Category: random

There’s your braided leather kack
Just sittin’, lonely on its rack.
And reins hang against the wall.
The inside of my dead ponies stall.
I miss you Captain Jack.
I miss you my old friend,
Now that you’re at your trails end.
Old age is what caught you
And I suppose it’ll catch me too.
Then together we’ll ride again.

For several weeks Angela had suspected Kristen of undercutting her editorial authority. She accused Kristen of little things at first; purposely using a certain computer to keep Angela from working on the front page and changing headlines or photographs for the paper.

It soon progressed into much larger accusations. Angela confided in Tommy that she believed Kristen had locked her out of the computers main frame. She also said that Kristen had been using company equipment to work for another news gathering organization.

Angela became more and more hostile towards Kristen. She transferred her to production, to work on advertisements. Angela even forbid Kristen from being in the newsroom for any reason.

One afternoon Kristen walked into the newsroom to say hello to her friend Angie. She sat down in a chair next to Angela’s desk and started talking to the reporter. Within seconds Kristen found herself being screamed at by the editor.

“You were told that you were not to be in here for any reason,” Angela yelled at the younger woman. Angela was red in the face and shaking her finger at Kristen.

Kristen sat frozen from the sudden verbal attack. She said nothing to Angela as tears began to well up in her eyes.

Jessica and Tommy stopped what they were working on as Angela Williamson became more irate and foul mouthed towards the woman. Neither one could believe what they were hearing or seeing.

It was not the last time Angela found a reason to confront Kristen.

The second time was when Kristen and one of her co-workers in production walked down the corridor to go to lunch. They passed around the perimeter of the newsroom which was line by a half wall and a long counter.

Angela was unable to stop the pair as they left the building, but she was prepared when Kristen and the other woman came into the building using the same door and started around the counter and half-wall. She jumped up from her desk and rushed at Kristen, flashing photographs of her as she went.

“I’m tired of you disobeying me,” Angela screamed. “I’m going to call Ed and show him these pictures. You’re not going to get away with lying to him this time. Now get the eff out of my newsroom and don’t let me see you in here again!”

It was another nasty scene that Jessica, Angie and Tommy could not believe had occurred.

Later that day several production workers and salespeople wanted to know what was the problem with Angela. One even approached Tommy as he walked to the bathroom.

“What the hell is her problem?” the saleswoman asked. Then she added, “I don’t know how you can stand to work for a person like that. She acts like an alcoholic.”

Tommy never answered because he didn’t want to find himself on the receiving end of Angela’s wrath and he didn’t want to engage in rumors. He did stop by Kristen’s work station to ask if she were alright after being verbally abused.

Kristen smiled as she turned red, recalling the embarrassing situation and said, “Yeah, I’m tough.”

Within four weeks Kristen quit her position and went to work at the major newspaper in the area. Angie never recovered from seeing her co-worker and friend humiliated like she was; she soon found another reporting position in Southern California.

The last few days have been hard on my body and mind. After falling during cross-country practice last week while coaching, my right forearm would not quit hurting.

I went to the VAMC and had it x-rayed.  Yup, I broke it.

My record is looking pretty good averaging out the last three-years. I have fallen three times (once a year) and only broken stuff twice.

If I were a pro baseball player I’d be batting 66-percent.

It is a spiral fracture that left my arm feeling very tender, especially when I would bump it every few minutes. Shoot, jus’ lifting my fingers caused me pain, so typing has been out of the question until today.

Then I had a problem with my truck–twice. It was the same problem both times.

The second time I was left stranded in Gerlach, Nevada, waiting nearly three hours for the tow truck. It is finally fixed at the cost of about $900 that I didn’t ‘t really have to spend.

Virginia, Santa will be late.

Jump to this last Wednesday, when I drove with the cross-country team to Yerington, Nevada for a meet.

The weather was windy but warm–a nice day for a three-mile run. I was watching the first place runner speed to the finish line when I was run over by the second place finisher.

I didn’t even see him coming!

He ran right through the finish line and into the flagging that was supposed to direct him down to where he would find out his time.  Instead he raced right into the flagging and me.

I remember hearing a ‘crunch ‘ which I believe was my neck ‘popping’ as I struck the ground.

The other spectators told me later that both the runner and I went flying head-over-heels. When I woke up face down in the grass, the flagging and my camera were wrapped tightly around my throat.

I recall trying to remember when cross­ country races had become a contact sport.  Needless to say I have been rather stoved-up since it happened and I know my lower back HATES me.

Then today a five-year old boy decided to take a rock and rub it the length of my pick-up truck. I followed him home and talk with his grandpa and him.

He said that he did it because the two boys playing in my drive way said too. However, I had heard the conversation and knew that they were telling him NOT to throw rocks “because you could scratch the guy’s truck.”

I watched, so dumbfounded that I couldn’t say anything as he ran the rock the length of the truck.

After talking to the boy and his grandpa, I found out that little boy thought the two older kids had TOLD him to scratch the truck.  I ended walking home, laughing all the way, unable to be mad over a simple mistake like that.

Labor Day, I filled in on the air for another newscaster who had taken the three day weekend off. It was during my 7 p.m. newscast that I misspoke Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi’s last name and I knew it.

Instead of “Pell-oh-see,” like it should be, I said “Poh-slee” or something to that effect. I followed the general rule of thumb in radio and television that teaches broadcasters to move forward even if you ‘gaff it,’ don’t wait around trying to fix the mistake—just move on.

No sooner had I switched off the microphone, than the studio telephone started ringing. It was a male listener who was intent on criticizing me for my error.

After so many years of radio broadcasting, a person kind of gets the idea of what is going to the topic of conversation.

The first time I answered the phone he wanted to know if I was the announcer. I told him I was and he proceeded to ask, “Do you know how to say Nancy Pelosi’s last name?”

My response was emphatic and immediate, “Yes, but didn’t you listen to what you’re grandma told you: If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all?”

Then I added, “Thank you for the call. Have a nice evening.”

I hung up the phone. A few seconds later the phone rang again. It was the same guy and once again he wanted to know it I knew how to say Nancy Pelosi’s last name correctly.

I responded, “I know I said her name wrong,” then added, “When you get your own radio show then you can be critical of me all you want.”

In my mind there was nothing left for me to say and there certainly was nothing left for me to hear. I screwed up her name and I realized it before anybody else. I think that it is appallingly rude to call someone you don’t really know and remind them of their short comings.

Then around 9 a.m., Tuesday morning, I got a telephone call from the stations Program Director wanting to know what happened at 7 p.m. My stomach fell through as I figured I was going to get “canned.”

He wanted to know what had happened and I recalled the entire incident for him. I also apologized for causing him a problem and not handling the situation in a better manner.

The Program Director explained to me that he deals with these sorts of situations all the time. His position was that the majority of complaints are listeners who have nothing better to do than “bust our chops” for any thing they can find wrong.

It doesn’t pay to be a smartass.

Aaron Russo, the Hollywood producer-turned-political firebrand who sounded early alarms about a coming global surveillance state, has died at age 64. Russo, who had battled cancer for nearly six years, passed away Friday, August 24, at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, surrounded by family and loved ones.

But Russo’s death leaves lingering questions—and a legacy that some say was decades ahead of its time.

In a historic and unsettling final interview, Russo detailed shocking insider knowledge allegedly given to him by a prominent member of the Rockefeller family. According to Russo, he was warned months before the September 11 attacks that a series of orchestrated events would be used to justify wars abroad, curtail civil liberties at home, and eventually implement a high-tech police state capable of tracking every citizen through implantable RFID microchips.

What once sounded like far-fetched warnings have, in the post-9/11 world, come eerily close to reality: endless foreign wars, ballooning surveillance programs, and growing corporate-government partnerships over personal data. Russo’s words, dismissed by many at the time as fringe, now read like a chilling roadmap.

“He was my best friend for 27 years,” said Heidi Gregg, his girlfriend and confidante. “Aaron was a freedom fighter, a filmmaker, and a lover of life.”

Russo’s career was nothing short of remarkable. In the 1970s, he managed musical legends like Bette Midler—producing her Tony Award-winning “Clams on the Half-Shell Revue”—and The Manhattan Transfer. He transitioned into film, producing hits like the critically acclaimed “The Rose” (1979) starring Midler and the classic comedy “Trading Places” (1983) featuring Eddie Murphy and Dan Aykroyd.

But Russo’s path shifted dramatically in the 1990s. Alarmed by growing federal overreach, he mounted an outsider campaign for Nevada governor in 1998 as a Republican, championing states’ rights and pledging to fight IRS abuses. Although he lost the primary to Kenny Guinn, Russo remained undeterred, later mounting a brief Libertarian presidential bid in 2004.  

In 2006, Russo completed what many consider his most powerful work, the documentary America: Freedom to Fascism. The film exposed what Russo described as the “fraudulent” nature of the IRS and warned of the creeping loss of American freedoms—a theme that echoes even louder today.

Born in Brooklyn in 1943 and raised on Long Island, Russo’s entrepreneurial spirit emerged early. As a teenager, he promoted rock concerts, and by his twenties, he was running a successful Chicago nightclub that hosted iconic acts like Janis Joplin and The Grateful Dead.

Those who knew Russo describe him as relentless and unwavering in his pursuit of truth.

“He was pointed, and once he knew there was a direction to go, you couldn’t get him to turn left or right,” said Ilona Urban, his longtime press secretary. “He was very committed.”

Russo is survived by Gregg and their two children, Sam Russo, 22, and Max Russo, 25.

As mainstream media outlets pay tribute to Russo’s career in entertainment, many of his followers wonder aloud–did Aaron Russo die with secrets that could have changed history? And in an age where government surveillance is no longer science fiction but an admitted reality, was his final warning not a conspiracy but a prophecy?

Only time will tell.

“Don’t know how I done it,” the Coosie said out loud to no one in particular. He shook his head and let out a long sigh.

“Its okay Slim,” one of the young buckaroos commented. They had all heard it before and they didn’t want to hear it again. They all sat around the campfire or near the chuck wagon eating the beans and warm biscuits that the Coosie had served.

“I know it’s only been a couple of days since we ain’t seen Old Joe,” said the Coosie. “But it sure seems longer,” he added. He poked a long branch into the fire, stirring up the orange ambers. The fires light danced yellow and red in his nearly white beard.

He was the oldest man there. That was no doubt. And he proved it. He could remember things about the lay of the land that some of the young ones never knew. He could read nearly three hundred different brands without pause and he could make a mean son-of a-gun-stew. He had been the outfits’ cook for the last eighteen years.

Now old age seemed to be creeping up on him. And he didn’t like it one little bit. His memory seemed to be failing him and the hands knew it. Worse yet, so did the jigger-boss. The Coosie had been seeing it in Reds’ eyes for the last couple of days.

The Coosie rose up off his haunches and grabbed a few more pieces of wood and tossed them on top of the fire. The flames danced back to greater life. The Coosie sighed again.

He turned and looked south. “Where in the devil is that Houlihan?” he asked. He’d sent Smitty back by hoss the moment he realized that Old Joe was missing. The way the Coosie figured it, the button should have been back by now.

The night wranglers could be heard catching up their mounts and saddling them. They had a two-hour watch ahead. The Coosie was certain that they missed Old Joe’s company by now. He breathed another sigh and shook his head. He felt full of grief over the loss of Old Joe.

There was work still needing to be done, so the Coosie set about doing it. He moved the wagon-tongue around till it pointed to the North Star. Then he set about washing up the tin ware in the bucket. He hoped as he worked that the young Houlihan would be back before the camp pulled freight. Everyone was miserable without Old Joe.

The Coosie could imagine the aroma of Old Joe as he poured the piping hot liquid into a cup. “Want another cup of Joe?” a voice asked inside his head.

The room was silent as the old man finished up his story. Then came a little voice, “Is that true?” one of the nine grandchildren asked Grandpa Smith.

He pulled a couple of times on his pipe and then answered, “Yep.” He blew out a thick cloud of blue smoke and then added, “I know it to be true as I was the young Houlihan that rode all day and night to fetch the missing bag of coffee beans.”

“Okay,” a woman’s voice came. “It’s time for bed.”

“Ahhh,” responded all nine grandchildren in disappointment.

A couple of his classmates snickered when they heard Kyle say, “I’ll join.”

Then one of the girls said, “Coach couldn’t even get you to run a hundred steps last year during P.E.”

Kyle ignored the remark and the chuckling and kept his hand raised to make certain that the new Cross Country coach had seen him. The young man didn’t know it but he would be one of only four boys from his entire school to sign up for the sport.

The following day, the four boys walked across the street from their school to the park for the first day of practice. They were met there by the coach.

“I’m going to make things simple,” he said. “I expect you give one-hundred percent everyday at practice and I expect you to do your best at every meet.”

The coach paused, his hands firmly placed on his hips as he looked at each boy, then he added, “Any questions?”

After a few seconds he said, “Good! Now I need five laps as soon as we get warmed up.”

By the end of his second lap, the coach could tell that Kyle would require more time and effort to complete the assigned run. He could see that the young man was overweight and not used to the level of exercise required to run a three and a half mile race.

Still he had to admire the fact that the kid wasn’t complaining or giving up. It took him twice as long to finish the five miles as it did his other three team mates.

“I’m not very good at this,” he complained to the coach after he caught his breath. Then he added, “Maybe I should quit before I embarrass you or the other guys.”

The coach stepped up and looked the 15-year old in the face and asked, “Did you give it your all today?”

The teen sheepishly answered, “Yes.”

“Good! Then I’ll hear no more talk about quitting!” the coach barked at the startled runner.

The team worked out with one another for the next two-weeks. They ran not only in the park across from the school, but they also ran in the hills surrounding town, using old cattle trails for their workout paths.

At the first race, the competition was steep. Nearly 200 runners had arrived to run through the mountains over looking North Lake High School. The best place anyone from the team was 55th.

It was Kyle who did the worst though. He placed last in his division, even being out paced by the girls as they started half an hour after the boys took off in their race. I took the young man more than twice the time it took others in the race to complete the course.

The coach felt a knot in his stomach as he stood waiting for the last member of his team to cross the finish line. He also felt bad for the young man as he came around the corner and through the gate onto the football field all the while being passed by girls his own age.

Kyle refused to give up.

The next week the same thing happened, followed by the same occurrence the following week. Kyle refused to give up and by this time he had gained a small fan based, made up of runners from other area teams, who willingly cheered him on as he ran towards the finish line.

By the seventh and final week of the regular season, coaches were standing along the sidelines cheering Kyle as he dashed towards the finish line. Some had even started chanting his name, “Kyle, Kyle, Kyle…” until he finished.

One coach even went as far as to nickname him “Last Place Lane.” At first Kyles’s coach was angry at the idea of such a rotten thing to call a child, but Kyle smiled and said that he like being called that.

“Why?” the coach asked.

Kyle smiled and then explained, “It makes me feel like a champion simply for finishing, Dad.” Then the young man added, “Besides last place is a place. There are a couple of guys who dropped out in the middle of the race.”

I nodded my head in agreement with my son’s statement.

That’s when it occurred to me that Kyle had the right attitude about sports and sportsmanship. I also realized that while Kyle may have been the team’s worst runner, he was also the last champion.

In 1969, a past, current and a future U.S. president walked through the redwoods in Orick, jus’ south of Del Norte. They were Lyndon Johnson, who a few months prior held the title, Richard Nixon who was president at the time, and California Governor Ronald Reagan, who would be elected president a little more than a decade later.

In October 1968, Johnson signed into law the act that established Redwood National Park, which preserved 58,000 acres in the care of the National Park Service. The following August, newly elected President Nixon, along with Johnson, Lady Bird Johnson and Reagan, dedicated the Lady Bird Johnson Grove nature trail in Johnson’s wife’s name.

The dedication ceremony was combined with a birthday party for Lyndon Johnson. About halfway along the trail through the grove, a plaque commemorates that ceremony.

During the ceremony, Nixon said, “To stand here in this grove of redwoods, to realize what a few moments of solitude in this magnificent place can mean, what it can mean to a man who is president, what it can mean to any man or any woman who needs time to get away from whatever may be the burdens of all our tasks, and then that renewal that comes from it — to stand here makes us realize the great service that a President of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt, rendered when he put so much emphasis on conservation; that these Congressmen and Senators and Governors have rendered by their support for conservation and that our very honored guest, Mrs. Lyndon B. Johnson, Lady Bird Johnson, has rendered in her work for beautification, and particularly her work with regard to this very grove in which we stand.”

“So today I sign this proclamation as President of the United States, but I sign it for all the people of California, for all the people of the United States, in admiration and respect for a great First Lady — Lady Bird Johnson.”

Lady Bird Johnson remarked, “You have given me a day to treasure always, and I am grateful. I am grateful, too, to another president who in his time, along, with many, many people, did what he could to insure that these trees would be here for all tomorrows.”

“Conservation is indeed a bipartisan business because all of us have the same stake in this magnificent continent. All of us have the same love for it and the same feeling that it is going to belong to our children and grandchildren and their grandchildren — I am coming to understand a lot better these days — the same opportunity to work in our time to see that it stays as glorious.”

Former President Johnson also spoke at the ceremony:”I would hope that future generations might look down the history of our past and look at the great conservation leaders and that some of my children and my grandchildren if I am fortunate, even myself, could read not only what both President Nixon and I read about the works of Theodore Roosevelt and his leadership in the field of conservation and Franklin D. Roosevelt and what he had done to conserve this nation,” he said, “but that we soon might have a book from the Richard M. Nixon Library that would join with the great names of Roosevelt, the great name of Richard Nixon; because if I am a prophet — one that can see the beauties that abound in this state where he grew up and where he enjoyed coming to the forests and building a fire and talking about the glories of this state — it could be well extended to the rest of the nation and the other states.”

Lady Bird Johnson passed away July 11th, 2007 at her home in Texas, surrounded by friends and family. She was 94-years-old.

It was the first day of the New Year and Mom and Dad were still in bed after celebrations the night before. My brother and I were trying to entertain ourselves and that’s how we ended up in trouble.

It was the far end of the field, across from the Morgan’s and behind Mrs. Teshudi’s home where the trouble began. Perhaps, maybe it was in our home as that’s where we found a book of matches.

Either way: trouble. The two of us went outside and found a spider web. We burnt it using a match and it was fun.

So we went looking for more webs in the yellowing grass throughout the neighborhood. After having torch a number of webs, we found ourselves in that field as previously mentioned.

However, the web be lit on fire turned into a small grass fire, which grew into a large fire. After trying to stomp the blaze out, we raced home to tell Dad, who was also the Fire Captain of the Yurok Volunteer Fire Department, about the grass fire.

Of course we didn’t mention the fact that we had started the thing. He scrambled down to the fire station at the head of Redwood Drive, pushing the siren and starting the large fire-truck on the way up the street.

By the time he pulled up to the blaze, it was burning the fence along Mrs. Teshudi’s property line and was racing west towards the Babbs’ home. It took fire crews about half an hour to put out the grass fire.

The gutter along the sidewalk was filled with dirty brown water and debris. One of the items of debris was a book of matches from the Air Force base’s NCO club, where my parents had been the night before.

As they washed by, I pointed them out to my mother. Busted!

By the time it was all done, both my brother and I had gotten a lecture from the Fire Chief Warren Hornsby, Sheriff Deputy Lloyd Seats and eventually a butt-whipping our father. We thought we’d never be able to sit down again.

Buddy Mouser died May 14, 2007. He was born July 12, 1944 in Tehachapi; and was a 57-year resident of Del Norte County making his home in Klamath

He was a graduate of Del Norte High School, worked as a logger for 50 years, as well as a commercial fisherman. Buddy was 62.