baldilocks

Alma L. Simpkins

 

My great-aunt Alma passed away on December 30th of last year at the age of 91. Born on the Fourth of July, she was the seventh of eight children, the last of her seven brothers and sister (her lone younger sibling, my grandmother, died in 2008), the longest lived, and the last of that generation in my mother’s and biological father’s families. I've written about her before.

I’ve been planning to post about it since then, but I felt that there would never be enough to say about it. (Plus, my general lack of motivation to post was a factor, along with the fact that, until this past Friday, I was typing almost one-handed due to a fractured left wrist.) However, Aunt Alma’s role in my life deserves whatever meager public tribute I am able to give it. She, along with my great-uncle, John W. Simpkins, Jr. (1920-2000), shaped nearly everything I am and gave me everything they had. You can read about Uncle John here.

Aunt Alma and Uncle John were the first real parents I had. This is no disrespect to my mother; as a very young divorcee, she determined that it would be better for me to be raised by two parents. So it was that my aunt and uncle raised me from ages one to nine. When my mother remarried, she and my new dad took custody of me, but my aunt and uncle always held a special place in my heart—more than any of my grandparents.

Aunt Alma had been pretty healthy into her eighties, but began to feel and show the effects of advanced age—and, as we discovered later, a slow-growing brain tumor--around 2007. In 2010, she took a bad fall and during the treatment for that fall, the tumor was diagnosed. The doctors thought she would die not long after that, but Aunt Alma was always the toughest of cookies. I took care of her at home for nine months, but that became unworkable, so she spent over a year in a nursing home. However, she made me promise to bring her home before Christmas of last year and I did. She was gone a little over a month after she came home.

We had the memorial service on January 10, 2013 and the interment on the 17th.

I feel as if there is a huge part of me missing, but I know where she is; she had long accepted Jesus the Christ as her Lord and Savior.

As one can see from the photo, Aunt Alma was drop-dead gorgeous in her youth and—before her two marriages--she was the toast of the old black club scene in both LA and Harlem back in the day. There are many photographs around the house of her classily dolled-up, with her straight, black hair elegantly coiffed and, sometimes, containing a flower. In her last years, she would often say that she could never complain to God about not having had fun in her life.

Yes, I know we don’t look alike. She had two white grandfathers; her white exterior and our distinct lack of resemblance made for some fun encounters over the years—and some not-so-fun. At the nursing home, some of the black CNAs would speak to her brusquely until some of them saw me come to visit her. Racist heifers. (PSA: if you have a relative in a nursing home, make it a point to keep them on their toes. Whenever I saw that “here comes that bald-headed b*tch again” look in their eyes, I knew I was doing my job.)

Auntie would occasionally remind me that, when I was about three or four years old, I informed her, in my logical toddler wisdom, that I was black and she was white. Not long ago, when she again reminded me of this, I thought about it for a second, and came to the conclusion that I was correct in the first place. She was white—and she was black. And a quarter American Indian for good measure.

Aunt Alma was in a bit of denial about her declining health, but she could be very sensible about it, too. One of the reasons that I moved in with her back in 2003 was that, after a few fender-benders, she voluntarily gave up her driver’s license.

When I sit in what is now my house, I am surrounded by a memorial to her and I’m grateful to God for it. More than that, I'm grateful to God for her.

 

Carroll LeFon aka Neptunus Lex

One of the cool things about blogging is communicating with people like Neptunus Lex, someone I probably would have never talked to in real life, what with him being a Navy captain and me being an Air Force NCO. (We're both retired.)

One of the bad things about blogging, people still die, and so it is with Neptunus Lex.

A civilian pilot flying for Airborne Tactical Advantage Co., was killed Tuesday morning when his F-21 Kfir jet crashed near the west gate of Naval Air Station Fallon, six miles east of the city limits.

Say 'hi' to God for me, Lex, and I'll see you later.

(Thanks to Ace Of Spades HQ)

UPDATE: More about Lex at Blackfive.

Andrew Breitbart--RIP (KingShamus)

Horrible horrible horrible news.

With a terrible feeling of pain and loss we announce the passing of Andrew Breitbart.

Andrew passed away unexpectedly from natural causes shortly after midnight this morning in Los Angeles.

We have lost a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a dear friend, a patriot and a happy warrior.

Andrew lived boldly, so that we more timid souls would dare to live freely and fully, and fight for the fragile liberty he showed us how to love.

Say a prayer for Mr. Breitbart's wife and four children. Undoubtedly, they are in terrible pain and grief. We can only hope that in the midst of their mourning they can find some solace in the bosom of their faith and their extended family.

I first read the news over at The Conservatory. After my initial shock--Wait? What? Only 43 years old? How?--I started to look around and see what his friends and allies had to say.

Stacy McCain:

He may have been the greatest genius I’ve ever met, with a keen, intuitive mind. Although he had been diagnosed with attention deficit disorder — he had a freewheeling quality about him, and his schedule was quite improvisational – Breitbart was also capable of a laser-like focus on whatever subject captured his interest. There were times you’d be talking to him and, if that spark of passionate interest hit, his luminous blue eyes would glow with an intensity that was almost frightening.

Andrew Malcolm:

You can read elsewhere all about Andrew's remarkable impact on public communications in this country, helping found Huffington Post and the Drudge Report and then his own developing online empire of Big sites. He was often controversial because his opponents often couldn't answer his stories online, so they went after the messenger.

Andrew loved it. He was one of the few people you encounter in life who bite at every experience, good and bad. Where does that energy come from? You'd get a late-night call with Andrew excitedly talking up a whole package he was about to post. Might as well listen because you weren't going to get a word in.

In person he'd get so excited in an argument that he'd be shouting inches away. You'd raise a hand as if 'OK, Andrew, I'm right here.' He'd laugh at himself and lower the volume. Andrew couldn't stand hypocrisy and lying and hiding.

He also couldn't stand passivity. Friends would describe some awful thing happening and instead of a hug he'd shake them out of wallowing with, "So?" And you'd stop and think, 'Yeh, right. So what am I going to do about it to take control back?'

Greg Gutfeld

He was the spiritual leader of the modern conservative, libertarian cause. He was immersed in pop culture and wished to drag the right into the modern world - knowing this is how America speaks to the world. He was the heart of the matter. The fighter. Losing him is like a fiery planet going dark.

Bob Belvedere:

Few people are indispensable to a cause, but Andrew Breitbart was. There is no one else like him around. A good number of commentators have been saying that we should honor him by carrying on his fight using the methods he developed, and they are correct: we must not let his life’s work be in vain because his life’s work was to defeat the malignant forces of the Left and see America restored to the ways of The Founders. However, we have some mighty big shoes to fill, so it will not be easy.

At this crucial juncture in our history, we have been deprived of one of best generals. The long slog just got tougher.

Iowahawk:

He was an unapologetic conservative, but one who defied the media's template; pro-civil rights, pro-drug legalization, pro-gay rights, to the point of boycotting CPAC when it barred the gay conservative group GOProud. Other than his mainstream pro-life views (he was, after all, adopted) you would be hard pressed to characterize him as a right winger on social issues...

Plenty will be written about Andrew Breitbart in the next few days, some flattering, some not. As for me, I will drink two beers in his honor tonight, and remember him the way he was last December in Venice - a big, lovable, random, generous, fearless, patriotic grinning goofball surrounded by his family, basking in the coolness of it all.

Ace of Spades:

What was truly charismatic about Breitbart was his never-ending enthusiasm and energy. He spoke fast because he thought fast. He changed topics quickly because he had six or seven plans in mind at any one time.

He actually did things. He was instinctual. Athletes cannot afford the deliberation of thought. They move by instinct and training and muscle memory. They act.

Why did Breitbart sign a lease for a pricey townhouse in DC? Because, he said, "it feels mischievous." It felt mischievous to establish an Embassy of citizen empowerment in the capital of statist overreach.

He had ten plans a month. He accomplished five of them a month. He acted.

He took over the Weiner press conference because it felt like something he ought to do.

He was brazen. He was bold. The right had no more enthusiastic champion and the left had no more implacable foe.

The Coaltion Of The Swilling:

...I was privileged to sit a mere five rows back from Andrew when he addressed the delegates at Presidency 5 this September. He was mesmerizing from the moment he gamboled out to the podium. What a treat that was and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world in normal circumstances. Who could ever have imagined this day six months later, when dealing with a force of nature like Breitbart?

I can’t. I still can’t.

Sissy Willis:

Like the conspiratorial "dog whistle" of our statist adversaries' nightmares, Breitbart's passing was a call-to-arms for the freedom fighters to ratchet up our defense of the Shining City.

Dan Riehl:

What Andrew understood and embraced as a conservative media activist was that, when his name was in the headlines, it was because he was battling for what he most believed in. He also knew that his enemies, the headline writers in many ways, were engaged - and he was fighting. Andrew, like so many of us, lived for that fight. He understood how necessary it was for the right to engage it.

It's significant that Andrew picked his battlefields as a brave and fearless man. When you are fighting what many conservatives believe to be a biased media in their headlines, you are fighting them on their turf, not retreating, surrendering, or simply musing off in your own little protected, right-leaning corner of the media world.

Andrew Breitbart gave his opponents every advantage by engaging them as he did. And he often beat them.

Amen to all of that.

Read the rest of every one of those pieces. You'll become angry, you'll get sad, you'll laugh and be inspired all at once.

Beyond the shock of Andrew Breitbart's passing, one of the most overwhelming things I take away is the flattening finality of it. I was a fan of his 'Big' websites. "Righteous Indignation" is one of the best political memoirs of the 21st century. His twitter-feed was a long hilarious practical joke on the American socialist movement. Breitbart was like a rolling partisan kegger where the Right could rock out and the Left could buzz off. It seemed like nothing could stop him or his merry-making ways.

Maybe its the suddenness of it that makes this so tough to take. Breitbart wasn't supposed to go this way. He was supposed to be our gleeful prankster for decades to come. The roastmaster general wasn't supposed to be taken seemingly in the blink of an eye.

Breitbart's time in the spotlight might've been tragically cut short but it was certainly not poorly spent. In a way, his career trajectory is reminiscent of a Hall of Fame baseball star. The Major Leagues typically elect two kinds of players into their most hallowed pantheon. The first type is the guy who play for many years. He may not be an overwhelming presence in the sport, but he does well enough and last long enough to have fairly large statistics by the time he retires. The second type is the man who doesn't play for very long, but makes up for it by his sheer overwhelming dominance. Andrew Breitbart has become the Right's supernova, their short-lived hot-burning star.

Gaze in wonder at the innumerable enemies that Breitbart cultivated over the years. In life, they couldn't stop giving him ammunition. In death, he has given the Left a glorious opportunity to beclown themselves. Breitbart probably would've had a great laugh over the irony.

For every liberal who commented on Breitbart's passing with dignity, there were many many more who took the low road. Matt Taibbi, Matt Yglesias and a vast horde of internet lefties all happily danced on Breitbart's casket. While it's hard to read so much bile, the hate on the progressive side is a reminder that their constant calls for ratcheting down political rhetoric is just a cheap ploy to censor their ideological foes on the Right.

The fact that Andrew Breitbart made such strident classless enemies is amazing. What is even more astounding is how Breitbart used the hate thrown at him as fuel for his fights. Many people will tell you that they enjoy being targeted by the Progressive Church of Latter-Day Stalinists. Often, that brave sentiment will melt in the face of a full-frontal assault from liberal media. Not since William F. Buckley have we seen a man who not only sought out spectacular clashes with the Left, but who did it with such joy. All he did was laugh at the multitudes of angry liberals and their constant raaaaacist!/sexist!/homophobe! bleats, then turn the hate back on them.

Which is what we on the Right should always do. For too long, many conservatives played the media's game by their rules. This meant a lot of mewling when a liberal accused them of bigotry or greed or some other doubleplusungood thoughtcrime. Breitbart thought that kind of defensiveness was absurd and would always lead to defeat. Instead, he realized that conservatives had to take back the culture before the Right would ever achieve lasting political victories.

That is the greatest lesson we can learn from Andrew Breitbart's boisterous inspiring life. Breitbart was a warrior in the best sense of the term. His patriotic fervor and unabashed love of the great American experiment was something to behold.  The best way we can honor his memory is to remain focused on changing our culture back to one that respects individual liberty in general and the values of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution in particular.  It was his life's work and it should be ours as well.   

RIP Andrew Breitbart.

Gone far too soon.

Osama bin Laden Finds Out Who's in Charge

The villain of September 11, 2001 has gone to his reward—courtesy of the United States military, specifically US Navy SEALS—while he sat in a Pakistani mansion rather that in an Afghani cave.  Of course, there are reports of it everywhere.

President Obama’s announcement regarding the demise of bin Laden had its usual allotment of first-person singular references, but, for a change, it struck the right tone.  Former President Bush responded as well.

Early this morning, there was celebration outside of the White House gates, reminiscent of the celebration that occurred in the Palestinian Territories in response to 9/11.  One of my Facebook friends compared the celebrations, noting that we two peoples are not that different after all.  Well, he’s right.  All people fall short of the glory of God.

But there is this:  Osama bin Laden continuously attacked US entities outside of the physical country and twice inside of it.  His most successful attacks, in terms of body count, were the synchronized attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the attack for which United Airlines Flight 93 was meant.  He planned them and carried them out because of the god he believed in and served.

Our military had no such motive.  All we wanted to do was to neutralize a threat to our country, personalized in the man who declared war on it in the 1990s in the name of Islam.  And while I question the appropriateness (and the spontaneity) of the mass celebration of our sworn enemy’s demise, it cannot be said that Osama bin Laden was killed in the name of the God of Jews and Christians—not that this will matter to bin Laden’s like-minded co-religionists.

Speaking of them, one wonders how this victory—and it is a victory—will play out in the Muslim world.

Anyway, congratulations to Presidents Obama and Bush, and, most importantly, congratulations to the men of our United States Armed Forces.

UPDATE:  This was inevitable.

John Wooden

1910-2010. Released and reunited with his love and with Love. Rest in Peace.

Do guys like this exist anymore? I pray so.

(Thanks to Ace of Spades HQ)

In Memoriam

Clean Break

Thanks for your consistency in blocking my account, Charles--or whoever you are.  We'll see who will be the victor in the end.

May the Lord Jesus Christ open your eyes before it's too late.

UPDATE: Folks, Charles is in some kind of trouble, mostly spiritual.  For those of you who considered him your friend and who pray, you know what to do.

Michael Jackson

1958-2009. Heart attack.  He was exactly three years older that I am.

 I hope that he repented his sins.  Otherwise...

(Click photo for story)

This is how I'll always remember him.

UPDATE:  Holy crap!  Did the Onion predict the future?

UPDATE:  One of the Jackson 5's greatest songs, acapella.

Interview with Private William Long's Father

From a former Marine. Look and Listen.

But what of the young man's Commander-in-Chief?

(Thanks to Blackfive)

Tempelhof Airport

Tempelhof Airport, one of the points of destination for the post-World War Two Berlin Airlift, closed today. To read about its significance in the lives of millions and in my life, go here.

Goodbye, Old Friend.

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

One of my heroes goes to his reward:

MOSCOW (AFP) — Russian writer and dissident Alexander Solzhenitsyn, who shone a light on the inhuman world of the Soviet gulags, died late Sunday, the Itar-Tass news agency said, citing his son Stepan. He was 89.

The Nobel laureate died of heart failure at his Moscow home at 11:45 pm (1945 GMT), the writer's son said.

Solzhenitsyn won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1970 after writing harrowing works about the Soviet Union's system of labour camps, where he spent eight years from 1945.

Solzhenitsyn toiled obsessively to unearth the darkest secrets of Stalinist rule and ultimately dealt a crippling blow to the Soviet Union's authority.

The tough old buzzard survived Stalin's gulags, cancer and a ricin attack. Even though he had been in declining health, as is often the case for those of great age, I'm a little surprised to learn that he could die.

His most famous work:

and

Robert Anthony "Tony" Snow

I think that we all knew from watching the guy's seemingly swift physical deterioration that this day would come soon. At least the guy is out of pain.

After a long, candid and public battle with cancer, former White House press secretary and radio talk-show host Tony Snow died early this morning.

Immediate details were sketchy, but Fox News, his employer, reported the bulletin shortly after 7 a.m. Eastern time. Snow was 53.

He previously served as chief speechwriter for President George H.W. Bush and served as a frequent host on the Fox News Channel.

See ya later, Tony.

UPDATE: From President Bush:

All of us here at the White House will miss Tony, as will the millions of Americans he inspired with his brave struggle against cancer. One of the things that sustained Tony Snow was his faith - and Laura and I join people across our country in praying that this good man has now found comfort in the arms of his Creator.

Fox News Tributes here.

UPDATE:

The moment you enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death, things change. You discover that Christianity is not something doughy, passive, pious, and soft. Faith may be the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. But it also draws you into a world shorn of fearful caution. The life of belief teems with thrills, boldness, danger, shocks, reversals, triumphs, and epiphanies. Think of Paul, traipsing though the known world and contemplating trips to what must have seemed the antipodes (Spain), shaking the dust from his sandals, worrying not about the morrow, but only about the moment.

There's nothing wilder than a life of humble virtue—for it is through selflessness and service that God wrings from our bodies and spirits the most we ever could give, the most we ever could offer, and the most we ever could do.

--Cancer's Unexpected Blessing by Tony Snow

Reading that makes it difficult to be sad for him and all of the other believers who pass on. Their families and friends, however, need our prayers.

(Thanks to Michelle Malkin)

Coming Home

To Rest.

The Department of Defense announced the deaths of two soldiers previously listed as missing.

Fourteen months after they were kidnapped in Iraq, the remains of two American soldiers have been found.

The Pentagon said that the remains of Army Sgt. Alex Jimenez [r.] and Pvt. Byron Fouty were found Wednesday, south of Baghdad.

Jimenez was 25 years old at the time of his capture, Fouty was 19.

They were both kidnapped during an ambush in May of 2007.

Mildred Loving

Mildred Loving, who was one of the plaintiffs in Loving vs. Virginia, died on May 2nd. The other plaintiff was her husband, Richard, who died in 1975. From Wikipedia:

Mildred Loving (nee Mildred Delores Jeter, a woman of African and Rappahannock Native American descent, 1939 - May 2, 2008)[2][3] and Richard Perry Loving (a white man, October 29, 1933 - June 1975), were residents of the Commonwealth of Virginia who had been married in June 1958 in the District of Columbia, having left Virginia to evade the Racial Integrity Act, a state law banning marriages between any white person and a black person (there was no law banning marriage with other ethnicities as they were not seen to represent a significant enough population to be a problem). Upon their return to Caroline County, Virginia, they were charged with violation of the ban. They were charged under Section 20-58 of the Virginia Code, which prohibited interracial couples [consisting of one white person and one black person] from being married out of state and then returning to Virginia, and Section 20-59, which defined "miscegenation" as a felony punishable by a prison sentence of between one and five years. On January 6, 1959, the Lovings pleaded guilty and were sentenced to one year in prison, with the sentence suspended for 25 years on condition that the couple leave the state of Virginia. The trial judge in the case, Leon Bazile, echoing Johann Friedrich Blumenbach's 18th-century interpretation of race, proclaimed that

Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, Malay and red, and He placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with His arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that He separated the races shows that He did not intend for the races to mix.

The Lovings moved to the District of Columbia, and on November 6, 1963 they filed a motion in the state trial court to vacate the judgment and set aside the sentence on the grounds that the violated statutes ran counter to the Fourteenth Amendment.

In the Wiki article, it is noted that several church hierarchies--from those which had centralized leadership--came forward to repudiate Bazile's ersatz race theology. Ultimately, the United States Supreme Court unanimously determined that anti-miscegenation laws violated the Fourteenth Amendment.

It would have been interesting to discover what Mrs. Loving thought of Barack Obama, Black Liberation Theology and how times and people have changed. However, she was probably just a regular woman ready to rest.

RIP, ma'am.

(Thanks to Clarence Page)

Wayne Fau

Consider this acknowledgment merely one last salute to a former commander and a good man who loved the Lord. See you There, sir.

Michael Monsoor

Another hero receives recognition.

Nice looking guy, no? He had an even greater heart. Meet the latest Medal of Honor recipient, Navy SEAL Michael Monsoor. Alas, he receives it posthumously. Click the photo to read the story.

Charlton Heston

Good night Mr. Heston.

Say ‘hi’ to the real Moses for us.*

*Pictured with Anne Baxter and Yul Brynner.

Circle Number Nine

Former American, traitor to his country and avowed Islamist Adam Gadahn--the Sheikh of OC--is dead due to the company he kept, courtesy of a missile in his lap. Maybe.

I hear Caïna and Antenora are "lovely" this time of year. Perhaps Gadahn can send us a postcard.

William F. Buckley, Jr.

The father of the National Review bids adieu.

NEW YORK - William F. Buckley Jr., the erudite Ivy Leaguer and conservative herald who showered huge and scornful words on liberalism as he observed, abetted and cheered on the right's post-World War II rise from the fringes to the White House, died Wednesday. He was 82.

His assistant Linda Bridges said Buckley was found dead by his cook at his home in Stamford, Conn. The cause of death was unknown, but he had been ill with emphysema, she said.

Kathryn Jean Lopez at the Corner:

I’m devastated to report that our dear friend, mentor, leader, and founder William F. Buckley Jr., died this morning in his study in Stamford, Connecticut.

He died while at work; if he had been given a choice on how to depart this world, I suspect that would have been exactly it. At home, still devoted to the war of ideas.

Jonah Goldberg:

As George Will once said, "before there was Ronald Reagan there was Barry Goldwater, before there was Goldwater there was National Review, and before there was National Review there was William F. Buckley."

UPDATE: Buckley versus Gore Vidal circa 1968. Heh.They don't make too many of those kind of guys anymore. RIP.

(Thanks to Hot Air)

UPDATE: As good an epitaph as any:

He wasn't necessarily my cup of political tea but I'll probably miss him more than Mr. Beck, mainly because he was good at making chowderheads feel the pain of their ignorance, plus the very mention of his name could cause a hippie's head to explode if dropped into the conversation at just the right moment. Good entertainment that doesn't insult my intelligence is going to be harder to come by from now on.

(Thanks to Rustmeister)

Officer Randal Simmons

From 11AM this morning LA’s KCAL 9 has fully devoted its coverage to the funeral and burial of LAPD SWAT team member Randal Simmons.

Simmons, 51, died Feb. 7 in a gun battle with a man who killed three relatives inside a Winnetka home. He was the first Los Angeles Police Department SWAT officer killed in the line of duty.

Officer Simmons’ funeral was held at Crenshaw Christian Faith Dome, not far from my home, so I know from witnessing that his send-off was impressive. I got a glimpse of Antonio Villaraigosa in the crowd and Arnold Schwarzenegger is said to have been there. And that is as it should be.

It’s a far cry from when Cobb and I were lamenting the lack of attention paid to the murder of LA Airport police officer Tommy Scott and while I’d rather that no one have to die in such a manner, I’m glad to see that lessons have been learned. For the few bad seeds in police forces around the country, the many good ones should be honored, especially when they give their everything.

Godspeed, Officer Simmons. Well done.

Mabel D. Kirk

1924-2008, my grandmother (yep).

Olympian Error

Who was Lucas Sang?

Lucas Sang was a Kenyan athlete who participated in the 1988 Summer Olympics, held in Seoul. He was a member of the Kenyan 4 x 400 metre relay team, reaching the final and finishing eighth. He also competed in the 400 metre individual race, but failed to make the semifinals.

He was also a Kalenjin farmer. He was stoned to death by a mob on New Year's Day in Eldoret, his home town; he was 46. His murderers mistook him for a Kikuyu.

Kenya, what are you doing to your heros, your treasures?

Andrew Olmsted

A soldier/blogger--one loved and respected by the Left and the Right--dies in battle--and gets the last word.

I do ask (not that I'm in a position to enforce this) that no one try to use my death to further their political purposes. I went to Iraq and did what I did for my reasons, not yours. My life isn't a chit to be used to bludgeon people to silence on either side. If you think the U.S. should stay in Iraq, don't drag me into it by claiming that somehow my death demands us staying in Iraq. If you think the U.S. ought to get out tomorrow, don't cite my name as an example of someone's life who was wasted by our mission in Iraq. I have my own opinions about what we should do about Iraq, but since I'm not around to expound on them I'd prefer others not try and use me as some kind of moral capital to support a position I probably didn't support. Further, this is tough enough on my family without their having to see my picture being used in some rally or my name being cited for some political purpose. You can fight political battles without hurting my family, and I'd prefer that you did so.

Nothing here but gratitude, a salute and prayer.

Cox & Forkum Strip

...ends. My thanks, Gentlemen.

My two favorite depictions: dead terrorists.

Pavarotti Unconscious RIP

The great Italian tenor may have have sung his final song.

Luciano Pavarotti's health has deteriorated sharply and the 71-year-old tenor is at home, unconscious and suffering from kidney failure, a television station reported on Wednesday.

Family and friends went to Pavarotti's home to be near the singer, considered one of the greatest tenors of his generation, E' TV Antenna Uno television station in Modena, the tenor's home town, reported.

In July 2006 Pavarotti underwent surgery in New York for pancreatic cancer and retreated to his villa in Modena. He had to cancel his first planned public reappearance a few months later.

(Thanks to Drudge)

UPDATE: Pavarotti has died.

Steve Gilliard

After several catastrophic health issues, progressive blogger Steve Gilliard passed away yesterday. He was only 41.

Steve was rather infamous here on the conservative side of the blogosphere for featuring a black-face Photoshop of 2006 U.S. Senate candidate Michael Steele (R-MD). Steele is a black man (so was Gilliard, obviously).

When one's ideological opponent dies, it's sometimes difficult, if not impossible, to say nice things about him/her. However, the nicest thing that I can say about Steve is that I wish that he hadn't died so young and suffered so much along the way.

Go with God (hopefully), Steve.

(Thanks to Memeorandum; Photo by Lindsay Beyerstein)

Jerry Falwell

The quite Right(-winged) reverend dies at 73.

LYNCHBURG, Va. - The Rev. Jerry Falwell, the television evangelist who founded the Moral Majority and used it to mold the religious right into a political force, died Tuesday shortly after being found unconscious in his office at Liberty University. He was 73.

Ron Godwin, the university's executive vice president, said Falwell was found unresponsive late Tuesday morning and taken to Lynchburg General Hospital, where he was pronounced dead about an hour later.

The reverend was always a kook, but his heart, centered on Jesus Christ, was in the right place--most of time.

The occasions in which it wasn't, however, were glaring.

I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way - all of them who have tried to secularize America - I point the finger in their face and say "you helped [9/11 to] happen."

Leaving aside the offensive nature of the statement, what the reverend forgot was the lesson of Job. Bad things happen to the just and unjust alike--not necessarily because of action or inaction, but because this world belongs to the Accuser.

Rev. Falwell erred--but it's what we humans do. Now he gets to RIP and that's what I wish for his soul.

Others, however, are celebrating. But that's to be expected. It will be interesting to see who has the last laugh.

(Thanks to Hot Air)

Catherine Seipp

Rest in Peace, Cathy; excellent writer and blogger--and good lady. You were always very nice to me and I thank you. And know that I'm far from alone when I say that you will be missed.

UPDATE: Cathy's obituary.

Seipp, a nonsmoker who was diagnosed with lung cancer five years ago, died Wednesday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, her family announced. She was a longtime resident of Silver Lake. [SNIP]

On her blog, Cathy's World, at cathyseipp.net, Seipp revealed less than two years ago that she was fighting cancer: "I'm actually lucky still to be alive, given that I was diagnosed almost three and a half years ago," she wrote.

With characteristic humor, she said the situation "really has put a crimp in my usual Nietzschean sense of physical superiority." [SNIP]

And, as good an epitaph as any:

"She never had any sense of the impact she had on people."

Anna Nicole Smith

You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.

--Revelation 3:17

A woman died today, one who had money, fame and good looks. She had everything—and nothing. Here was a woman who seemed to go every which way in her public and private lives to gain “love” but it seemed to elude her nonetheless.

¹ If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

--1 Corinthians 13:1-3

The type of love discussed here is the agape sort: the “divine, unconditional, self-sacrificing, active, volitional, thoughtful love”--and the one person who probably loved her in this manner of his own volition died in September of 2006.

All her perceived blessings, listed above, could not bring her son Daniel back, so what good were they, really? And what did she have to cling to in her grief?

I’m betting that Ms. Smith recognized the magnitude of what she had really lost, but did not know how to get it again and did not realize that God had handed her a way of finding that sort of love again in the person of her newborn daughter.

Oh, I made fun of Anna Nicole Smith as much as the next person, but her death at a young age and under questionable circumstances is sobering—especially when viewed in the context of her crazy life. (For a contrasting example, last year’s death of the Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin—in September, coincidentally--was also sad, but uplifting in its way. Discerning onlookers observed that he had lived a fulfilling--if short--life, doing what he loved and, most importantly, surrounded by love of all three varieties.)

As St. Paul stated in a subsequent verse of the First Corinthians chapter quoted above, faith, hope and love are all that is the essence of a person, but love is the greatest of the three. (And what is a person who is missing one, two or all three of these, especially the greatest of them?)

In the rather disturbing comments section accompanying a Hot Air post on Ms. Smith’s death, one guest said something at the beginning of it which jarred me to the core: “Makes me wish I’d prayed for her.” (As I told Allahpundit in an email last week, the agape love part of Jesus Christ’s first sojourn here on Earth is something about which we Christians often forget.)

Anna Nicole Smith probably died in despair—"wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked" in the spiritual sense--and, likely, some out there are feeling a bit of Schadenfreude.

Not me. I wish I had prayed for her, too.

(Thanks to Dad and to Jill Scott)

Robert Smith

I’ve been resisting writing this, a eulogy for my friend—mostly because, once I got started writing, I feared that I might not be able to stop. Or want to. But today is the day of his memorial service, so since I can't be there, here it is.

Tons and tons of elegies for the man known all across the Internet as Acidman are out there for the reading—one of the most poignant, honest and most felt-by-me is from Steve Graham, who is only a hair’s breath worse writer than was the Man himself (I think Steve would agree). Paraphrasing the quote from me on his blog--which I wrote to him in email--Rob was loved and hated by nearly all who came across one of his missives. There was no middle ground. That quality speaks of a person who was alive, genuine, vital and uncompromising. What was not to love—or to hate?

But all that’s been said over and over again, ad infinitum. At first, I had decided not to put up anything further about Rob here, simply because I knew that anything I would write would be--selfishly--about my relationship with him. (Steve mentioned this phenomenon in the link above.) But, if I am to talk about Rob, there is no way that I can avoid this, since most observers know that Rob and I had complicated relationship and worshipped each other from afar.

It started with me commenting on his blog, usually about his posts regarding women, specifically about his ex-wife and their tussles regarding their son. My emails would contain detailed information, demonstrating that women aren’t the only ones capable of being as cold-hearted as his ex was to him (I have an ex-spouse also.) Occasionally I would comment on his race-related posts, without letting on that I am black and a Californian.

When I started my blog in 2003 and had been posting for a bit, I sent him a link. He linked to me immediately and marveled at how much we agreed on certain things, considering our divergent demographics.

Our relationship went pretty smoothly for a bit—always with him extending the occasional invitation to visit him at his home in Georgia. Wining, dining and gentlemanly behavior were always promised along with the honest admission that he would do his best to talk my clothes off.

Then came the n-word controversy. Denunciations and delinkings came from far and wide.

Rob’s post containing the n-word in an epithetical context came in the wake of a trip he took to Jamaica. I always suspected that he did some hardcore drugs on that vacation (as did many others), because immediately following his return, his post were nonsensical, mean, full of misspellings and full of grammatical errors. And if you know of Gut Rumbles and of its author—the possessor of an undergraduate degree in English Literature—you know that these types of errors were anomalies. He only seemed to slowly shake it off.

To make a long story short, I stopped talking to him for a bit. Then--as often happens with me and with those whom I care about—I got tired of being mad and we ‘squashed’ it.

I talked to him on the phone once for a couple of hours. His voice was warm, musical and only slightly Southern. He called me without identifying himself and, at first, and I wondered which old boyfriend had looked me up. (Yes, his voice had the cadence that many black men have, though not all of my old boyfriends have been black.)

I don’t remember a damned thing we talked about. All I remember is saying happily, “Rob…,” when he said who it was.

For whatever reason, I adored that man.

Of course, I know that I’m not alone. Rob had “wimmen” throwing their drawers at him left and right. I read about some of that drama occasionally, with rueful amusement. I’m sorry that none of them could make him happy. He had a quality that drew people to him--men, too--
often, as they were kicking and screaming.

Some part of me hopes that Rob is in a place which is identical to his beloved Costa Rica—where the women and sun are warm, where the alcohol will have all of its benefits and none of the drawbacks, where Rob has never had prostate cancer and has a working, willing and inspired “Roscoe,” and where he can communicate and be understood. And that part of me wishes that he's there at that mythical place acting as father to a young boy who looks a lot like one Quinton Smith and to a beautiful young woman who looks a lot like one Samantha Smith until the genuine articles meet him there a long time from now.

However, I am a Christian. I believe in the saving Power of Jesus Christ and in an Afterlife spent in Heaven or Hell. There’s no getting around that for me, nor for the friend whom I loved so much. That’s the biggest part of what has kept me from writing extensively about Rob’s passing.

Rob was an uncompromising atheist. Of course I prayed for him, as did Steve and, undoubtedly, as did countless other Christians who allow themselves to love those who don’t believe as they do.

Due to a (now deleted) post, which immediately preceded his death, the speculation is that Rob committed suicide, even though Samantha said that there was no physical evidence of that. I pray that the physical evidence points to the facts of a "natural" death, as I pray that Rob had time to ask the Lord for forgiveness and redemption before he left us. As I said, there's no getting around that for me.

So there we are. Actually I don't want to know the details of Rob's death ever and I hope that Samantha doesn't post them one way or the other. When it's my time to meet the Lord, I will rejoice in doing so. But, afterward, I will look for Robert Smith.

I pray that I will find him there.

UPDATE: Here's a post from one of Rob's guestblogging stints right here at this blog.

A Great Send Off

The family matter I had to attend to was flying to Albuquerque to see off my grandfather, William Woodrow D. Sr. (my step-dad’s dad) to the next phase. Grandpa was born on April 3, 1923 and died on June 3, 2006. Grandpa was a World War II veteran and a retired USAF NCO and I’m very happy and honored to have followed in his footsteps.

His funeral was presided over by my Uncle Bill, Jr.—a Methodist pastor and Dad’s younger and only brother—and the burial was in the military tradition. At first my uncle kept with the solemnity of the occasion, then he broke out in the tradition of black preachers everywhere—loud, happy and in praise of the Lord--and celebrated the life of his father in the tradition in which the gentleman had lived: “Don’t be lookin’ all sad, because Daddy was a guy who lived large and well.” (A paraphrase.) At that, Uncle tinkled his glass of ice water in manner in which Grandpa would tinkle his glass of gin and Seven-Up when making a point.

Grandpa was a husband (my grandma preceded him in death), the father of seven (two preceding him in death), the grandfather of nine and the great-grandfather of nine.

In the spirit of the good life which Grandpa lead, here are some photos of his family.

Octavia Butler

A lot of famous people have died this week—Don Knotts, Darren McGavin and Dennis Weaver--but I was most shocked and saddened to learn of the death of sci-fi/fantasy author Octavia Butler who was only 58. I was a big fan of her work, to say the least.

All of her stories featured black persons—sometimes that fact was essential to the story line; other times it was incidental. For me, her best work was Lilith’s Brood, also known as the ‘Xenogenesis’ series: Dawn, Adulthood Rites and Imago.

Her last work—which I haven’t read yet--is called Fledgling. I can’t wait to read, though I will dread finishing it, knowing that it will be Ms. Butler’s last.

(Thanks to D.C. Thornton)

Wilson Pickett

Wilson Pickett died today, succumbing to a heart attack at sixty-four.

I was surprised to find out that he was so young and saddened too--he projected an older and knowing persona way back when in the sixties, my first awareness of him. (The song "Engine, Engine Number Nine" rings in my head even now, likely heard from LA's old R&B station, KGFJ.)

Mr. Pickett's age upon passing is also just a little alarming, as both my mother and my step father will turn sixty-four this year. (They've both had their bouts, but seem relatively hale.) Take care of yourselves, parental units!

And Rest in Peace, Mr. Pickett. Say 'hi' to Mr. Rawls and Mr. Pryor; if you can.

Stanley Williams

Dead man, dead topic. Stanley “Tookie” Williams was executed first thing this morning. Somehow, we black people here in SCLA managed to control our “animal nature” and not riot, in spite of the cynical attempt by certain elements of the “Tookie” support to egg us on and in spite of those on the right (yes) who opined that LA residents needed to batten down the hatches.

Justice has been served.

UPDATE: Bay area headline:

Los Angeles 'quiet' after Williams execution

They seem shocked to find out that black Angelenos don't fit into their little pidgeon hole and seem oblivious to racism of the headline. Oh well.

PREVIOUSLY:
Arnold Says No
To A Young One Who Is An Apologist For A Terrorist
Tookie Blogging

Richard Pryor

The funniest man who ever lived is gone.

Richard Pryor, the groundbreaking comedian whose profanely personal insights into race relations and modern life made him one of Hollywood's biggest black stars, died of a heart attack Saturday. He was 65.

Pryor died shortly before 8 a.m. after being taken to a hospital from his home in the San Fernando Valley, said his business manager, Karen Finch. He had been ill for years with multiple sclerosis, a degenerative disease of the nervous system.

"We loved him and will miss you," his ex-wife, Flynn Pryor, said from her Florida home.

It's not a surprise, due to his illness and to his use and abuse of various substances, but it still hurts. He was the first "blue" comedian I ever heard and, as I was just saying the other day, his comedy stands the test of time. Remember the 'monkey' routine? Remember 'Mudbone?' Remember him joking about the freebasing incident? Milk and cookies, indeed.

He was even funny on television, where he had to clean it up considerably. (He had his own series for a short time.)

As the former Mrs. Pryor said--he had a knack for keeping the love of his many ex-wives--I will love and miss that Crazy...man.

UPDATE: Roger L. Simon--who worked with The Great Pryor--pays tribute.

Shifty One

It seems every blogger comes to this point and I was fortunate that I didn't reach it for over two years, but now, here I am.

Since one of my commenters has a shifting IP address and resists banning, I am forced to use Typepad's comment approval system. I didn't want to use any of the protective devices that Typepad has recently implemented, because I value the free flow of conversation and, frankly, I don't feel like reading everyone's comments. However, someone always has to drop a turd in the punchbowl.

So when your comments don't appear automatically, it's because I'm asleep or gone or busy. Blame Bill O.

UPDATE: Simple question, not unrelated:

Why is it when you’re standing there handing out “Dumba** of the Month” awards someone’s always trying to cut in line?

Heather Bare

Better known as Momma Bear, Heather passed away today after a battle with cancer. She simply was the blog-Mom--in the encouragement and friendship sense--to lots of folks, including me.

Rest in peace, Momma Bear.

Rosa Parks

One day you're an unknown Negro seamstress in the segregated South. The next day, you're a legend whose very name evokes hope and change for the better in an America that lives up to her ideals.

DETROIT - Rosa Lee Parks, whose refusal to give up her bus seat to a white man sparked the modern civil rights movement, died Monday. She was 92.

Mrs. Parks died at her home of natural causes, said Karen Morgan, a spokeswoman for U.S. Rep. John Conyers (news, bio, voting record), D-Mich.

Mrs. Parks was 42 when she committed an act of defiance in 1955 that was to change the course of American history and earn her the title "mother of the civil rights movement." [SNIP]

The Montgomery, Ala., seamstress, an active member of the local chapter of the
National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, was riding on a city bus Dec. 1, 1955, when a white man demanded her seat.

Mrs. Parks refused, despite rules requiring blacks to yield their seats to whites. Two black Montgomery women had been arrested earlier that year on the same charge, but Mrs. Parks was jailed. She also was fined $14.

Speaking in 1992, she said history too often maintains "that my feet were hurting and I didn't know why I refused to stand up when they told me. But the real reason of my not standing up was I felt that I had a right to be treated as any other passenger. We had endured that kind of treatment for too long."

Her arrest triggered a 381-day boycott of the bus system organized by a then little-known Baptist minister, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., who later earned the Nobel Peace Prize for his work. [SNIP]

The movement culminated in the 1964 federal Civil Rights Act, which banned racial discrimination in public accommodations.

Amazing how small events can ripple out into meaningful change.

Rest in Peace, Mrs. Parks. You've definitely earned it.

Another Storm Coming

Chief Justice of the Supreme Court William Rehnquist died today at home, succumbing to cancer. He was 80.

Chief Justice Rehnquist, the court's longest-serving member, was appointed an associate justice by President Nixon in 1971 and elevated to chief justice by President Reagan in 1986.

The chief justice's health had been closely followed by business interests as well as the White House, whose plans to fill Justice O'Connor's seat depended in part on whether there would be a second vacancy.

UPDATE: The Katrina Relief link will be in the next post.

Peter Jennings

The long-time ABC News anchor succumbed to inoperable lung cancer.

I really hate it when someone I merely dislike dies a painful death like this, because I want them to be healthy and well so I can dislike them with a clean conscience.

Hopefully, he was able to find some peace before he went.

UPDATE: Aaron is not so charitable.

I’m grateful that he never got to see the destruction of Israel he worked so hard for...

As am I.

...Lung cancer. No sympathy from me for chain-smoking Hanan Ashrawi’s old flame. It looks like he inhaled… VERY deeply.

Aaron lists Mr. Jennings' sins, and they are many. It's just that he's not in the ground yet and I don't go there until such time--actual terrorists and murderers are excluded from this rule.

And as someone who has done battle with nicotine-addiction--winning right now--I'm not willing to have its effects boomerang onto me by gloating over Mr. Jennings' lost battle.

If he has something to pay for, you can bet that he's paying right now.

Assassination

Journalist targeted.

BAGHDAD, Iraq -- An American freelance journalist and blogger was found dead in the southern Iraqi city of Basra, the U.S. Embassy said Wednesday.

Police said Steven Vincent had been shot multiple times after he and his Iraqi translator were abducted at gunpoint hours earlier. Police said Mr. Vincent, a blogger who had been living in New York, had been staying in Basra for several months working on a book.

"I can confirm to you that officials in Basra have recovered the body of journalist Steven Vincent," said embassy spokesman Pete Mitchell. [SNIP]

Mr. Vincent's blog describes him as a freelance investigative journalist and art critic whose work had appeared in major newspapers and magazines including Harper's and the Christian Science Monitor. He worked briefly for The Wall Street Journal in 1998, writing about art, and was the author of "In the Red Zone: A Journey Into the Soul of Iraq,'' a recently published book that was an account of life in a post-Saddam Hussein Iraq. [SNIP]

I did not know of this gentleman’s efforts and am very sorry to learn of them this way. God rest him.

(Thanks to Roger Simon)

He Lived Long

And Prospered.

LOS ANGELES - James Doohan, the burly chief engineer of the Starship Enterprise in the original “Star Trek” TV series and motion pictures who responded to the command “Beam me up, Scotty,” died early Wednesday. He was 85.

Doohan died at 5:30 a.m. at his Redmond, Wash., home with his wife of 28 years, Wende, at his side, Los Angeles agent and longtime friend Steve Stevens said. The cause of death was pneumonia and Alzheimer’s disease, he said.

Another part of my chldhood is gone. Later, Mr. Scott.

Army of Fewer

Faded Away

General William Westmoreland, commander of Military Assistance Command and Army Chief of Staff during the Vietnam War, died yesterday of natural causes at age 91.

While that war was lost (yes, I know why), General Westmoreland had been victorious in another battle against a well-known opponent who, apparently, learned nothing in twenty-two years.

In 1982, he filed a $120 million lawsuit against CBS over a documentary "The Uncounted Enemy: A Vietnam Deception," which implied he had deceived President Johnson and the public about enemy troop strength in Vietnam.

At the time, Westmoreland said the question "is not about whether the war in Vietnam was right or wrong, but whether in our land a television network can rob an honorable man of his reputation."

After an 18-week trial in New York, the case was settled shortly before it was to go to the jury.

RIP, sir.

(Thanks to American Soldier--via Blackfive--for the extra information)

Luther Vandross, RIP

Luther Vandross is dead at age 54. Simply put, he was a legend.

He was arguably the most celebrated R&B balladeer of his generation. He made women swoon with his silky yet forceful tenor, which he often revved up like a motor engine before reaching his beautiful crescendos. [SNIP]

Vandross' style harkened back to a more genteel era of crooning. While many of his contemporaries and successors belted out tunes that were sexually charged and explicit, Vandross preferred soft pillow talk and songs that spoke to heartfelt emotions.

"I'm more into poetry and metaphor, and I would much rather imply something rather than to blatantly state it," he said. "You blatantly state stuff sometimes when you can't think of a a poetic way to say it."

A great legacy to leave behind.

Servant-Leader Honored

“The servant-leader is servant first… It begins with the natural feeling that one wants to serve, to serve first. Then conscious choice brings one to aspire to lead. He or she is sharply different from the person who is leader first, perhaps because of the need to assuage an unusual power drive or to acquire material possessions. [SNIP]

The difference manifest itself in the care taken by the servant-first to make sure that other people’s highest priority needs are being served. The best test, and difficult to administer , is: do those served grow as persons; do they, while being served, become healthier, wiser, freer, more autonomous, more likely themselves to become servants? And, what is the effect on the least privileged in society; will they benefit, or, at least, will they not be further deprived?”

--Robert Greenleaf, Servant as Leader

When I was more cynical, I used to wonder at the fact that when those who are considered heroes get their accolades, there are always people available to say what a great person they are/were. Then it dawned on me (duh) that the type of person that would do what the latest Congressional Medal of Honor (CMH) recipient did, would often have other traits that would cause others to label him/her ‘great:’ the whole complement of virtues.

Here is part of the CMH citation for the late Sergeant First Class Paul R. Smith. (President Bush presented the medal to SFC Smith's widow and his two children on April 4, 2005, the two-year anniversary of the sergeant's heroic sacrifice.)

As the fight developed, Sergeant First Class Smith braved hostile enemy fire to personally engage the enemy with hand grenades and anti-tank weapons, and organized the evacuation of three wounded soldiers from an armored personnel carrier struck by a rocket propelled grenade and a 60mm mortar round. Fearing the enemy would overrun their defenses, Sergeant First Class Smith moved under withering enemy fire to man a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on a damaged armored personnel carrier. In total disregard for his own life, he maintained his exposed position in order to engage the attacking enemy force. During this action, he was mortally wounded. His courageous actions helped defeat the enemy attack, and resulted in as many as 50 enemy soldiers killed, while allowing the safe withdrawal of numerous wounded soldiers.

Next Phase

It’s over, thank God. I hope that John Paul II is enjoying his reward.

UPDATE: Condolences from Mesopotamia.

John Paul II (UPDATED)

What a week, but we knew this next was coming. I’m not Catholic, but you don’t have to be to admire the man, born Karol Wojtyla, who became Pope John Paul II. It appears that the rest of his life can only be measured in hours. After a health spiral started by an assassination attempt in 1981 (possibly perpetrated by the old Stasi and the KGB it’s been lately revealed) and which included Parkinson’s disease and, ironically, a feeding tube through his nose, septic shock is finally doing him in.

Mentally and spiritually, however, he has always seemed tough and sharp, which appears to have added to his physical stamina, even in its decline. Surviving Nazi and Soviet occupation of one’s homeland will do that.

Here are a few interesting facts about John Paul II’s ascendance to the Papacy:

1.After being elected Pope on October 16, 1978, he named himself after his immediate predecessor, John Paul I, who died on September 28, 1978 of a heart attack only thirty-four days after succeeding Pope Paul VI. (1978 is known as the year of the three Popes for this reason.)

2. He was the first non-Italian pope in 456 years. The last one was Pope Adrian VI, a Dutchman, who was elected in 1522 and died in 1523.

3. The election of a non-Italian seems to have been a political compromise among the then Italian-dominated cardinals. Sounds to me as if none of them trusted each other.

The 26 Italian cardinals were too sharply divided to agree on an Italian candidate and their disunity led the way to the election of a non-Italian candidate, according to the October 19 [1978] Washington Post. Although church sources said there was no bloc voting, the inability of the Italians to agree on one candidate increased Wojtyla's strength. His name had been submitted from the beginning and he added a few more votes on each ballot.

Wojtyla's acceptability to the U.S. and West German cardinals, who knew him from his tours to those countries, was said to have been crucial to his election.

They picked the cool Polish guy that everybody liked and that the Soviets would come to hate and fear. That sunny disposition was apparently a front for a spine of steel.

Along with US President Ronald Reagan and UK Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, Pope John Paul II turned out to be the late USSR’s undoing. If the KGB did have a hand in the attempt on his life, it would make perfect sense. His visit to then Soviet-controlled Poland in 1979 galvanized his countrymen.

Church bells throughout Poland began to ring at 10:05 a.m., as soon as Pope John Paul II set foot on Polish soil. Upon arrival, he kissed the ground and was greeted by President Henryk Jablonski, the ceremonial head of state, and Stefan Cardinal Wyszynski, primate of Poland. Hundreds of thousands of Poles lined the road from the airport to Warsaw.[SNIP]

"Christ cannot be kept out of the history of man in any part of the globe," {said John Paul II in] an indirect rebuttal to the official atheism of communist ideology.

If you’re old enough to remember that time, you remember what a powerhouse the Soviet bloc seemed to be in those days: the 'evil empire.' Pope John Paul II has shown that he is more than some nice man wearing a white frock and a little white cap again and again, but the revelation started there. Though I despise this phrase, it fits John Paul II more than most: he spoke ‘truth to power.’ As it turned out, the power he served was infinitely stronger than that of the Soviets.

More from the 1979 visit to Poland:

As archbishop of Krakow, John Paul had visited Auschwitz many times, and he was the first Pope to travel to a Nazi camp. He called it "a place built on hatred and on contempt for man in the name of a crazed ideology, a place built on cruelty." [SNIP]

At the main Auschwitz camp, the Pope visited the cell where Reverend Maximilian Kolbe, a Polish Franciscan monk, was imprisoned in July 1941. Kolbe volunteered to take the place of a Polish prisoner who had been condemned to die of starvation as punishment for the escape of another prisoner. Kolbe was beatified by the Catholic Church in 1971.

The Pope then laid a wreath and said a prayer at the Wall of Death, where an estimated 20,000 people were shot during the five years the camp was in operation.

(Emphasis mine; no comment)

The Soviets recognized what a danger he was to their grip on power in Eastern Europe.

Soviet television broadcast its first report on the Pope's visit to Poland June 3, two days after the pontiff's arrival. A commentator observed that "some circles in the Polish church...are trying to use [the visit] for anti-state purposes." Cameras showed the Pope arriving at the Warsaw airport but did not show the large crowd that turned out to welcome him.

The Soviets are gone but the Pope is still here. For the moment.

Question: Will this Pope be missed by millions, Catholic and non-Catholic alike?

Answer (sort of): Is the Pope Polish?

(All quotes come from Facts.com)

UPDATE: The Anchoress has a great roundup of Pope-blogging.

UPDATE: Don Singleton has some excellent photos of the young Karol Wojtyla and a detailed description of what happens after a pontiff goes to his reward.

An Ending

Terri Schiavo, 1963-2005.

Well, at least her earthly suffering has, for certain, ended.

But I doubt that this is the last of this matter.

I'd love to fail like that! (Kathleen)

Poor Carly Fiorina. She didn't achieve the goals that were set out for her at HP, and so she's been fired. Oh, but don't you feel sorry for her:

She will receive $14 million in severance pay and a $7.4 million bonus for 2004...

Wowee! Most people I know who have been fired receive a much difference severance package. This package usually includes an escort from the building with a nice security guard and - if they're lucky - a week or two worth of salary.

It must be ever so lovely to be an executive and know that, even if you're a complete failure at the task assigned to you, you'll still get more money than most people will earn in their lifetimes. I'd love to know how the rank-and-file at HP feel knowing that they'll struggle for their measly annual raise this year even if they've put in a spectacular year; while Carly Fiorina can do an arguably bad job and pull down over $20 Million.

Life Well Lived

For those of us Americans between thirty and forty-five who were occasionally allowed to stay up past the specified bedtime, there was always Johnny Carson.

Those who are older mostly appreciate his comedy, his comic timing, his ad-libbing talent and his class. I feel sorry for those who are younger; who never saw him live; who now never can.

Aside from Jack Benny (who?), never was there a man who could deliver a funnier line with a straighter face.

And, unlike the major stars of today, Mr. Carson never seemed to think that his political views (or any other views) were important enough for him to inflict them on an attentive public.

He did his job, that alone and quite well to boot. For that, I thank him.