life’s work in a fire, Cooper typed each chapter in triplicate. He stored one copy in a closet, the second in a vacant store and the third in a bank vault.
After 11 years of tedious toil, Cooper entrusted the finished product to two student typists he swore to the strictest secrecy. The finger-weary pair pounded out a manuscript two and a half feet thick!
Cooper was stunned speechless. He knew his novel had run a little long but nearly 900,000 words? That was more than the Old and New Testaments combined and twice the length of Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind.
Cooper convinced himself that no book baron in his right mind would wade through the 2,864-page manuscript. So he sent the first 300 pages to Houghton-Mifflin in the faint hope of piquing the interest of the Boston publisher.
To the apprehensive author’s amazement, Houghton-Mifflin immediately asked for the whole enchilada. Still believing the sheer size would result in rejection, Cooper mailed the next 500 pages. The response was again swift and favorable, and the repeated request for the rest of the manuscript had an air of urgency.
Cooper summoned the courage to comply and anxiously awaited the verdict. The publisher phoned in December 1951 to invite him to Boston to discuss the book, but the Texan got cold feet and begged off with the lame excuse that he was too busy to make the trip.
Weeks went by without a word from Houghton-Mifflin, and Cooper cursed himself for blowing the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He finally placed a long-distance call to Massachusetts only to discover that his book was a done deal and would be printed in its record-breaking entirety.
Enough readers bought the boxed, two-volume first edition at the unheard-of price of ten dollars to put Sironia, Texas on the New York Times best-seller list for 11 weeks. Cooper basked in the glow of his hard-earned acclaim, which included several prestigious literary awards, and took pride in the fact that he had beaten his timetable by 18 years.
Wacoans naturally looked for their ancestors among the fictitious inhabitants of Sironia in spite of Matt Cooper’s emphatic assurance that he had not based any characters on real persons living or dead. But when his files were deliberately destroyed after his death in 1956, folks could not help but wonder.
“Secession & Civil War” – newest “Best of This Week in Texas History” collection available for $10.95 plus $3.25 postage and handling from Bartee Haile, P.O. Box 152, Friendswood, TX 77549 or order on-line at twith.com.
Mexican Bandits Hold ‘River Pilots’ For Ransom
Two “river pilots” on patrol over the international border on Aug. 10, 1919 mistook the Rio Conchos River for the Rio Grande and took a wrong turn deep into the Mexican interior.
A chronic burr under the Lone Star saddle since San Jacinto, Mexican bandits once again were making life miserable on the border, especially in the Big Bend. Utilizing the latest technology in the war against this old menace, the Border Patrol took to the skies in June 1919.
From an airfield at Marfa, four biplanes flew daily surveillance over the shallow waterway separating Texas and Mexico. Eagle-eyed “river pilots” scanned the barren landscape for any sign of the elusive outlaws.
While on routine patrol on Aug. 10, Lt. H.G. Peterson and Lt. Paul Davis became so confused they followed the Rio Conchos west into Mexico instead of setting a northerly course by the Rio Grande. When the engine of their two-seater suddenly sputtered, the two were forced to make an emergency landing 80 miles inside Mexican territory.
After a picture-perfect touchdown, the young officers removed the machineguns from their disabled craft and hid the high-powered prizes in the brush. Walking to a nearby hut, they met a friendly peasant who agreed to lead the lost gringos back to the border.
Six miles later, the trio was surrounded by a score of riders headed by Jesus Renteria, a former follower of Pancho Villa who had gone into business for himself. Known as Gacho, he wore a steel hook in place of a severed hand.
Recognizing the potential profit in the chance encounter, Gacho ordered the fliers in flawless English to inform their superiors that the price of their freedom was $15,000 in cold American cash. Given the choice of writing the ransom note or dying, the aviators obliged their host.
When the river pilots failed to return to base, civil and military authorities launched a massive air and ground search. The hunt was seriously hampered by President Carranza, who true to form banned American planes from Mexican air space.
A Mexican boy riding a burro delivered the ransom note to a U.S. Army cavalry camp just over the border. In a matter of hours, local ranchers raised the 15 grand, and Capt. Leonard Matlack was assigned the hazardous duty of arranging the exchange.
Negotiating by messenger, Matlack and Gacho ironed out the details of the swap. Late in the evening of Aug. 18, the Mexican would flash a light from the hostile bank of the river, which would be the signal for the American to come alone with $7,500 for the first hostage.
Seeing no signal light, Matlack impatiently plunged ahead with the plan. He located Lt. Peterson ready and waiting, handed Gacho’s henchmen the money and retraced his steps with the rescued hostage.
Depositing the grateful pilot in safe hands, the captain went back for his comrade. Making his way slowly through the darkness, Matlack overheard a couple of bandits discussing in Spanish the tempting idea of killing both gringos and vamoosing with the loot.
Approaching the second pilot and his armed guard, Matlack whispered to Lt. Davis to jump aboard his horse. The prisoner instantly complied, and the soldier whipped out a six-shooter in lieu of the balance due.
“Tell Gacho to go to hell!” Capt. Matlack shouted at the frozen bandits. “He’s had his last American dollar!” Before the dumbfounded Mexicans knew what had happened, the duo disappeared into the night.
A five-day expedition turned up no trace of the kidnappers, and the controversial incursion was marred by the execution of four Mexicans whose complicity in the crime was open to question. Left in the custody of civilian scouts, the victims were gunned down as soon as the cavalry was out of earshot.
During the mischievous mission, two excited pilots reported killing a bandit with a hook. Before a skeptical Matlack could confirm Gacho’s death, the jittery Army brass called of the chase rather than risk an international incident in a clash with government troops.
A few months later, Capt. Matlack sent a trusted Mexican agent to determine the fate of the bandit chieftain. He discovered Gacho fit as a fiddle in a cantina. After the airborne Americans had returned his fire, he played possum until they flew away.
In the public ovation that greeted the heroics of the courageous cavalryman, a U.S. Senator from New Mexico sounded a solitary sour note. He argued that Capt. Matlack deserved to be court-martialed for refusing to pay the rest of the ransom. But sanity prevailed, and the matter was dropped much to the embarrassment of the grandstanding politician.
Bartee Haile welcomes your comments, questions and suggestions at haile@pdq.net or P.O. Box 152, Friendswood, TX 77549.
