Old Yellow Hand: a review
A peasant's uprising in medieval Transylvania. The assassination of an evil old baron. A severed hand trapped for centuries in an urn. The death of an embalmer in a funeral home. Grisly murders in 1950s Virginia. These seemingly unrelated events turn on the death of the a oppressive baron and his hand severed after his murder. Once accidentally set free, acting as if with a will of its own, the grisly hand sets out to avenge the slaying of its former host. This story is about the wrath and vengeance of the mysterious killer known as Old Yellow Hand.
The story opens with the assassination of Baron Goran von Goranovich, a tyrannical aristocrat of medieval Transylvania. Disgusted with his inhumane rule, a mob made up of his vassals rose up against him. After murdering him, they lopped off his hand and impaled it on a sharp pole to show their fellow villagers the proof of their deed. They threw his body into the forest where wild animals devoured the remains. The village sage warned the assassins that everyone in the village would suffer a terrible curse if the hand were desecrated as had been the baron’s body. Hopefully to avoid the curse, the assassins preserved the hand in an urn of liquid used for embalming cadavers leaving only the baron's spectre to roam the castle.
Fast forward 200 years to a funeral home in Gore, Virginia. The urn is opened by an embalmer who becomes the first victim of the withered old hand when it is inadvertently released. Afterward murdering the embalmer, it sets out to wreak vengeance on all mankind for the heinous attack on its master. Another employee of the mortuary, a fellow Romanian named Mabad, vows to track down the murderer of his friend and countryman unaware of the nature of his quarry.
The hand goes on a rampage slaying victims first in the Virginia village of Gore, then atop nearby Great North Mountain, and finally in the college town of Briarwood. After a trail of gruesome murders the hand, following the baron's supernatural commands to return to its origins, manages to stow away in the backpack of Marissa Goran, a student at Briarwood College and a native of Goranovichy. Hidden amongst her clothing within her knapsack, it sneaks a ride back to Transylvania after the college is forced to close temporarily. The tenacious Mabad with the help of an investigative newspaper reporter manages to track the hand back to Baron Goranovich's deserted castle. There, Marissa joins Mabad and the reporter in their search. They enter the castle, face the baron's ghost and finally confront the killer hand in a life or death struggle.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
An Endearing Camaraderie
This posting is probably only relevant to "old time" residents or those who once lived in this delightful little town snuggled in the heart of Florida. The town was incorporated in 1925, but was settled much earlier by people who believed the climate was healthful and particularly good for lung ailments. It was first located on the banks of Lake Sanataria, now called Lake Marianna. The settlement took the same name. When the first railroad through central Florida bypassed the settlement of Sanataria, people moved to a new place near the railroad. A railroad executive's wife named the new settlement Auburndale after her hometown of the same name in Massachusetts.
“Doc” Taylor, the sometimes crusty, but always revered owner of Taylor’s Rexall Drug Store, yielded to competition and age and closed the longtime gathering place for many Auburndale residents in 1988.
One day while functioning as the Executive Director of the Chamber of Commerce, I spied a long-time resident, Johnny Summerall passing nearby. He was one of the people I remembered from by youth in Auburndale. (I had just returned to my hometown after an absence of 36 years.) We talked of old times and lamented the passing of Taylor’s drug store. Then in a burst of nostalgia, I raised the question of creating a new place for "old timers" to meet for coffee and reminiscing. Johnny agreed that such a place would be great. (I’m not sure whether he really thought it was a good idea or was just humoring and old acquaintance.)
Next, I talked to Bill Chestnut the editor of the the town’s weekly newspaper. He agreed to support such a venture and when Leon Hines, owner of the Downtowner restaurant said he would join our group of sponsors, we set into motion what would indeed become and enduring camaraderie.
Sterling Bank (now Colonial Bank) and Kersey Funeral Home came forward later with donations to take the edge off the cost to the restaurant.
We had a concept, supporters and a place to meet, so we contacted numerous old-time residents and told them of the new meeting place replacing Taylor's drug store. Bill Chestnut ran publicity in the Auburndale Star and I placed notices in the Chamber newsletter.
We expected a dozen or so people to show up, but were astounded when more than 50 "old timers" did so. They were so enthusiastic that the number continued to swell; reaching over 100 at one time. Since there was no cost for the breakfast, which was funded by the donors, word of a free meal spread among the numerous mobile home parks and we were soon inundated by dozens of freeloaders. So, we had to take evasive action. We established ground rules for becoming members of an “Oldtimers Coffee Club” and began asking for an initiation fee and levied a small charge for breakfast. That stopped the freeloaders, and the “Club” meetings settled in to between 50 and 70 (the variance is due to seasonal fluxuations).
In these early meetings, we reveled in the stories of the good old days in Auburndale. I taped many of these tales, but unfortunately the tape was lost after I left the Chamber in 1994.
After seventeen years the “Oldtimers Club” still functions! None of us thought it would survive over a couple years, but we underestimated the dedication of the wishing to meet and talk of "happenings" past and present.
Because of reasons beyond our control, we have had to relocate the meeting places, change the source of our breakfast and make other changes, but it is still the primary meeting place for about between 35 and 40 old timers every Friday morning. The stories still pour forth and are still just as interesting as they were seventeen years ago.
Some of the original supporters have moved on: Leon Hines closed his restaurant and retired, the Auburndale Star folded into the Winter Haven News Chief and Bill Chestnut moved on, Sterling Bank became Colonial Bank and many of the old timers have gone to their reward. But others have taken the place of those that have moved on: Charles Johnson has emceed the gathering for a dozen years, the Lions Club has donated space and the City of Auburndale has been a dedicated ally for many years. Kersey Funeral Home still supports the Club with monthly donations.
Johnny and Martha Summerall continue to be regular attendees along with several others who joined the Club many years ago. Walter Kersey still attends most of the time; always adding his own unique color to the meetings. The breakfast meal is prepared by Auburndale historian and native of Auburndale, Beverly Scott. She has become one of the most popular members of the club; preparing a tasty surprise each Friday morning to the delight of the old timers. She also functions as the cashier and record keeper for the group.
A typical meeting begins with Charlie Johnson rendering some pithy sayings from his little book, “Older Than Dirt”. After the invocation, a salute to the flag and a report on those ailing is solicited from members. Birthdays and wedding anniversaries are recognized with song, accompanied by the superb piano playing of Shirley Wilson. About twenty minutes are set aside for announcements, storytelling and jokes before donated door prizes are awarded via ticket-stub drawings and the meeting ends.
Anyone having lived in Auburndale for at least eight years and who pays a one-time initiation fee of $10.00 is welcome to the Club. If interested in joining, you need only attend the breakfast and mention to Ms. Scott that you wish to become a member.
I’ll try to recall and write about some of the old stories (recorded on the lost tapes) told by early members as well as some from current attendees who add spice to the weekly meetings.
__________________
One day while functioning as the Executive Director of the Chamber of Commerce, I spied a long-time resident, Johnny Summerall passing nearby. He was one of the people I remembered from by youth in Auburndale. (I had just returned to my hometown after an absence of 36 years.) We talked of old times and lamented the passing of Taylor’s drug store. Then in a burst of nostalgia, I raised the question of creating a new place for "old timers" to meet for coffee and reminiscing. Johnny agreed that such a place would be great. (I’m not sure whether he really thought it was a good idea or was just humoring and old acquaintance.)
Next, I talked to Bill Chestnut the editor of the the town’s weekly newspaper. He agreed to support such a venture and when Leon Hines, owner of the Downtowner restaurant said he would join our group of sponsors, we set into motion what would indeed become and enduring camaraderie.
Sterling Bank (now Colonial Bank) and Kersey Funeral Home came forward later with donations to take the edge off the cost to the restaurant.
We had a concept, supporters and a place to meet, so we contacted numerous old-time residents and told them of the new meeting place replacing Taylor's drug store. Bill Chestnut ran publicity in the Auburndale Star and I placed notices in the Chamber newsletter.
We expected a dozen or so people to show up, but were astounded when more than 50 "old timers" did so. They were so enthusiastic that the number continued to swell; reaching over 100 at one time. Since there was no cost for the breakfast, which was funded by the donors, word of a free meal spread among the numerous mobile home parks and we were soon inundated by dozens of freeloaders. So, we had to take evasive action. We established ground rules for becoming members of an “Oldtimers Coffee Club” and began asking for an initiation fee and levied a small charge for breakfast. That stopped the freeloaders, and the “Club” meetings settled in to between 50 and 70 (the variance is due to seasonal fluxuations).
In these early meetings, we reveled in the stories of the good old days in Auburndale. I taped many of these tales, but unfortunately the tape was lost after I left the Chamber in 1994.
After seventeen years the “Oldtimers Club” still functions! None of us thought it would survive over a couple years, but we underestimated the dedication of the wishing to meet and talk of "happenings" past and present.
Because of reasons beyond our control, we have had to relocate the meeting places, change the source of our breakfast and make other changes, but it is still the primary meeting place for about between 35 and 40 old timers every Friday morning. The stories still pour forth and are still just as interesting as they were seventeen years ago.
Some of the original supporters have moved on: Leon Hines closed his restaurant and retired, the Auburndale Star folded into the Winter Haven News Chief and Bill Chestnut moved on, Sterling Bank became Colonial Bank and many of the old timers have gone to their reward. But others have taken the place of those that have moved on: Charles Johnson has emceed the gathering for a dozen years, the Lions Club has donated space and the City of Auburndale has been a dedicated ally for many years. Kersey Funeral Home still supports the Club with monthly donations.
Johnny and Martha Summerall continue to be regular attendees along with several others who joined the Club many years ago. Walter Kersey still attends most of the time; always adding his own unique color to the meetings. The breakfast meal is prepared by Auburndale historian and native of Auburndale, Beverly Scott. She has become one of the most popular members of the club; preparing a tasty surprise each Friday morning to the delight of the old timers. She also functions as the cashier and record keeper for the group.
A typical meeting begins with Charlie Johnson rendering some pithy sayings from his little book, “Older Than Dirt”. After the invocation, a salute to the flag and a report on those ailing is solicited from members. Birthdays and wedding anniversaries are recognized with song, accompanied by the superb piano playing of Shirley Wilson. About twenty minutes are set aside for announcements, storytelling and jokes before donated door prizes are awarded via ticket-stub drawings and the meeting ends.
Anyone having lived in Auburndale for at least eight years and who pays a one-time initiation fee of $10.00 is welcome to the Club. If interested in joining, you need only attend the breakfast and mention to Ms. Scott that you wish to become a member.
I’ll try to recall and write about some of the old stories (recorded on the lost tapes) told by early members as well as some from current attendees who add spice to the weekly meetings.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Ramblings of an Aging Bloodhound
Growing Up in Auburndale
Those readers who are not from Auburndale and happen to stumble on this BLOG, feel free to substitute your home town for mine.
‘Tis funny how some things stick in one’s mind and other important occurrences do not. Some events that have stuck with me through the years:
The hard scrabble life of the Great Depression; the absence of running water, electricity and using the WPA “outdoor privy”.
Attending the free show on Tuesday evenings in the vacant lot between the A&P Store and the Auburndale Pool Room. Buying popcorn for a nickel a bag when we could scrape up a nickel.
Shining shoes downtown on Saturday afternoons and evenings. Competing with about a dozen of other shoe-shiners. Sing-songing, “Nickel for one shoe, a dime for two”.
Resting in the City Park listening to yarns by the park denizens while teasing the Perry boy who sold peanuts or “Guitar” Willie who chewed tobacco, and never played his guitar.
Being the first on the scene in front of the depot after an ACL train hit Mrs. Outlaw’s ’36 Ford, killing her and injuring her kids. My first experience with death.
Riding my bike around Lake Ariana and stopping at a crowd of people ogling the body of an airplane passenger that crashed in the lake. The fish and turtles had made mess of him. My second experience with death and not a bit pleasanter.
Getting haircuts at the Park View Barber Shop and shining shoes on Sunday morning outside the shop’s front door. Hoping Mr. Hardiman's beautiful daughter would stop by.
Rasslin’ with Harold Bagley in the first grade during recess and letting him win ever now and then because he got mad if he lost often and he was tough when mad.
Counting eighteen alligators at one time in Lake Stella while walking to school by the haunted Baynard house, now known as Kersey's Funeral Home.
My first-grade teachers: the strict Miss Adams (Driver) and the pretty Miss Bunting. The incredible division of the students into Yellow Birds, Red Birds and Blue Birds.
Fussing with a girl named Ernestine Garner who criticized my crayon coloring in the third grade. I later double-dated her with Willie Jean Gibson when Ernestine returned several years later. I couldn’t believe that I did it!
Jimmy Harold and I having to help clean up a mess made in the cloakroom by a nutty classmate because we laughed so hard. The teacher refused to let the nutty kid go to the bathroom for the fourth time during the same class, so he used a bucket in the cloakroom. Bad scene, but funny to twelve-year-olds.
Falling in love the first time…with my fourth-grade teacher, Miss Carson. She had the longest fingernails that I had ever seen and she could snap her fingers as loud as a “cracker” could pop his cattle whip. Boy, was she pretty! Raven hair, dark eyes......wow! Back then, I wished I was older--not now, however.
My first girlfriend, Hazel Buchanan with whom I used to sit in the Park Theater and hold hands while her Ma and Pa watched from a few rows back.
Getting knocked out when I hit my head on the corner of a school ground bench while showing off for Hazel.
Otis Outlaw stabbing me with a lead pencil for messing with his girlfriend, Martha Watson in the sixth grade. I still have a black spot on my thigh.
Mrs. Durrance’s ruler used more to swat wayward hands of her students than measuring anything. Man, she was tough! They’d put her in jail now! She didn’t see Otis stab me and I wouldn’t squeal.
Being threatened by Billy Williamson for my attention to his girlfriend, Peggy Jolly. He didn’t stop me though. She was cute. So was another “older” woman on whom I had a crush; Juanita Cannon. Wow! What a cheerleader! Another fantasy love was the lovely Vernel Etheridge, Betty Ruth's older sister, freckles and all.
Competing with Jimmy Harold, Wilson Grant and others over the attention of Winona Wilson in the seventh-grade while overlooking another good choice, Maurceil King.
Being humiliated by "Old Spot" Smith sentencing me to the corner of the classroom for the duration of the math class for asking what possible good algebra would be upon graduation.
Being chastised by home-room teacher, Mrs. Corley for correcting her pronunciation of “Soviet”. Never could understand why she seemed not to appreciate my help. Maybe it was my lack of savior faire??
Regrettably, giving Miss Harley such a hard time in English class. I’ve found out that the importance she put on English grammar was and is one hundred percent right and I was a dumb-dumb for not recognizing it then.
Working twice as hard for Miss McBride in her algebra class because she was much prettier than Mr. Smith. What a nice person; Miss McBride that is….
Passing notes to my life-long friend and mentor Patsy Bolin in the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth etc. etc etc. She coached me with regard to learning about girls while I chased after Peggy Cooley in the sixth grade.
Being taught to slow dance at high school outings at Mac’s Beach by Patsy Bolin and Betty Ruth Etheridge to “Stardust” and other great tunes on the nickel Juke Box.
Being taught the correct “KT” (kissing technique) by Evelyn Traylor when I flunked “Post Office” and “Spin the Bottle”.
Being elected the captain of AHS basketball team when Bill Smith was kicked off the team for smoking.
Playing tackle beside Glenn McAllister on the football team. Coach Ed Crews had what he called an “A-Right” formation that played both tackles on the same side. Later Glenn and I doubled dated girls in Mulberry, Frostproof and Avon Park.
Blocking for Dean Brooks who was the best running back of the day. He made us linemen look good. And, when the rest of us had trouble winnings basketball games, the coach talked him into helping us there too.
Intercepting a pass and scoring my one and only touchdown in a game with Ft. Meade, a team we were supposed to beat easily, but was giving us a hard time. In my excitement, I almost stopped running at the other team’s ten-yard line; thought it was the goal line. I wondered why the fools from the other team kept chasing after me and all the Bloodhound fans were screaming at me to keep running.
Thanks to Mrs. Brantly’s organization, dancing in the gym during noon recess with Lola Jean Hindman, especially to “Blue Bird of Happiness”. We danced so hard in the old gym that were covered by sweat by the time classes restarted. Well, I sweated, she "glistened", as they say. No comment on how I smelled.
Dating Lavonne Quinn with her red hair, using Herbert Forsyth’s (the indestructible Clara Mae's husband) pink 1934 Ford which I used to deliver his customer’s dry cleaning. Lavonne had a fit when I drove up for our date in the shocking pink Ford that decidedly clashed with the color of her hair.
Vying with Leroy “Sasroy” Helms for “King of Stunt Night”. I think my younger brother Joel’s campaigning won the day for me by eliciting votes from his classmates in the lower grades.
My beautiful “Queen of Stunt Night” Louise Allred. And, not taking note that my lovely bride-to-be Mary Kate Griffin was a member of my court.
My lousy performance in the senior play; barely getting through the performance with Patsy Bolin’s off-stage coaching. My best buddy, Joe Etheridge, stole the show!
Senior “Skip Day” at Silver Springs. Watching Ross Allen milk rattlesnakes. And, wrapping an indigo black snake around my shoulders for photos. Donald Smith did it first and the snake didn't eat him, so the rest of us boys tried it.
My days spent shooting pool in Paces’s, and later, Ropiki’s poolroom on Pontotac Street and barely squeaking by “Moody” Wright and choking when I lost to Jimmy Harold for the championship.
Working in Fred Baugh’s Shoe Shop for a while alongside the wierd kid, Navarre DuBois; then soda jerking in Taylor’s, Jim’s, and Bowen’s drug stores. Later “trucking” fruit at the old Stuart’s Packing house. Still later on, watching a local packing house burn one night. Man, that was a fire! Lots of us thought it was perdition for sure.
Smoking cheap cigars in the city park after work at the All-American Store with Carroll Kirkland. Puffing the cigars while lying down made us dizzy, but then maybe we were just dizzy anyway. After work, we always went to the “midnight show” at the Park and later the Auburn Theater, wobbling down the aisle because of the effects of the nickel cigars.
Graduating from high school with nowhere to go until one of the Gatlin boys suggested I join the Navy. Max Haiflich, sister of Janell "Frog" Haiflich, decided to go along with me. Never saw him again after the swearing in! And, spending four years away from home between the ages of 17 and 21.
Returning to Auburndale after my hitch in the Navy and working for the Continental Can Company until a strike was called. Standing night picket duty during the strike with Mary Helen Little keeping me from getting too lonely.
Finally, taking a job putting tops on cans of frozen concentrate at Minute Maid for $1.00 per hour for 12-hour shifts; 7:00 P. M. to 7:00 A. M.
My miserable summer working at the Elwood Indiana Continental Can Company plant with several of the Auburndale “Can” guys, including Wesley Thompson, Henry Brown, Commer, Hughes and several others.
My visits to the Rainbow Club. Drinking beer, chasing girls, dancing and fighting out-of-town boys.
Those readers who are not from Auburndale and happen to stumble on this BLOG, feel free to substitute your home town for mine.
‘Tis funny how some things stick in one’s mind and other important occurrences do not. Some events that have stuck with me through the years:
The hard scrabble life of the Great Depression; the absence of running water, electricity and using the WPA “outdoor privy”.
Attending the free show on Tuesday evenings in the vacant lot between the A&P Store and the Auburndale Pool Room. Buying popcorn for a nickel a bag when we could scrape up a nickel.
Shining shoes downtown on Saturday afternoons and evenings. Competing with about a dozen of other shoe-shiners. Sing-songing, “Nickel for one shoe, a dime for two”.
Resting in the City Park listening to yarns by the park denizens while teasing the Perry boy who sold peanuts or “Guitar” Willie who chewed tobacco, and never played his guitar.
Being the first on the scene in front of the depot after an ACL train hit Mrs. Outlaw’s ’36 Ford, killing her and injuring her kids. My first experience with death.
Riding my bike around Lake Ariana and stopping at a crowd of people ogling the body of an airplane passenger that crashed in the lake. The fish and turtles had made mess of him. My second experience with death and not a bit pleasanter.
Getting haircuts at the Park View Barber Shop and shining shoes on Sunday morning outside the shop’s front door. Hoping Mr. Hardiman's beautiful daughter would stop by.
Rasslin’ with Harold Bagley in the first grade during recess and letting him win ever now and then because he got mad if he lost often and he was tough when mad.
Counting eighteen alligators at one time in Lake Stella while walking to school by the haunted Baynard house, now known as Kersey's Funeral Home.
My first-grade teachers: the strict Miss Adams (Driver) and the pretty Miss Bunting. The incredible division of the students into Yellow Birds, Red Birds and Blue Birds.
Fussing with a girl named Ernestine Garner who criticized my crayon coloring in the third grade. I later double-dated her with Willie Jean Gibson when Ernestine returned several years later. I couldn’t believe that I did it!
Jimmy Harold and I having to help clean up a mess made in the cloakroom by a nutty classmate because we laughed so hard. The teacher refused to let the nutty kid go to the bathroom for the fourth time during the same class, so he used a bucket in the cloakroom. Bad scene, but funny to twelve-year-olds.
Falling in love the first time…with my fourth-grade teacher, Miss Carson. She had the longest fingernails that I had ever seen and she could snap her fingers as loud as a “cracker” could pop his cattle whip. Boy, was she pretty! Raven hair, dark eyes......wow! Back then, I wished I was older--not now, however.
My first girlfriend, Hazel Buchanan with whom I used to sit in the Park Theater and hold hands while her Ma and Pa watched from a few rows back.
Getting knocked out when I hit my head on the corner of a school ground bench while showing off for Hazel.
Otis Outlaw stabbing me with a lead pencil for messing with his girlfriend, Martha Watson in the sixth grade. I still have a black spot on my thigh.
Mrs. Durrance’s ruler used more to swat wayward hands of her students than measuring anything. Man, she was tough! They’d put her in jail now! She didn’t see Otis stab me and I wouldn’t squeal.
Being threatened by Billy Williamson for my attention to his girlfriend, Peggy Jolly. He didn’t stop me though. She was cute. So was another “older” woman on whom I had a crush; Juanita Cannon. Wow! What a cheerleader! Another fantasy love was the lovely Vernel Etheridge, Betty Ruth's older sister, freckles and all.
Competing with Jimmy Harold, Wilson Grant and others over the attention of Winona Wilson in the seventh-grade while overlooking another good choice, Maurceil King.
Being humiliated by "Old Spot" Smith sentencing me to the corner of the classroom for the duration of the math class for asking what possible good algebra would be upon graduation.
Being chastised by home-room teacher, Mrs. Corley for correcting her pronunciation of “Soviet”. Never could understand why she seemed not to appreciate my help. Maybe it was my lack of savior faire??
Regrettably, giving Miss Harley such a hard time in English class. I’ve found out that the importance she put on English grammar was and is one hundred percent right and I was a dumb-dumb for not recognizing it then.
Working twice as hard for Miss McBride in her algebra class because she was much prettier than Mr. Smith. What a nice person; Miss McBride that is….
Passing notes to my life-long friend and mentor Patsy Bolin in the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth etc. etc etc. She coached me with regard to learning about girls while I chased after Peggy Cooley in the sixth grade.
Being taught to slow dance at high school outings at Mac’s Beach by Patsy Bolin and Betty Ruth Etheridge to “Stardust” and other great tunes on the nickel Juke Box.
Being taught the correct “KT” (kissing technique) by Evelyn Traylor when I flunked “Post Office” and “Spin the Bottle”.
Being elected the captain of AHS basketball team when Bill Smith was kicked off the team for smoking.
Playing tackle beside Glenn McAllister on the football team. Coach Ed Crews had what he called an “A-Right” formation that played both tackles on the same side. Later Glenn and I doubled dated girls in Mulberry, Frostproof and Avon Park.
Blocking for Dean Brooks who was the best running back of the day. He made us linemen look good. And, when the rest of us had trouble winnings basketball games, the coach talked him into helping us there too.
Intercepting a pass and scoring my one and only touchdown in a game with Ft. Meade, a team we were supposed to beat easily, but was giving us a hard time. In my excitement, I almost stopped running at the other team’s ten-yard line; thought it was the goal line. I wondered why the fools from the other team kept chasing after me and all the Bloodhound fans were screaming at me to keep running.
Thanks to Mrs. Brantly’s organization, dancing in the gym during noon recess with Lola Jean Hindman, especially to “Blue Bird of Happiness”. We danced so hard in the old gym that were covered by sweat by the time classes restarted. Well, I sweated, she "glistened", as they say. No comment on how I smelled.
Dating Lavonne Quinn with her red hair, using Herbert Forsyth’s (the indestructible Clara Mae's husband) pink 1934 Ford which I used to deliver his customer’s dry cleaning. Lavonne had a fit when I drove up for our date in the shocking pink Ford that decidedly clashed with the color of her hair.
Vying with Leroy “Sasroy” Helms for “King of Stunt Night”. I think my younger brother Joel’s campaigning won the day for me by eliciting votes from his classmates in the lower grades.
My beautiful “Queen of Stunt Night” Louise Allred. And, not taking note that my lovely bride-to-be Mary Kate Griffin was a member of my court.
My lousy performance in the senior play; barely getting through the performance with Patsy Bolin’s off-stage coaching. My best buddy, Joe Etheridge, stole the show!
Senior “Skip Day” at Silver Springs. Watching Ross Allen milk rattlesnakes. And, wrapping an indigo black snake around my shoulders for photos. Donald Smith did it first and the snake didn't eat him, so the rest of us boys tried it.
My days spent shooting pool in Paces’s, and later, Ropiki’s poolroom on Pontotac Street and barely squeaking by “Moody” Wright and choking when I lost to Jimmy Harold for the championship.
Working in Fred Baugh’s Shoe Shop for a while alongside the wierd kid, Navarre DuBois; then soda jerking in Taylor’s, Jim’s, and Bowen’s drug stores. Later “trucking” fruit at the old Stuart’s Packing house. Still later on, watching a local packing house burn one night. Man, that was a fire! Lots of us thought it was perdition for sure.
Smoking cheap cigars in the city park after work at the All-American Store with Carroll Kirkland. Puffing the cigars while lying down made us dizzy, but then maybe we were just dizzy anyway. After work, we always went to the “midnight show” at the Park and later the Auburn Theater, wobbling down the aisle because of the effects of the nickel cigars.
Graduating from high school with nowhere to go until one of the Gatlin boys suggested I join the Navy. Max Haiflich, sister of Janell "Frog" Haiflich, decided to go along with me. Never saw him again after the swearing in! And, spending four years away from home between the ages of 17 and 21.
Returning to Auburndale after my hitch in the Navy and working for the Continental Can Company until a strike was called. Standing night picket duty during the strike with Mary Helen Little keeping me from getting too lonely.
Finally, taking a job putting tops on cans of frozen concentrate at Minute Maid for $1.00 per hour for 12-hour shifts; 7:00 P. M. to 7:00 A. M.
My miserable summer working at the Elwood Indiana Continental Can Company plant with several of the Auburndale “Can” guys, including Wesley Thompson, Henry Brown, Commer, Hughes and several others.
My visits to the Rainbow Club. Drinking beer, chasing girls, dancing and fighting out-of-town boys.
Friday, February 02, 2007
History: The Way it Really Was
The division of the human species into two distinct groups began some 12,000 years ago when humans existed as members of small bands of nomadic hunter-gatherers. They lived on game, fruit, roots and various other items available in the mountains and woods in the summer. They went to the beach and lived on fish in winter. They did not like it much, but the mastodons were hard to kill in the winter because of their thick winter coating.
The two most important events affecting the human specie in all of history were the discovery of beer and the invention of the wheel. The all-important wheel was created by man to speed up the travel to the beer. The wheel led early man to construct roads to accommodate the new mode of transportation. Some of these roads still exist in rural areas of the United States.
The discovery of ancient artifacts such as many pieces of shards the anthropologists are always digging up around ancient beer-producing ruins confirms the theory that beer distilleries were the center of social life. These shards were the remains of the primitive clay beer mugs used by early man. Early man slapping his mug down on rock tables while watching sports created the shards. The adaptation to the wheel, building roads to get to the beer distilleries and the molding of clay beer mugs, were the foundation of modern civilization and together were the catalyst for the splitting of humanity into two distinct subgroups: Liberals and Conservatives.
Once beer was discovered, it required grain, and that was the beginning of agriculture. Neither the glass bottle nor the aluminum can was invented yet and beer tended to slosh out of the clay mugs, so they did not travel far away. While our early human ancestors were sitting around waiting for bottles and cans to be invented and drinking from fragile clay pots, they just stayed close to the brewery. That’s how villages came to be.
Some men spent their days tracking and killing animals to BBQ at night while they sat in their villages drinking beer. Slurping the beer, telling of the heroic deeds of the hunt, gnawing ribs and planning the next hunt was the beginning of what became known as the "Conservative Movement".
Other men, who were weaker and less skilled at hunting, learned to live off the productivity of Conservatives by showing up for the nightly BBQ's and doing the clothes making, firewood fetching, cave cleaning, hair dressing and organization of numerous boards, committees and study groups to divide the meat among the less fortunate members of the clan and those that could not stand the sight of blood. They also invented the concept of cruelty to animals and tended to chastise Conservatives for killing the animals they were eating. They also put forth the concept that even those that did not hunt, or anything else for that matter, should share in the product of those who produced, based solely on the premise that they too were humans.
This was the beginning of the "Liberal Movement". Some of these liberal men eventually evolved into women. The rest became known as "girlie men" by definition of some latter-day politicians. Another interesting, evolutionary side note is that DNA sampling discovered that most of the liberal women have higher testosterone levels than liberal men. This is particularly true of descendents eventually migrating to the northeast United States, though the cause of this phenomenon remains a mystery to anthropologists.
Liberals can be lauded for some contributions to the development of our present-day society. Some noteworthy Liberal movement achievements include the domestication of cats, the formation of trade unions, the invention of group therapy, the concept of same-sex marriage and the democratic voting to decide how to divide up the meat and the beer that the conservatives were providing. It is inherent in the Liberals’ creed that they have the right to govern the producers and decide what to do with their production. They also believe Europeans are more enlightened than Americans. That is why they seem to worry a great deal about what the Europeans think about what we are doing in the United States, especially in the Supreme Court.
Modern Liberals learned to drink beer from the Conservatives, but they prefer imported beer, (with lime added). They also drink a lot of white wine or imported bottled water. Sometimes, those on the outer fringe of Liberals will occasionally drink “light-beer”. They will eat raw fish if bundled on top of a ball of rice and prepared in an expensive restaurant, but when it comes to eating beef, it must be well done. Imported asparagus, raw broccoli, mushrooms grown in organic manure, bean curd (if called tofu) and French food such as snails and frogs are standard liberal fare.
Not great sports fans, the Liberals nevertheless contributed to the national pastime by creating the designated hitter rule in baseball because, to them, it wasn’t fair to make the pitcher both throw the ball and have to bat too. Liberals are great enthusiasts of lacrosse, polo, lawn bowling, badminton, croquet and ballroom dancing, but they hate football, boxing, soccer, wrestling, basketball and auto racing. They will tolerate some sports, such as tennis, ice-skating, skiing and wake-boarding. You can identify most Liberals by their chosen profession. They tend to be, personal injury lawyers, journalists, dreamers in Hollywood, social workers and group therapists.
Modern Conservatives drink domestic beer (never the “light” variety) and eat red meat with potatoes. They usually display patriotic tendencies, enlist in the military during wartime, support troops who are fighting, hate flag burners and detest celebrities who go into the enemy camp and disparage prisoners and other military personnel. They don’t believe in same-sex marriages and usually believe it is okay to display the Ten Commandants as long as the people who put them up don’t push religion too hard. Big-game hunters, rodeo cowboys, lumberjacks, construction workers, medical doctors, police officers, corporate executives, soldiers, most athletes and generally everybody who works outside of government are usually conservatives.
Conservatives who own companies like to employ other conservatives who want to work for a living, but sometimes hire liberals to fill non-productive positions to attract the money of other Liberals and to meet certain government targets established by the Liberals.
There are far more Conservatives in the United States than Liberals, but it is also true that the Liberals can make more noise, publish more rhetoric and produce more documentaries. It is a well-known fact that Hollywood, CA houses a veritable nest of Liberals. The Liberal appeal to the downtrodden, the poor, the lazy, and people with the physical affliction of a hand frozen in an outstretched position for a handout is appealing to the Liberals as long as the appealers don't come to close; certainly not live in the same locale.
Many history books fail to depict the true history of this great United States of America. This is because the history books are mostly written by Liberal academics whose main goal in life is to generate a continuing supply of Liberals by indoctrination of young students. But, somehow, the supply of Conservatives continues to survive, probably because some parents still deem it a part of parentage to teach their offspring the value of hard work, honesty, cherished traditions, God, country and family.
The two most important events affecting the human specie in all of history were the discovery of beer and the invention of the wheel. The all-important wheel was created by man to speed up the travel to the beer. The wheel led early man to construct roads to accommodate the new mode of transportation. Some of these roads still exist in rural areas of the United States.
The discovery of ancient artifacts such as many pieces of shards the anthropologists are always digging up around ancient beer-producing ruins confirms the theory that beer distilleries were the center of social life. These shards were the remains of the primitive clay beer mugs used by early man. Early man slapping his mug down on rock tables while watching sports created the shards. The adaptation to the wheel, building roads to get to the beer distilleries and the molding of clay beer mugs, were the foundation of modern civilization and together were the catalyst for the splitting of humanity into two distinct subgroups: Liberals and Conservatives.
Once beer was discovered, it required grain, and that was the beginning of agriculture. Neither the glass bottle nor the aluminum can was invented yet and beer tended to slosh out of the clay mugs, so they did not travel far away. While our early human ancestors were sitting around waiting for bottles and cans to be invented and drinking from fragile clay pots, they just stayed close to the brewery. That’s how villages came to be.
Some men spent their days tracking and killing animals to BBQ at night while they sat in their villages drinking beer. Slurping the beer, telling of the heroic deeds of the hunt, gnawing ribs and planning the next hunt was the beginning of what became known as the "Conservative Movement".
Other men, who were weaker and less skilled at hunting, learned to live off the productivity of Conservatives by showing up for the nightly BBQ's and doing the clothes making, firewood fetching, cave cleaning, hair dressing and organization of numerous boards, committees and study groups to divide the meat among the less fortunate members of the clan and those that could not stand the sight of blood. They also invented the concept of cruelty to animals and tended to chastise Conservatives for killing the animals they were eating. They also put forth the concept that even those that did not hunt, or anything else for that matter, should share in the product of those who produced, based solely on the premise that they too were humans.
This was the beginning of the "Liberal Movement". Some of these liberal men eventually evolved into women. The rest became known as "girlie men" by definition of some latter-day politicians. Another interesting, evolutionary side note is that DNA sampling discovered that most of the liberal women have higher testosterone levels than liberal men. This is particularly true of descendents eventually migrating to the northeast United States, though the cause of this phenomenon remains a mystery to anthropologists.
Liberals can be lauded for some contributions to the development of our present-day society. Some noteworthy Liberal movement achievements include the domestication of cats, the formation of trade unions, the invention of group therapy, the concept of same-sex marriage and the democratic voting to decide how to divide up the meat and the beer that the conservatives were providing. It is inherent in the Liberals’ creed that they have the right to govern the producers and decide what to do with their production. They also believe Europeans are more enlightened than Americans. That is why they seem to worry a great deal about what the Europeans think about what we are doing in the United States, especially in the Supreme Court.
Modern Liberals learned to drink beer from the Conservatives, but they prefer imported beer, (with lime added). They also drink a lot of white wine or imported bottled water. Sometimes, those on the outer fringe of Liberals will occasionally drink “light-beer”. They will eat raw fish if bundled on top of a ball of rice and prepared in an expensive restaurant, but when it comes to eating beef, it must be well done. Imported asparagus, raw broccoli, mushrooms grown in organic manure, bean curd (if called tofu) and French food such as snails and frogs are standard liberal fare.
Not great sports fans, the Liberals nevertheless contributed to the national pastime by creating the designated hitter rule in baseball because, to them, it wasn’t fair to make the pitcher both throw the ball and have to bat too. Liberals are great enthusiasts of lacrosse, polo, lawn bowling, badminton, croquet and ballroom dancing, but they hate football, boxing, soccer, wrestling, basketball and auto racing. They will tolerate some sports, such as tennis, ice-skating, skiing and wake-boarding. You can identify most Liberals by their chosen profession. They tend to be, personal injury lawyers, journalists, dreamers in Hollywood, social workers and group therapists.
Modern Conservatives drink domestic beer (never the “light” variety) and eat red meat with potatoes. They usually display patriotic tendencies, enlist in the military during wartime, support troops who are fighting, hate flag burners and detest celebrities who go into the enemy camp and disparage prisoners and other military personnel. They don’t believe in same-sex marriages and usually believe it is okay to display the Ten Commandants as long as the people who put them up don’t push religion too hard. Big-game hunters, rodeo cowboys, lumberjacks, construction workers, medical doctors, police officers, corporate executives, soldiers, most athletes and generally everybody who works outside of government are usually conservatives.
Conservatives who own companies like to employ other conservatives who want to work for a living, but sometimes hire liberals to fill non-productive positions to attract the money of other Liberals and to meet certain government targets established by the Liberals.
There are far more Conservatives in the United States than Liberals, but it is also true that the Liberals can make more noise, publish more rhetoric and produce more documentaries. It is a well-known fact that Hollywood, CA houses a veritable nest of Liberals. The Liberal appeal to the downtrodden, the poor, the lazy, and people with the physical affliction of a hand frozen in an outstretched position for a handout is appealing to the Liberals as long as the appealers don't come to close; certainly not live in the same locale.
Many history books fail to depict the true history of this great United States of America. This is because the history books are mostly written by Liberal academics whose main goal in life is to generate a continuing supply of Liberals by indoctrination of young students. But, somehow, the supply of Conservatives continues to survive, probably because some parents still deem it a part of parentage to teach their offspring the value of hard work, honesty, cherished traditions, God, country and family.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Country Boy Travels-Borneo
Country Boy’s Travel Tips
Borneo, the home of P. T. Barnum’s “wild man of the jungle,” mysterious head-hunters, the Phantom-that-never-dies, and the richest man in the world.
The “wild man of the jungle” of Barnum’s Greatest Show on Earth was an “orangutan”. “Orangu” mans “jungle” and “tan” means man, so Mr. Barnum used little imagination when he plastered this sobriquet on the poor caged animal. Anyway, the orangutan is a kind of ape that looks more like a person than chimpanzees and gorillas and often acts with more sense.
The Borneo orangutans used to come out of the jungle and attend local dances, but the village boys didn’t like that much, so they told Barnum that he could have all of them if he wanted. Just fooling; orangutans could dance, but they didn’t know the modern styles so the girls just laughed and made fun of them. That’s why they have such a doleful look on their faces, which by the way may account for them having a strong resemblance to Country Boy’s uncle Ezekial Hammertong who lives in Cottonpick, Alabama. Uncle Hammertong was a bit hairy, with long arms, walked with a stoop, and never did fare well at dances.
Now, a word about the mysterious head-hunters of Borneo. They are mysterious because it is a mystery why anyone would want to fool around with them at all, much less inquire about their hobby of collecting heads. They don’t shrink the heads they lop off their enemies, who by all accounts may be anyone with a head that would look nice hanging in the hunters long-house. Their cousins in Africa and down in South America figured out a way to shrink the heads and put them on key chains so as to cater to tourists that don’t have a whole lot of room in the luggage for souvenirs. But, the head-hunters of Borneo don’t bother to shrink them; they just skin them, hang them up, and brag.
The island of Borneo is divided up into a Sultanate, called Brunei, two “states” belonging to Malaysia and a large section called Kalimantan which is claimed by Indonesia. It was from this latter section that the head-hunters mainly collected their trophies.
Some of you not-as-young-as-you-once-were readers may remember the Phantom who was featured in a comic strip in many newspapers in years past. He was a bona fide do-good-combat-evil sort of fellow who wore purple body tights, sported a Lone Ranger type of mask and carried two humoungus .45 Colt automatics which he needed because everyone tended to laugh and point their fingers at his purple tights until he waved the .45s around. He often rode a great white horse bareback and walked funny because riding without a saddle made his rump sore all the time.
The legend got started when the King of Malaysia awarded a foreigner a sultanship for as long as he lived. So the foreigner devised a scheme to keep the title forever by donning his purple tights and mask; adopting the name Phantom-Who-Never-Dies, and when he got too old, dressing his son in the same purple tights and mask thereby maintaining the legend that the Phantom never dies.
The richest man in the world is the Sultan of Brunei which sits on top of a humoungus oil supply. The Sultan pays for all welfare of his subjects so there are no taxes for them to pay, all government services are free, and all his subjects live happily ever after. He is so rich that the members of the United Nations go out their way to keep him happy so that he doesn’t buy the whole organization and auction it off.
Now that you have a little history and culture of Borneo, you are ready for travel tips. When you are ready to visit Borneo, start in Brunei and see how a country is run by someone richer that a dozen Bill Gates. All government services are free to the citizens of Brunei and everything is really clean and spiffy. Remember though, Brunei is a Muslim country so you need to be careful not to offend locals by ignoring Muslim traditions which include bearing your feet and covering your head when visiting their places of worship. They worship in really ornate buildings called mosques. If you mess up there, you may be tied to a stake so the locals can chunk rocks at you. Since the mosques are open on all sides which allows bugs to enter, Country Boy supposes that the name for the little buzzing bugs that bite are called “mosquetoes”.
Next, you should visit the Malaysian state of Sabah where you can look for the Phantom or buy souvenir purple body tights to raise the envy of your neighbors back home. The urge to be the only guy in the neighborhood with purple tights and Lone Ranger mask is overwhelming. That’s why they sell so many of these things. Of course, you cannot bring back a white horse or twin .45s, but that’s just as well, as walking funny back in the old neighborhood wearing purple tights might give your neighbors the wrong idea. And if you were wearing .45s someone would haul out the old 30 ought 30.
The next place to visit is the Malaysian state of Sarawak where you will find nice beaches, great bargains in the open-air markets and some real exotic food. The piece de resistance (which means in French, “even if it sounds or looks disgusting, eat it anyway.”) is a local soup made from home grown veggies, fertilized by carabao pooh and which contains two varieties of worms; a large white one with a black head, which is particularly succulent, and the bamboo worm that you must extract from its home in a bamboo shoot cooked in the soup.
Don’t expect to find anything from a hog though, as the Muslims shun pork of any kind. The Koran, which is a lot like the Old Testament in the bible, warns against eating pork, but doesn’t say anything about eating worms.
If you like spicy food, you can get some homegrown black pepper, except that it isn’t black, it’s white. The locals don’t care for the black part of the peppercorn; they use the outer white portion, just the opposite of what those “strange folk do in Europe and America.”
Another interesting thing is that it is bad manners to point with your index finger (or your middle finger, for that matter). You are supposed to point with your thumb.
Next on your itinerary is what you came for in the first place, a visit to the headhunters of Borneo. The trek into the deep jungles where they live is accomplished by riding in narrow dug-out canoes poled, dragged and sometimes carried by two natives. If you are concerned that they may be headhunters, ask them for their identification cards. They will show you an embossed card clearly stating that “The bearer of this official identification card is not presently a head-hunter of Borneo. The skull hanging from his neck was purchased from a real head-hunter”.
The river on which the hollowed-out tree trunk starts is fairly big and fairly deep, but soon becomes a small shallow stream. You may have to get out of the boat and wade every now and then. If you pick up a leach or two, don’t worry as this is a recognized treatment for certain blood diseases, and they won’t suck out enough blood to really matter anyway. Save the ones you unstick from your legs though, as the natives use them to add flavor to their soups. (Just kidding, folks, they use them in their blowguns when they only want to stun small prey. So, if you see a native with a big black blob on his tongue, you know that he didn’t blow before the leach latched onto his tongue. Their traditional lore states plainly, “If a leach latches onto your tongue before you can blow it out of your blowgun, don’t mess with it.”)
On arrival at the heat-hunter’s village, you will be ushered to a special foreigner house which resembles the natives’ “long house” except that your long house is really short. You will be assigned a pallet, a mosquito net and a flashlight in case the generator fails, which it will surely do. Your meals will be cooked in your short house, but you are advised not to look on the process too closely and never, never ask, “What in the world is this in my soup?” To do so, in a headhunter’s village is really risky! After settling in, you will be invited to review the collection of skulls the warriors have accumulated over time. Then; you may be given the opportunity of taking target practice with a poison-dart blowgun. Be careful that you put the dart with the sharp end pointing away from you so it doesn’t end up on your tongue, and don’t aim it toward any of your fellow travelers. Even though the natives would be quite happy to salvage the head of a tourist, it isn’t considered good form in headhunter circles to end up the journey with fewer tourists than when started.
In the evening you may visit the village long-house. It’s called “long-house” because it is long. Each time a bride and groom join the clan, they just add a room or two on the end of the existing structure. So over time, it becomes long, so they call it a “long-house”. Country Boy does not know if in the beginning, they call it a “short-house”.
After a couple of days and nights (Nights are particularly interesting as the beasts of the jungle prowl around making all kinds of noises and all you have between you and them is a mosquito net.) you are ready for return to civilization. The two native guides, or their substitutes if either of them has contributed to the collection of skulls, will round up all the touristers, count noses to see if as many are ready to return as started out. If there is a shortage of noses, they will change the number that they recorded at the outset of the trip so that they can account for everyone when they check in with their supervisors back where they started. It is a good idea to make sure that the guides record the number of tourists in ink at the outset because it harder for them to change the count.
If these tips don’t stir your blood to book for a trip to Borneo today, you may be among the tourists who really do not care to parade around your neighborhood in souvenir purple tights, mess up Muslim tradition, eat worms and white pepper, pick leaches, point with your thumb or contribute to headhunters trophy collection,. If so, keep reading Country Boy’s Travel Tips for other travel and culinary delights.
Borneo, the home of P. T. Barnum’s “wild man of the jungle,” mysterious head-hunters, the Phantom-that-never-dies, and the richest man in the world.
The “wild man of the jungle” of Barnum’s Greatest Show on Earth was an “orangutan”. “Orangu” mans “jungle” and “tan” means man, so Mr. Barnum used little imagination when he plastered this sobriquet on the poor caged animal. Anyway, the orangutan is a kind of ape that looks more like a person than chimpanzees and gorillas and often acts with more sense.
The Borneo orangutans used to come out of the jungle and attend local dances, but the village boys didn’t like that much, so they told Barnum that he could have all of them if he wanted. Just fooling; orangutans could dance, but they didn’t know the modern styles so the girls just laughed and made fun of them. That’s why they have such a doleful look on their faces, which by the way may account for them having a strong resemblance to Country Boy’s uncle Ezekial Hammertong who lives in Cottonpick, Alabama. Uncle Hammertong was a bit hairy, with long arms, walked with a stoop, and never did fare well at dances.
Now, a word about the mysterious head-hunters of Borneo. They are mysterious because it is a mystery why anyone would want to fool around with them at all, much less inquire about their hobby of collecting heads. They don’t shrink the heads they lop off their enemies, who by all accounts may be anyone with a head that would look nice hanging in the hunters long-house. Their cousins in Africa and down in South America figured out a way to shrink the heads and put them on key chains so as to cater to tourists that don’t have a whole lot of room in the luggage for souvenirs. But, the head-hunters of Borneo don’t bother to shrink them; they just skin them, hang them up, and brag.
The island of Borneo is divided up into a Sultanate, called Brunei, two “states” belonging to Malaysia and a large section called Kalimantan which is claimed by Indonesia. It was from this latter section that the head-hunters mainly collected their trophies.
Some of you not-as-young-as-you-once-were readers may remember the Phantom who was featured in a comic strip in many newspapers in years past. He was a bona fide do-good-combat-evil sort of fellow who wore purple body tights, sported a Lone Ranger type of mask and carried two humoungus .45 Colt automatics which he needed because everyone tended to laugh and point their fingers at his purple tights until he waved the .45s around. He often rode a great white horse bareback and walked funny because riding without a saddle made his rump sore all the time.
The legend got started when the King of Malaysia awarded a foreigner a sultanship for as long as he lived. So the foreigner devised a scheme to keep the title forever by donning his purple tights and mask; adopting the name Phantom-Who-Never-Dies, and when he got too old, dressing his son in the same purple tights and mask thereby maintaining the legend that the Phantom never dies.
The richest man in the world is the Sultan of Brunei which sits on top of a humoungus oil supply. The Sultan pays for all welfare of his subjects so there are no taxes for them to pay, all government services are free, and all his subjects live happily ever after. He is so rich that the members of the United Nations go out their way to keep him happy so that he doesn’t buy the whole organization and auction it off.
Now that you have a little history and culture of Borneo, you are ready for travel tips. When you are ready to visit Borneo, start in Brunei and see how a country is run by someone richer that a dozen Bill Gates. All government services are free to the citizens of Brunei and everything is really clean and spiffy. Remember though, Brunei is a Muslim country so you need to be careful not to offend locals by ignoring Muslim traditions which include bearing your feet and covering your head when visiting their places of worship. They worship in really ornate buildings called mosques. If you mess up there, you may be tied to a stake so the locals can chunk rocks at you. Since the mosques are open on all sides which allows bugs to enter, Country Boy supposes that the name for the little buzzing bugs that bite are called “mosquetoes”.
Next, you should visit the Malaysian state of Sabah where you can look for the Phantom or buy souvenir purple body tights to raise the envy of your neighbors back home. The urge to be the only guy in the neighborhood with purple tights and Lone Ranger mask is overwhelming. That’s why they sell so many of these things. Of course, you cannot bring back a white horse or twin .45s, but that’s just as well, as walking funny back in the old neighborhood wearing purple tights might give your neighbors the wrong idea. And if you were wearing .45s someone would haul out the old 30 ought 30.
The next place to visit is the Malaysian state of Sarawak where you will find nice beaches, great bargains in the open-air markets and some real exotic food. The piece de resistance (which means in French, “even if it sounds or looks disgusting, eat it anyway.”) is a local soup made from home grown veggies, fertilized by carabao pooh and which contains two varieties of worms; a large white one with a black head, which is particularly succulent, and the bamboo worm that you must extract from its home in a bamboo shoot cooked in the soup.
Don’t expect to find anything from a hog though, as the Muslims shun pork of any kind. The Koran, which is a lot like the Old Testament in the bible, warns against eating pork, but doesn’t say anything about eating worms.
If you like spicy food, you can get some homegrown black pepper, except that it isn’t black, it’s white. The locals don’t care for the black part of the peppercorn; they use the outer white portion, just the opposite of what those “strange folk do in Europe and America.”
Another interesting thing is that it is bad manners to point with your index finger (or your middle finger, for that matter). You are supposed to point with your thumb.
Next on your itinerary is what you came for in the first place, a visit to the headhunters of Borneo. The trek into the deep jungles where they live is accomplished by riding in narrow dug-out canoes poled, dragged and sometimes carried by two natives. If you are concerned that they may be headhunters, ask them for their identification cards. They will show you an embossed card clearly stating that “The bearer of this official identification card is not presently a head-hunter of Borneo. The skull hanging from his neck was purchased from a real head-hunter”.
The river on which the hollowed-out tree trunk starts is fairly big and fairly deep, but soon becomes a small shallow stream. You may have to get out of the boat and wade every now and then. If you pick up a leach or two, don’t worry as this is a recognized treatment for certain blood diseases, and they won’t suck out enough blood to really matter anyway. Save the ones you unstick from your legs though, as the natives use them to add flavor to their soups. (Just kidding, folks, they use them in their blowguns when they only want to stun small prey. So, if you see a native with a big black blob on his tongue, you know that he didn’t blow before the leach latched onto his tongue. Their traditional lore states plainly, “If a leach latches onto your tongue before you can blow it out of your blowgun, don’t mess with it.”)
On arrival at the heat-hunter’s village, you will be ushered to a special foreigner house which resembles the natives’ “long house” except that your long house is really short. You will be assigned a pallet, a mosquito net and a flashlight in case the generator fails, which it will surely do. Your meals will be cooked in your short house, but you are advised not to look on the process too closely and never, never ask, “What in the world is this in my soup?” To do so, in a headhunter’s village is really risky! After settling in, you will be invited to review the collection of skulls the warriors have accumulated over time. Then; you may be given the opportunity of taking target practice with a poison-dart blowgun. Be careful that you put the dart with the sharp end pointing away from you so it doesn’t end up on your tongue, and don’t aim it toward any of your fellow travelers. Even though the natives would be quite happy to salvage the head of a tourist, it isn’t considered good form in headhunter circles to end up the journey with fewer tourists than when started.
In the evening you may visit the village long-house. It’s called “long-house” because it is long. Each time a bride and groom join the clan, they just add a room or two on the end of the existing structure. So over time, it becomes long, so they call it a “long-house”. Country Boy does not know if in the beginning, they call it a “short-house”.
After a couple of days and nights (Nights are particularly interesting as the beasts of the jungle prowl around making all kinds of noises and all you have between you and them is a mosquito net.) you are ready for return to civilization. The two native guides, or their substitutes if either of them has contributed to the collection of skulls, will round up all the touristers, count noses to see if as many are ready to return as started out. If there is a shortage of noses, they will change the number that they recorded at the outset of the trip so that they can account for everyone when they check in with their supervisors back where they started. It is a good idea to make sure that the guides record the number of tourists in ink at the outset because it harder for them to change the count.
If these tips don’t stir your blood to book for a trip to Borneo today, you may be among the tourists who really do not care to parade around your neighborhood in souvenir purple tights, mess up Muslim tradition, eat worms and white pepper, pick leaches, point with your thumb or contribute to headhunters trophy collection,. If so, keep reading Country Boy’s Travel Tips for other travel and culinary delights.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
My Thoughts on Conscience
Conscience is an amorphous concept. How can one define what this strange and personal notion really is? Some describe one's conscience as the state of knowing right from wrong, but from whence does this understanding come? And, right or wrong in what circumstances? Slaying a hated neighbor or killing our country's enemies? Condemning a convicted killer to the death penalty? Euthanasia? Abortion to save a mother? Spying on a neighbor or foriegn entity? Assassination of an enemy of State? Where do ethics and morals fit in, and what is the difference, if any?
Apparently, some people (sociopaths) have no conscience at all judging by the injuries they inflict on other members of their society. Sometimes people override the dictates of their conscience for a just and urgent cause, other times to draw attention to themselves, or to satisfy an a hedonistic urge. Still another common reason for conscience-override is greed. People who have no conscience that reflects the generally accepted behavior of the societal community in which they live must be controlled by the fear of consequence: laws, ostracism, retaliation, etc.
In the Judeo-Christian society, conscience guidelines are based primarily on the Ten Commandments. But, if that were the only source, practically everyone within this community of thought would have a conscience with similar values. Enviornmental influences such as sectarian and ethnic cultural mores also plays a part in the establishment of a conscience.
Societal groups that rely on sources other than the Ten Commandments, Japan for example, might accept the caveat agains stealing, but eschew the commandment on lying. In a small crowded country stuch as Japan, stealing is an unforgivable violation of conscience, but telling lies is a part of the daily culture. The maintenance of harmony is so important that lying to preserve equaniminity is justifiable and acceptable.
In the American Indian culture, stealing from another tribe was once considered a badge of honor, but stealing within the tribe was unacceptable. In many African cultures stealing from those richer than the thief is considered okay and lying to achieve the theft is acceptable also. Some customs in Europe hold the concept of "noblesse oblige" which requires persons of royal blood render benevolence to others of common heritage as a matter of conscience. Chinese tradition respects the concept of quong xi, which demands that a favor be repaid, a concept found in Latin countries expressed as quid pro quo.
In other cultures, Islam for example, the value of mortality itself is so low that sacrificing life on earth is believed to transport the departed person to paradise. Christian culture encompasses the belief that a deceased person's soul, if "saved", may be lifted to heaven, but the deliberate ending of a life is to achieve that end is considered unconscienable. But, how about ending the existence by withholding life support from a person whose quality of life is near zero? A case in point is the divisive viewpoint over the care, feeding and death of Terri Shiavo. Another is the refusal of Pope John Paul to allow extraordinary measures to prolong his inevitable end. The salient point in the previous examples is simply that the values of conscience are governed by many sources, not the least of which is the parent figure's beliefs.
Conscience is a learned faculty that must be taught and must be chrystlized in a child's mind by a persons of authority acting in the parental role. If conscience is not implanted by the time a child reaches school age, it is probably too late. So, schoolteachers, law enforcement personnel and while other surrogate persons can control behavior to some extent, they cannot instill conscience. The instillation of conscience in young people is a terribly important task of parents or other parent-figures. Wanton disregard for the values of the society in which a person with no conscience lives is the enevitable consequence. And while fear of consequence may provide some control, sooner or later a person with no conscience will violate the accepted rules of conduct within that societal group. Prisons around the world validate this premise.
Apparently, some people (sociopaths) have no conscience at all judging by the injuries they inflict on other members of their society. Sometimes people override the dictates of their conscience for a just and urgent cause, other times to draw attention to themselves, or to satisfy an a hedonistic urge. Still another common reason for conscience-override is greed. People who have no conscience that reflects the generally accepted behavior of the societal community in which they live must be controlled by the fear of consequence: laws, ostracism, retaliation, etc.
In the Judeo-Christian society, conscience guidelines are based primarily on the Ten Commandments. But, if that were the only source, practically everyone within this community of thought would have a conscience with similar values. Enviornmental influences such as sectarian and ethnic cultural mores also plays a part in the establishment of a conscience.
Societal groups that rely on sources other than the Ten Commandments, Japan for example, might accept the caveat agains stealing, but eschew the commandment on lying. In a small crowded country stuch as Japan, stealing is an unforgivable violation of conscience, but telling lies is a part of the daily culture. The maintenance of harmony is so important that lying to preserve equaniminity is justifiable and acceptable.
In the American Indian culture, stealing from another tribe was once considered a badge of honor, but stealing within the tribe was unacceptable. In many African cultures stealing from those richer than the thief is considered okay and lying to achieve the theft is acceptable also. Some customs in Europe hold the concept of "noblesse oblige" which requires persons of royal blood render benevolence to others of common heritage as a matter of conscience. Chinese tradition respects the concept of quong xi, which demands that a favor be repaid, a concept found in Latin countries expressed as quid pro quo.
In other cultures, Islam for example, the value of mortality itself is so low that sacrificing life on earth is believed to transport the departed person to paradise. Christian culture encompasses the belief that a deceased person's soul, if "saved", may be lifted to heaven, but the deliberate ending of a life is to achieve that end is considered unconscienable. But, how about ending the existence by withholding life support from a person whose quality of life is near zero? A case in point is the divisive viewpoint over the care, feeding and death of Terri Shiavo. Another is the refusal of Pope John Paul to allow extraordinary measures to prolong his inevitable end. The salient point in the previous examples is simply that the values of conscience are governed by many sources, not the least of which is the parent figure's beliefs.
Conscience is a learned faculty that must be taught and must be chrystlized in a child's mind by a persons of authority acting in the parental role. If conscience is not implanted by the time a child reaches school age, it is probably too late. So, schoolteachers, law enforcement personnel and while other surrogate persons can control behavior to some extent, they cannot instill conscience. The instillation of conscience in young people is a terribly important task of parents or other parent-figures. Wanton disregard for the values of the society in which a person with no conscience lives is the enevitable consequence. And while fear of consequence may provide some control, sooner or later a person with no conscience will violate the accepted rules of conduct within that societal group. Prisons around the world validate this premise.
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