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"Xtreme"
Chapter six of a novel
by Claude Hall
She told Zeus McRae that her phone was tapped and
stood there as the expression of his face grew quickly
full of crevices he couldn't hide while she tried
desperately to keep her own face from becoming a
mirror of her thoughts.
"Your phone is probably tapped, too," she added.
He fumbled for his pipe with his right hand, his left
on the phone because she'd evidently caught him just
as he was trying to call someone. He couldn't find
his pipe by groping and had to look down, taking his
eyes off her. Once he found his pipe, he became
immediately engrossed in the process of trying to open
his tobacco canister. For some reason, the lid was
stuck. But he finally managed to get it opened and
began packing his pipe. If she ever had her own
business, she had determined never to hire a man who
smoked a pipe; they wasted too much time.
After his pipe got lit and smoke began billowing, he
managed to look at her again.
"How do you know?"
"Someone told me," she said.
"How would they know? One must be precise about these
things. Otherwise, it could merely be a rumor."
"I didn't ask. I think my phone has been tapped for
several weeks."
"Who was the person that told you?" he insisted.
"I'm not at liberty to say."
"I'm the publisher of this publication and I demand to
know everything."
"Sorry," she said. "I said I would keep it
confidential and I will. Anyway, I thought you were
the one who did it."
"Me?" He acted as if the idea was astonishing.
"That's the idea that I had. Now, I realize something
else is up. Remember that phone crew here the other
day? Were they really from Pac Bell or were they FBI?
Interesting, huh? In fact, absolutely fascinating!"
"Absurd," Zeus said. "Just phone company equipment."
"No, it's not. I hear clicks. It's some kind of
device or some person on another phone hanging up. I
just know it. Maybe it's a tape device shutting off.
Hard to say. But it's something."
He puffed on his pipe.
"I would seriously doubt that you are correct," he
said, "but just how long do you think this has been
going on?"
"That's a good question," she said. "Weeks in my
case. Your case? Quien sabe?"
She threw the Mexican words in just for kicks, but
wondered if he knew the meaning.
"I see," he said.
"Well, aren't you going to do something about it?"
He countered with a another question. "Do you have
any suggestions?"
"Call the phone company, of course. If they don't
know anything about it, then it's the FBI. Wow!"
"Yes. That's a good idea, I'm sure," he said. But he
gave no indication of reaching for the phone.
"Well, I just thought you ought to know," she said.
"Yes, of course," he said.
It was sort of a lie about the clicks although
sometimes she did hear a tiny little click over the
phone when she was hanging up. As for the rest, she'd
phoned Nails from her car and told her to tell her
that instant that her phones were tapped. So that
part wasn't a lie; someone had actually told her the
information and that someone was Nails. On command,
of course. But Zeus didn't know that. She figured
that he was probably pretty upset at the moment.
Good!
Her father had taught her this modus operandi. When
in doubt, attack. Years and years ago, her father had
read "The Book of Five Rings" by a Japanese samurai
and it became like a bible to him. It was a book
about tactics and strategy. Bit ancient. But perhaps
still useful.
She stood there for a moment in Zeus' office. She had
thought she would enjoy this particular moment, but
she did not. He hid in his cloud of smoke, staring at
the Hollywood Hills out his window. She almost felt
sorry for the man. Then she reminded herself of what
Zeus had done to keep Stan Gortikov from getting a
record company job. She'd been in Zeus' office that
day when the phone rang; someone on the other end was
seeking a recommendation about Stan who was under
consideration for president of a record label. Zeus,
with the kindest tone in his voice said that, indeed,
Stan was a good man and absolutely great as a
commander-in-chief in the record business but "it's a
pity that he has that other problem and, no, I'd
rather not discuss it. After all, it's his personal
business." Stan, then president of the Recording
Industry Association of America, was making a decent
salary, but not the salary that he would have received
as president, once again, of a record company. And,
needless to say, he didn't get the record company job.
Another time, a Songdust staff member called Charles
something, head of the chart department, left to take
a job in country music at Capitol Records. After a
while, he lost the job. Zeus got a big laugh out of
the man's misery and remarked to her that Charles was
now going to have to sell his house.
Zeus seemed to take pleasure in the pain of others and
willing to help increase their misery if he could.
After a while, when Zeus remained staring out his
window, she turned and went to her office and made a
couple of phone calls on a feature story for a coming
issue. Trade journalism is somewhat different from
ordinary news journalism in that you avoid making
enemies if possible. You might know that Joe Smith
took payola when he was a Boston disc jockey, but you
didn't let that influence your interview--nor would it
be mentioned--when you were interviewing him as
president of Elektra Records. In fact, she had the
actual books of the 1960 "Hearing Before a
Subcommittee of the Committee on Interstate and
Foreign Commerce House of Representatives" which were,
of course, the so-called payola investigations. Joe's
deal with Co-ed Records was to receive two cents for
every record sold in Boston.
In truth, Joe Smith was one of the nicest people in
the record business and he was always available to
work on charity projects or emcee music industry
functions. He was funny and he was good. Except for
his Boston past, she'd never heard one bad thing about
Joe Smith. And in those days, a disc jockey only
received a little more than $100 a week in pay and
payola was more or less taken for granted by the radio
station owners. This was especially so among the
radio stations that broadcast r&b music; a black radio
personality really had to hustle in order to stay
alive. The Magnificent Montague, who coined the term
"Burn, Baby, Burn" which was used as a battle cry by
kids when they burnt down the Watts area of Los
Angeles on a frustrated rampage, once served as a
promotion person for beer, bread, and even chewing gum
during his career. Montague always claimed that the
reason blacks in Houston drank Budweiser is because he
was the local spokesperson and visited countless mom
and pop grocery stores in ghetto areas.
Another factor about trade journalism is that you
built heroes. A lot of her success was that she wrote
stories about radio people in some of the smaller
markets of the United States and they still remembered
her quite well when they got to markets the size of
Dallas and Denver.
She had been hired by Songdust because she was a
hardcore journalist. At the time, the magazine's
staff consisted of a guy named Aaron Sternman who was
dynamic, a good writer, and a skier and Mike Most, who
knew Broadway better than even those who produced and
directed its myriad activities. A few months later,
the magazine moved its headquarters to Los Angeles
because of the booming record business on the west
coast and then Mike Most fell out of a window back in
Manhattan and she'd always wondered why. And Aaron
Sternman had gone skiing in Switzerland and decided
not to come back. And then the magazine had hired its
token dopehead and its token gay. Not that she cared;
these factors had no influence on her position or work
on the magazine. However, she found it she
increasingly difficult to talk to anyone on the
Songdust staff, including the fairly pleasant guy who
was now head of the record charts and who, of course,
had to be in cahoots with Zeus on payola.
One reason why she'd been successful as radio-TV
editor of Songdust is that she possessed an almost
feverish passion to know everything. This had been
taught to her in countless journalism classes at The
University of Texas by professors such as Dewitt
Reddick and Norris G. Davis. And she wanted to know
the actual truth of each and every situation; truth
often conflicted with belief and opinion.
When Rick Sklar told her that Mel Leeds operated an
art gallery in Manhattan and if you worked for Leeds
at the old WMGM, you were expected to purchase a
painting, she merely smiled slightly until she
actually saw a painting one day at Sklar's apartment.
The painting's price tag was $1,000. But, naturally,
that was a small price when you considered you got to
keep your job.
So, she knew more than she told. Big deal! Anyway,
you couldn't write about everything you knew. Some
information, such as that about Leeds and Smith and
Tom Clay when he was a leading disc jockey in Detroit
were background, the seven tenths of Ernest
Hemingway's "iceberg" that helped you write other
things about the industry.
The phone kept ringing. She would write a few lines
and answer the phone, write a few more lines and
answer the phone again. Gary Stevens, Dan McKinnon
who owned KSON in San Diego, Houston radio personality
Paul Berlin, Arnie Ginsburg, Pat O'Day in Seattle,
Johnny Holliday in Washington, Dean Tyler in
Philadelphia, James Gabbert of K101 in San
Francisco...she answered as many phone calls as she
could and Tammy took "leave words" on the rest. Her
morning flew past.
About noon, Bill Ferguson phoned and told her that
since she didn't have a lunch date and since she
needed to get a fresh breath of air he would meet her
at the Hamburger Hamlet just down the street from her
office "because I like the onion soup there."
"I can't meet you for lunch because your mother
doesn't like me," she told him.
"She doesn't like onion soup either," he said. "Be
there in fifteen minutes."
"And I don't like men ordering me around."
"Neither do I," he said, "and I wouldn't do it with
you except that I have something important to tell you
and I can't tell you about it over the telephone."
"Not about poor Dabney Stone, I hope."
"Not about Dabney Stone, whoever he is."
So, she locked her office and told Tammy that she was
heading out to lunch and asked about Zeus, but Tammy
said he'd left the office a long time ago and hadn't
come back yet and she didn't know where he'd gone.
That suited Susan; she didn't feel like facing those
bushy eyebrows again just now. She wondered where
he'd gone.
The weather had turned suddenly cool in this part of
Los Angeles. Coastal clouds had moved in across Santa
Monica to the west and flung themselves against the
Hollywood Hills. She could feel a thin mist against
her face as she walked, but the coolness was pleasant.
She'd forgotten her habitual cap and her hair was
getting all curly and probably flying about her head
as she walked. But her hair didn't really matter
because she wasn't really interested in Bill Ferguson.
Oh, he was okay, she guessed.
There are hamburgers and then there are hamburgers.
Cassels, where you stand in line and select a number
from a sign on the wall, of course, topped the list.
But if you're in a hurry in Los Angeles and you want
to sit down and "dine," the Hamburger Hamlet is one of
the better places. She found Bill already ensconced
in a booth far to the left. That is, he was watching
for her and waved to attract her attention as soon as
she entered the restaurant because she probably
wouldn't have noticed him almost hidden away.
He stood up to greet her.
"You look exceptionally pretty today," he said.
"I do not and let's not get into that stuffy
nonsense," she said immediately because she knew her
hair probably resembled a Texas tumbleweed at the
moment.
"It is not nonsense."
"Anyway, we've already established your unusual level
of veracity, which is nil, and you've confessed to
lying. I don't trust liars. If you can't believe one
word they say, then how can you believe anything they
say?"
"Maybe I have a tendency to tell the truth in certain
situations," he said. "And maybe I could prove that
statement if I had to, but I certainly didn't expect
to find it necessary to defend myself just in order to
have a bowl of onion soup and a hamburger with a
companion of the opposite sex."
"Shut up," she said, "and let's eat."
"If you insist," he said and handed her the menu.
However, she'd eaten here so many times, because it
was just a short walk from the office, that she knew
what she wanted and when a waiter popped up by their
booth, she ordered the onion soup and the hamburger.
Bill ordered the same thing.
"I probably shouldn't tell you this," he said quietly,
as if he was divulging a secret, "but your phone is
tapped."
She couldn't hold back the laughter and, naturally,
laughed a little too loud and people in nearby booths
noticed and looked their direction.
"That was funny?"
"Yes," she said. "But I needed a good laugh. Where
did you hear this particular tidbit?'
"I can't tell you that," he said.
"Well, it's not a big deal. I have nothing to hide.
And anyone who taps my phone is going to get mighty
confused. This morning alone I talked with more than
a dozen radio station disc jockeys and program
directors and general managers. The conversations
ranged from the hot weather to the rainy weather.
Johnny Holliday, the other one because there were
several, had added a disc jockey to his radio station
lineup, a guy at night...that's generally where all
new people start unless they're major talents...and
one program director wanted a suggestion about
reaching women 18-34 years of age and I told him Elvis
Presley and Johnny Cash and he said he was already
playing at least two Elvis records a day and I told
him that he couldn't play enough Elvis in San Antonio
and if he wanted women in that age group he had to
play Elvis about twice an hour. These were not
exactly incriminating conversations."
"I didn't know you dealt with record information,"
Bill said.
"I don't. I deal with programming information.
Anyway, this particular program director is a pretty
good guy, Kahn Hamon, and while I usually don't offer
advice because then the other radio stations in the
market think you're playing favorites and you might
lose contact...that's my major raison d'être for
existence...and so I generally avoid that sort of
thing. Today, I goofed. But then I'm not going to
worry about it because I've got other things to worry
about."
"Such as what?"
"None of your business," she said. "Eat your soup."
He did and she did. But in between he continued to
study her face. She didn't know whether she liked his
glances or not; they seemed to be pretty intimate.
She realized her hair was a mess. And her nose had
always been one of those little things that reminded
her when she looked into a mirror of a rabbit.
"Well, I did try to check out that Dabney Stone for
you," Bill said, "and I couldn't find out a solid bit
of information. Bits and pieces. That's all."
"I didn't ask you to check out Dabney."
"You didn't?"
"No. Because the last thing in the world I care about
is one Dabney Stone," she said.
"I thought you might be interested in this guy."
"Not in the slightest," she said. "He means
absolutely nothing to me."
"So what else are you worried about? My mother told
me about your conversation last night. Reading Camus!
Very strange."
"Well, Camus was probably a bit strange, too, come to
think of it," she said. "But you want to hear about
strange, your mother reads Henry Miller. Now that's
strange."
"She said you also read Henry Miller."
"But not like she does. She's really into Henry
Miller."
"Did she tell you that she's a writer?"
"No, she didn't."
"You should have known because of Henry Miller. Only
writers read Henry Miller. It's a law or something.
Just about all of the people who're into Miller are
writers. I don't know why, but it's so. I once drove
up to the ranch of D.H. Lawrence around Taos, New
Mexico, and there was the name of Rip Torn, the actor,
on the guest book. Didn't see the name of one single
writer. Funny, huh. But the really strange thing was
that D.H. Lawrence is not buried there. When they
fetched his body back from some place like Italy, he
was cremated and his ashes poured into the concrete.
D.H. Lawrence is the building."
"She did tell me that you have a degree from Harvard.
Maybe that's why you think that's funny."
"God. There go all of my secrets out the window. I'm
no longer a man of mystery. I wonder why she told you
that about Harvard."
"Well, I'm not going to hold it against you," she
said, and added: "Much."
"She shouldn't be telling you things like that
anyway."
"Seems rather innocuous to me."
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not."
"Well, you seem to know an awful lot about me,
innocuous or not. How did you find out about my phone
being tapped?"
"I thought I told you: I talk to a lot of people.
They tell me things."
"And these people would know something like that?" she
asked as she finished her soup and started on her
hamburger. She figured she had better hurry. This
conversation seemed to be going down the drain and
going there fast! "First, there was this Dabney Stone
incident. Out of the clear blue sky, if I may lean
upon an old cliché. Now, this about the phone being
tapped."
"I shouldn't have told you," he said. He dropped his
spoon into his empty bowl and pried away some of the
remaining cheese around the edges and nibbled on it.
"You shouldn't have even known," she said quietly. "I
only told that to Zeus McRae, the editor and publisher
of the magazine, this morning."
"You knew about the phones?" His face wore a puzzled
frown.
"I made it up," she said. "The question is how you
know about it. That's what I don't understand."
Relief eased slowly across his face.
"So, you think I'm spreading a rumor?" he asked, but
it wasn't really a question; more like a statement.
"And you wouldn't believe me even if I were telling
the truth."
"Ah, you Harvard graduates are brighter than I
thought."
"Okay, okay," he said, shaking his head but not as if
saying no, more as if trying to rid himself of mental
cobwebs. "You really are confusing to me, you know."
"Good."
"Truce then. No more conversation about business."
"Well," she pointed out, "it was all about my business
anyway and nothing about your business and I can't see
where my business was any of your business."
"I've just pleaded for truce," he said.
"Okay. Truce."
"Now tell me about this concert we're going to see
tomorrow. Just precisely who is Bill Monrue?"
"Monroe, Harvard man. Monroe."
"Monroe, then," he said with a grin. "That is, if you
know anything about this particular gentleman. That
is, if he's really a gentleman."
The grin saved him. How could she be agitated at
someone who had a cute grin like that? She wondered
if she dared mention that he needed a haircut. No,
that would be a little too intimate; she really didn't
know him all that well. He had too many secrets and
he intended, evidently, to keep those secrets to
himself. So, she never would know him. Tough!
"I helped push his bus once at the Newport Folk
Festival," she said.
"Amazing!" he said in a hugely exaggerated tone of
voice.
"I thought you said we had a truce going?"
"I forgot," he said. "But, yes, I would, indeed, like
a truce."
"Well, you know you'd think a guy like that, a man
who's a legend in musical circles, would be wealthy.
But I guess he isn't, because here he was, driving an
old bus that was long overdue for a junk heap
somewhere and it wouldn't start. So, a bunch of
people at the folk music festival helped his band push
it to get it started and he's the father of bluegrass,
too."
"He should have earned enough money from writing 'Blue
Moon of Kentucky' to have paid for several buses,"
said Bill. "Especially after Elvis Presley recorded
it."
"Ah, hah! So you do know a little about Bill Monroe."
He nodded. "They teach you how to do research at
Harvard. I looked him up. Even listened to a couple
of albums. I think I prefer Tennessee Ernie Ford to
Bill Monroe, though."
"Different animals," she said. "I like Tennessee
Ernie Ford, but he's no Bill Monroe. Ford, though,
was one of the best singers in country music until he
decided one day that he had enough money to last and
told his manager, Cliffie Stone, that he was quitting.
His television show was in the top ten, too,
nationwide. Bill Monroe, on the other hand, is a
purist. People who play in his band aren't allowed to
change a note. He's like an institution. I've met
people who literally gave up a year of their lives
just to play in his band...guys like Roger Sprung.
They wanted to learn the music and they wanted to
learn it from the master himself. Nobody that I've
heard of wanted to learn Tennessee Ernie Ford's
music."
Bill finished his sandwich and stood up.
"You'll have to finish this lecture tomorrow when I
pick you up." He wolfed down the last of his
hamburger. "Right now, I've got to head back to work.
Unfortunately, because I'd much rather stay and
listen to fascinating facts about Bill Monroe. Shall
we say five thirty tomorrow?"
"Bye the way, where precisely do you work?" she asked.
"On the wind beneath the rain, though sometimes amidst
the clouds themselves," he said.
"Foofawrah. That's not too precise."
"I'm a master at foofawrah," he said. "Took a course
in it at Harvard. But one day maybe you'll see that
I'm also a master of precision."
He left a tip on the table and waved at her as he paid
the bill at the cashier. Then he was gone before she
realized he didn't even know where she lived.
After finishing her hamburger, she got up and walked
out of the Hamburger Hamlet onto Sunset Boulevard,
often referred to as the Strip. The mist blowing in
from Santa Monica had either lifted or was now blowing
another direction. The sun felt good on her face.
Now she really needed her cap because she had a
tendency for freckles that flashed onto her face at
the slightest hint of sunshine. However, it was a
good day for a walk and her office wasn't far.
The shots spat past her just before she reached the
corner of Doheny Drive.
At first, she didn't realize what had happened. It
was as if a bee had flown by, wings humming. Then
another bee somewhat closer to her face. She swept
her hand through the air to chase the bees away.
A few yards further, she understood everything. Not
bees. Bullets! It had been so long ago--and in a
different place--where she'd heard the sound of
bullets. The Hill Country of Texas. There, you might
expect bullets. Here? Never!
Several cars sped along the Strip, much too fast for
her to even see the drivers hidden behind their shaded
windows. A couple of people were several yards away
on the sidewalk, but they were engaged in some kind of
debate and were paying no attention to her. They
obviously hadn't noticed anything.
She began to walk faster, glancing over her shoulder
now and then.
And as she tried to cross the street at the Doheny
intersection, she could have sworn that one of the
cars came too close on purpose as it turned the corner
from Sunset onto Doheny. It sped away. That's when
the shock finally hit her.
She was left on the corner, frozen in fear, unable to
move.
(continued next week)
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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April 12, 2004
Commentary
by
Claude Hall
Lots of viruses booming about on the Internet.
Got to
be coming from some very stupid people. People who
have nothing better to do and not enough intelligence
to do it with if they had it. I think that stupidity
is one of the major problems with the United States
today...with the entire world today. A good
education--i.e., the assumption of a valid body of
knowledge whether from institute or life--for everyone
in the world, without question and without
limitations, would solve to some extent our problems
as well as the problems of the world.
First, you would have to turn the American public onto
learn, i.e., obtaining an education. Bush speaks,
literally, of forcing teachers to teach.
Unfortunately, as most teachers have learned, you
cannot force students to learn. They must be
motivated. In a war economy such as Bush in
engendering, a population only needs to learn how to
fire a gun or build a bomb. It is relatively
senseless to pursue an education. And, even more
unfortunately, we are no-longer family driven (a
strong motivational factor in the past) in America.
We are driven by sports to some extent (and I'm
somewhat guilty, I'll admit), by religion perhaps too
much, by peer pressure without doubt too much, by
media to an appalling extent, by personal greed to an
even more appalling extent. Other factors play minor
roles--health, job, spouse and/or various
relationships. All of these "walls" could be reduced
and perhaps eliminated altogether with proper public
relations. There is nothing in this regards today.
Instead, a public school teacher that I know found a
bullet hole in her car a few days ago.
Two absolute necessities for the advancement of the
human race: Truth and knowledge of what is true.
My wife Barbara always read to our children. All
three boys are still readers today. We always took it
for granted, as did they, that they would be going to
college. And all three earned degrees. This doesn't
mean that all three have avoided the woes of life, but
at least they were capable of making rational
decisions most of the time. This is what education
primarily does for you. Maybe even to you. Because
once you know what is true, you find it difficult to
put up with the lie. Some people, of course, gain
knowledge through life and life's experiences, others
through education. But a certain body of knowledge is
a necessity, I would think, for making a rational
decision. To decide what is false and what is true.
I'm a liberal. Proud about it. I have no great money
to give to charity, something that I lament. Barbara
and I try to donate a few dollars now and then to the
Salvation Army or a homeless shelter in Las Vegas and
I'm the guy who drops something into the red kettle
during the Christmas season going into a grocery store
and coming out. Not a very big deal, I'm afraid. One
of the things I lament about America at the moment is
that we pour milk down the drain when there are people
going hungry, that we pay farmers not to grow crops,
that we artificially set the price high on potatoes, a
wonderful food, by piling potatoes in the field and
setting the pile afire...that we allow gasoline prices
to soar when we should be mixing the damned stuff with
great amounts of ethanol, a source of energy that can
be replenished easily from corn, soybeans, potatoes,
all of which can be grown very economically. We could
also ban the gas guzzlers such as the SUVs. The
Hummer should be against the law on public thorofares.
Instead the White House wishes to drill for oil in a
nature preserve in Alaska, destroying or harming
wildlife, for a few paltry barrels of oil...not enough
to supply gasoline for Texas for probably only a day
or two at best. Meanwhile, incidentally, I'll bet
we're still shipping Texas oil out of Houston to the
Far East.
There are several things I think should be guaranteed
and free or extremely reasonable in not only America,
but the entire world: medical attention, basic food
(potatoes, rice, beans, milk), basic housing and a
free education for all that wish it through at least
the second or even the third year of college. Maybe
even an entire college education. I also believe in a
very reasonable price on energy--especially
electricity but also as well as petrol for vehicles.
This would put quite a few people back to work,
supplying these needs. Growing crops for food and
energy (i.e., ethanol). Doing something of this
nature requires for someone to make a rational
decision. In a democracy, that's the role that the
government usually plays. In our particulation
situation, the government has turned to making bombs
rather than bread. A pity. I especially lament this
aspect of our current administration. There is no
rational, positive decision being made. I guess
whomever expects whatever positive to happen by
accident. Bombs are not positive. Food, health,
energy, housing...these are positive elements.
Orthodox conservatives, to me, often lack humanity.
They do not care about their fellow man except from
the standpoint of trying to tell him or her what to do
while, in all probability like the hypocrites of
Oklahoma, shunning these puny "rules" themselves.
Some laws must be obeyed. Such as traffic laws. But
the person who tries to tell another that he or she
should or should not have rights is abhorrent to me.
There is no legitimate pretense for the limiting of
personal rights for any living soul in the world
unless they would cause harm to others. A person has
all rights as long as they do not adversely affect
humanity. Everyone has rights as long as they do not
adversely affect--hurt--others. Just as I have no
right to tell you what to do and how to act, we as a
nation have no rights to tell any other nation how to
think, do, act, believe.
I have made an intense study of public relations and,
along the way, acquired a certain knowledge of
propaganda. Propaganda concerns to some extent the
spreading of information and whether it be truth or
not is of little consequence; the major facet is that
whatever is disseminated is believed. Fear is a tool
of propaganda, I assure you. Public relations, on the
other hand, concerns the dissemination of truth. The
adoption of this truth requires, of course, a
recipient who can make a rational decision...someone
capable of discerning truth from lie and potentially
opting for that truth.
Bush is an outrageous lier. This past week Bush
stated in his "I approve" television advertising that
presidential candidate Kerry would raise taxes, i.e.,
the total price of a gallon of gasoline. About 10
years ago, Kerry suggested a price increase of 50
cents at a time when even if you raised gasoline 50
cents a gallon it would cost less than it costs now.
About the time Bush took office, I paid $1.649 per
gallon; the last time I put gasoline in my Chevy Astro
Van I paid $2.019 and I bought it at the cheapest
station in town. The threat is that it's going
higher. A tax increase on gasoline would benefit me
in some fashion; this price increase incurred by the
Bush administration merely places more money in the
hands of his greedy cronies. Regardless, TV ad
campaign is naught but a Republican propaganda fear
tactic of the lowest order and perhaps believed
because the American public is essentially uneducated.
Someone interviewed on MSNBC last Wednesday morning
pointed out that everything those ads said against
Kerry voting to do this and voting to do that were
"exagerations." I.e, for those of you who failed the
supidity test, lies. Meanwhile, Bush and his "hole in
the wall" gang have increased the price of gasoline
since he took office almost to level of poorhouse for
most Americans and someone is pocketing fortunes.
Such outrageous "Hitlerisms" by Bush and his gang are
a methodology of attempting to control Americans.
Perhaps even the world.
Another view: Orthodox conservatives seem more
inclined to grab the money and run. They adopt a "me"
philosophy rather than a "we" philosophy. Vice
President Dick Cheney and his $34 million bonus from
Halliburton is a good example. That sort of thing
makes Jesse James look like a Boy Scout. The American
public who owned stock in Halliburton was deprived of
their proper dividend.
But there are other factors that concerns us liberals.
I do not think it wise to have a man in the White
House who seems to be very unrational, who's a proven
baby killer (Iraq and Afghanistan), who has provoked
the world to a never-ending conflict. Dealing death
is a rather poor methodology of making friends. Right
now, soldiers are killing each other (18 killed by
"friendly fire" reported last week on CNN), killing
media from other nations for which some U.S. officer
apologized (I've never heard of a single soul brought
back from the dead by an apology). Tuesday, 12 more
U.S. soldiers were killed and how many wounded we do
not know. The number grows. This was in just one
incident; other incidents failed to make the news.
CNN refers to "insurgents." There are no insurgents;
there are only Iraqis. And, of course, us. Us, the
Hitlers who have invaded their country without just
reason, the Hitlers who are killing their men, their
women, their children with the tissue-paper banner
held high of "freedom." American soldiers now serve
as targets in a foreign shooting gallery. More than
600 have been killed since "the war" ended, many times
that wounded. It is my belief that many more will die
or come home bloody. Day by day. The hounds of hell
have indeed been let loose. And they may follow us
home. Bush, our non-elected president, said last week
that "we shall stay the course." But he's not the one
who will get shot; matter of fact, he ran instead of
going to Vietnam.
Then, when someone reports on White House blunders,
that person is personally attacked, such as Richard
Clarke, author of "Against All Enemies." Interviewed
on "60 Minutes" CBS, 7 p.m. on the west coast, March
21, 2004, Clarke pointed out the war on Iraq was not
only a deliberate move of the so-called Bush White
House, but totally unjustified. At 11:30 a.m. Pacific
Time on CNN, a Barbara Comstock, representing the
White House, blamed former President Bill Clinton for
everything. Attacked Clarke, attacked her opponent in
the debate. One of the attacks is that Clarke did the
book for profit. Naturally. Maybe somewhat in
concern of "his truth," but I see nothing wrong with
his dissemination of his personal concept. Potential
profit for Clarke, I should point out, will be a hell
of a lot less than Cheney's "bonus" from Halliburton.
We can assume the truth of what Clarke stated; we yet
have no knowledge of any truth whatsoever concerned
with Cheney's payoff from Halliburton and, in fact, he
has refused to divulge information about a so-call
energy meeting where secret decisions were made.
Incidentally, a democratic government should have no
rights to secrecy unless it affects immediate national
defense. The White House, to the contrary, seems
determined to keep too many secrets from the American
public whether of national concern or not. But try to
find out about that $34 million bonus or what Bush did
during his "missing" years in the National Guard and,
viola, executive privilege! What executive privilege?
Even so, the White House constantly puts a spin on
everything. This past week, they claimed 300,000 jobs
had been created. Sure, if you don't mind digging
ditches or hauling garbage or serving as soldiers in
Iraq or working to make more bombs to replace those
being used in Iraq and Afghanistan to slaughter
so-called insurgents.
The estimated number of people actually out of
work--which does not include those have have taken any
kind of job just to have income coming in--is several
million. This past week, I heard the number 8.4
million. The White House ignores these people or puts
a spin on the number.
My major concern is that my overall concerns continue
to increase not only in number, but in individual
content.
While, if America was truly educated, it would be
laughing Bush out of the White House this November and
replacing him with someone better qualified to lead
America. Then, perhaps, we could began to repair the
horrible damage Bush and his gang have caused not only
to America, but to the world.
OTHER MATTERS
Someone should tell Chris Matthews, MSNBC, he's
verbose. He keeps saying, "Let me ask you this." Why
doesn't he just ask?
Have you noticed that CNN's production pieces to
promote the network are not very effective? I've seen
better quality at a garage sale. Anyway, CNN Headline
News has become a place to promote books and movies
and crap. They call themselves the most trusted and
they're actually the most rusted.
Another thing that seems very over-used and very
archaic is the "Eyewitness News" tango. First, the TV
stuff is seldom witnessed. Most of the news today
comes from a public relations firm or has been setup.
Anyway, the tango is old, old, old. Doesn't anyone in
television have the creativity of a dead mongoose
these days? My suggestion is that someone in
television ought to hire Ron Jacobs to freshen the
dead goose and try to bring it back to life.
A lot of firings are going on in the music business.
They are spinning it as "restructurings." Hell, the
biggest problem regarding low record sales is the
quality. When you turn out crap, it usually sells
like crap. I don't know what happened, but somewhere
along the way someone decided that music had to be
visual to sell. Acoustic creativity and quality fell
by the wayside. I hear no one banging a Coke bottle
with a drum stick in the bathroom to get a new sound.
News for you: A girl who needs a tummy tuck still
needs to be able to sing and sing something good and
the music needs to be original and fresh. Tummies,
after a while, don't really sell that well. Breasts?
Perhaps. But I wouldn't depend on them either for the
long haul.
Joe Nick Patoski,
joenickp@yahoo.com, a freelance
writer who lives in the Hill Country of Texas, helped
me with some information the other day for a novel on
which I'm writing. So did Jay Blackburn,
radiojdb@satx.rr.com.
Joe subsequently wrote
regarding my last Commentary regarding Ernest Tubb and
Paul Butterfield: "I saw your line about who remembers
Ernest (lots of us do here in Austin), Mayall, etc. I
heard 'East West' played in its entirety on the Jam
channel on Sirius. Which got me thinking how they
were really, really, the first white guys to eat up
blues and live the blues of all the white guys who
followed them. Steve Miller told me how he drifted to
Chicago from Madison, when he was in college, to try
to be like Butterfield. A great band, and one of the
few to get it right (the continuum keeps on with kids
like the No. Miss All Stars and here in Austin, Gary
Clark Jr. and Eve Monses). A day later on the blues
channel I heard the Electric Flag, and heard em again
on Sirius Disorder. If you have it, tune in David
Johansen, who does 3 to 8 central Fridays and plays
the most interesting mix I've heard in a long while.
'Pale Blue Eyes' by the Velvet Underground seguing
into Donna Fargo's 'Funny Face', loads of Cuban music,
a Bill Evans piano solo, some of his own stuff with
the Harry Smith Orchestra, what 'progressive' radio
sounded like when it was really progressive. I've
gotten turned on to more new and old music in the last
six months by Sirius than I have in the past 10 years.
Hearing jocks talk like it's all about the music
without having to endure commercials is worth paying
money for, just like you have to pay extra for food
that's not sprayed with pesticides. Life is good. I
just finishing ghosting the memoirs of the founder of
the Armadillo World Headquarters, Eddie Wilson, who
now runs the Threadgill's restaurants in Austin, a
chat 'n chew that is a pretty good city version of the
Bluebonnet Cafe. Cheers."
I'd sent both Joe and Jay the beginnings of the novel
and this came from Jay Blackburn: "Well Claude...you
captured it. There are two places I have to touch
every few years or I'll go insane. I have to get to
salt water and I've got to get to that place where the
limestone meets the granite. There is something magic
about the Llano uplift. That big chunk of the earth's
crust just bursting through to blue sky. Hill Country
is good. Come see me before you rewrite. Give me a
chance to give you and B.H. a tour. I would really
like to show you where I grew up. No eggs bennedict,
but a hellofa CFK."
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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