Call me cruel, but I have absolutely no pity for the American hikers who strayed across the border of Iran and are now captive. Why where they in Iraqi Kurdistan to begin with?
From freethehikers.org
Shane Bauer, Sarah Shourd and Josh Fattal have been detained in Iran since July 31, 2009, when news reports say they accidentally crossed an unmarked border while hiking in the mountains of Iraqi Kurdistan near the Ahmed Awa waterfall, a local beauty spot. They were in a peaceful region of northern Iraq that is increasingly popular with Western tourists attracted by its natural beauty, traditional culture and long history. The three hikers, all graduates of UC Berkeley, entered northern Iraq with visas from Turkey on July 28 and had planned to spend five days visiting the area.
Apparently UC Berkeley doesn’t teach history, and apparently didn’t advise these graduates that Iran and Iraq are warzones and have been since the crusades. Apparently they completely missed the whole incidents involving the Ayatollah Khomeni, the Iran Iraq War, and the taking of American hostages in 1979-1980. One would have think that these students would have at least heard of the war the US had with Iraq and the execution of Sadam Hussein.
No, they were liberals and believed the whole world to be as free and as expressive as the United States. Apparently they wouldn’t be satisfied with some of the safe sights to see in the world: The Grand Canyon, The Eiffel Tower, Sidney Opera House, Angel Falls, Black Forest, or Iguazu Falls.
No, they had to go see the Ahmed Awa waterfall. And they traveled in the war torn Middle East to see this local beauty spot. Looking at the pictures, Niagara Falls is far more majestic in comparison.
After spending almost a year in detainment, I am sure they learned a harsh lesson that the world is not a free place. There are places where Americans are free to travel, and there are places that pretty much hate our guts.
Turkey is a fantastic majestic country with long history and fantastic cuisine. They are members of NATO and share a really good relationship with the United States. I might want to see Istanbul on the far Western side of Turkey, however you wouldn’t catch me ever going anywhere near the Eastern side of Turkey. It shares borders with Syria, Iran, and Iraq on the Eastern side.
Iran was protecting their sovereign borders by apprehending these hikers who had no right to be in their country. As I mentioned, Iran is not a friend to the West. If they really thought the hikers were spies, they would be executed by now. No, they aren’t spies, just trespassers. Now Iran is in a good position to continue to drive the point home that Iran hates the West as much as we hate Iran. They can keep the hikers imprisoned pretty much indefinitely, with only giving visits to parents and releasing tapes to keep the story alive.
I can only hope that others learn from the stupidity of these hikers. If you have money and want to travel abroad: Do some homework. Look up the country on the Internet and understand where it is, and its attitude towards citizens of the United States. Read the maps and comprehend how close where you will be will take you to nations that are enemies of the United States. Stay out of war zones!
Most importantly, learn as you travel, that not every nation is like the United States. Not every nation has the same attitudes towards freedom and justice. There are some nations still where slavery and torture are still permitted by law. Even so called “Western nations” will have differences in the way they approach freedom and justice.
Realize there are a lot of places United States citizens can travel with relative freedom. There are a lot of nations that have good relations with the United States government and welcome your dollars as a tourist.
Lastly, there are so many sights to see right here in the United States of America and you don’t need a passport or a visa to see them. Take it from someone who has visited 49 states, they are all beautiful with rich history and cuisine. Most are even easily accessible by automobile.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
My Mom: The Brains of the Outfit
Since my Mom threatened me not to write any more stories about her, I decided to take it to the next level and dedicate an entire blog post to her. However, I can’t fault her, she is after all my mother. On the other side, she is an interesting person, and worth writing about, as well as reading about.
My Mom is an intelligent woman, graduated from Indiana University, English teacher, and History teacher. She deals with the most interesting circumstances where she gets to be the voice of reason and logic.
Case and point, when I was growing up, my Mom had a good friend. A very colorful and bubbly woman. My Mom’s friend had a son who was in college and recently told his mother that he got an A in Calculus.
In talking to her friend, my Mom got the feeling that her friend wasn’t impressed by her son’s achievement. To which her friend replies, “Why should I be impressed? All it is is jumping jacks and push ups!”
To which my Mom, the voice of reason tells her friend, “That’s calisthenics! Calculus is very tough Mathematics!”
“Oh, I best congratulate him then.”, said my Mom’s friend.
As I said earlier, my Granny took us to London England. There, my Mom once again became the voice of reason.
We were on a tour bus in London, and the young tour guide was telling us that Americans may drive on the right side of the road, but the British drive on the CORRECT side of the road.
The tour guide then explains that apparently the whole right side and left side of the road had to do with Napoleon. Apparently he decreed that the right side was the way to go, and the British in defiance choose the left side. Then the guide explained that she didn’t have a clue why we drove on the right side in the United States.
My Mom then takes the floor, giving the tour guide a small history lesson. “Yes we had a bit of a disagreement way back when. We called it the American Revolution. You might have learned that your General Cornwallis was surrounded by American land forces and a French fleet. We were definitely pro French back then.”
Although I think one of my favorite moments with my Mom and her reasoning, was during a very sad time in my life. When my Granny passed away from cancer, she lost a lot of weight. My Mom, brother, and I went to JC Penney’s to buy some smaller sized clothing for my Granny to be buried in. After looking, we found some clothes that looked suitable to be in a style that Granny would have worn.
We approach the sales register with the garments, and the saleslady behind the counter, not knowing about the clothes and whom they were for, inquires, “And will you be needing a gift receipt for this in case it needs to be returned?”
My Mom, not missing a beat, looks the cashier directly in the eyes and says, “IF THESE CLOTHES COME BACK I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT!”
We broke out in laughter, which was I think the first time we laughed together since hearing the sad news. I think Granny would have appreciated the humor.
I like to think I have a lot of my Mom’s reason in me. Though I also have my Dad’s stubbornness, and some of my Granny’s outgoing personality. It makes me a well-rounded person in my opinion.
Thank you Mom for being that voice of reason sometimes! I know that like all children, I tested the limits of patience sometimes, but I do appreciate you and all you have done for me over all these years! I love you!
Now feel free to fire back at me…
My Mom is an intelligent woman, graduated from Indiana University, English teacher, and History teacher. She deals with the most interesting circumstances where she gets to be the voice of reason and logic.
Case and point, when I was growing up, my Mom had a good friend. A very colorful and bubbly woman. My Mom’s friend had a son who was in college and recently told his mother that he got an A in Calculus.
In talking to her friend, my Mom got the feeling that her friend wasn’t impressed by her son’s achievement. To which her friend replies, “Why should I be impressed? All it is is jumping jacks and push ups!”
To which my Mom, the voice of reason tells her friend, “That’s calisthenics! Calculus is very tough Mathematics!”
“Oh, I best congratulate him then.”, said my Mom’s friend.
As I said earlier, my Granny took us to London England. There, my Mom once again became the voice of reason.
We were on a tour bus in London, and the young tour guide was telling us that Americans may drive on the right side of the road, but the British drive on the CORRECT side of the road.
The tour guide then explains that apparently the whole right side and left side of the road had to do with Napoleon. Apparently he decreed that the right side was the way to go, and the British in defiance choose the left side. Then the guide explained that she didn’t have a clue why we drove on the right side in the United States.
My Mom then takes the floor, giving the tour guide a small history lesson. “Yes we had a bit of a disagreement way back when. We called it the American Revolution. You might have learned that your General Cornwallis was surrounded by American land forces and a French fleet. We were definitely pro French back then.”
Although I think one of my favorite moments with my Mom and her reasoning, was during a very sad time in my life. When my Granny passed away from cancer, she lost a lot of weight. My Mom, brother, and I went to JC Penney’s to buy some smaller sized clothing for my Granny to be buried in. After looking, we found some clothes that looked suitable to be in a style that Granny would have worn.
We approach the sales register with the garments, and the saleslady behind the counter, not knowing about the clothes and whom they were for, inquires, “And will you be needing a gift receipt for this in case it needs to be returned?”
My Mom, not missing a beat, looks the cashier directly in the eyes and says, “IF THESE CLOTHES COME BACK I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT!”
We broke out in laughter, which was I think the first time we laughed together since hearing the sad news. I think Granny would have appreciated the humor.
I like to think I have a lot of my Mom’s reason in me. Though I also have my Dad’s stubbornness, and some of my Granny’s outgoing personality. It makes me a well-rounded person in my opinion.
Thank you Mom for being that voice of reason sometimes! I know that like all children, I tested the limits of patience sometimes, but I do appreciate you and all you have done for me over all these years! I love you!
Now feel free to fire back at me…
Friday, May 14, 2010
FNF: New York City Is All Porny
Another Friday, another Friday Night Funny story for me to post on my blog. Thank goodness there are no pictures, as the story is salacious enough.
As I wrote previously, my Granny was my best friend growing up as a kid. She was a special person in my life and taught me a lot. One of the things she taught me was the joy of travel. I was very lucky as a kid, having gone to both Disneyland and Disney World, Hawaii twice, London England, Paris France, and lots of other places with my Granny. This story is about our trip to New York City.
Granny worked in downtown Chicago at Lake Shore Bank on Michigan Avenue as a customer service representative. She knew Chicago, and thought since she could handle Chicago, New York City would be just a step up in size. I don’t know if she quite was ready for what NYC dished out.
I think I was about 12 years old when we made the trip to NYC. Granny booked the trip through a travel agent I think, but not exactly a tour package. I think the plan was to explore the big city for ourselves.
The first thing that caught my eye entering the hotel room was a strange device on the door. On the inside of the hotel door was a large metal bar, which reached from the middle of the door to the floor. I would later understand this to be a safety device to prevent someone from bashing down the door, but I hadn’t ever seen one before (or since).
The first couple of days were pure bliss. We toured the city, ate the food, and took in two Broadway musicals. One of those musicals was “The Wiz”. What was completely awesome was that the day after the show we met Stephanie Mills and two members of the cast on the streets of New York. They were really pleasant to two fans, asking us about the show.
The third day we were basically on our own. I was a huge fan of pinball back then and we went to the biggest arcade I ever saw in my life. More pinball machines than you can shake a stick at. I was in pinball heaven.
As we left the arcade, we walked the streets of New York looking at some of the shops and taking in the sites. I spotted another pinball machine, one that the arcade didn’t have. And of course it needed my quarter and needed to be played. I told Granny I was going to play, and she continued to look in the shops, knowing approximately where I would be heading.
I put in my quarter and started to play pinball. Apparently I didn’t at all look at where the pinball machine was located. I didn’t really care; I just wanted to play pinball. Granny gets done with the shop, and then comes to meet up with me.
She noticed something I didn’t, that the establishment that I walked into play pinball was a bar. And of course not just any bar. A bar where ladies take their tops off and expose their breasts. Her 12-year-old grandson was playing pinball in a topless bar!
She was sly and was able to get me away from the machine. Most importantly, she got me away from the machine without me even looking at one booby. And she would of almost made it if I didn’t put up a fuss about wanting to play pinball. She then explained to me that it wasn’t the right kind of place for a kid.
A little flustered by this small brush with naughtiness, Granny insisted we head back to the hotel room. I said OK, and was planning on watching some television.
The hotel television had a box connected to it where you could watch movies. I believe we were looking to see the movie “Oh God!” with George Burns, good wholesome family entertainment. I went ahead and pressed the buttons, and turned on the television set.
The TV took awhile to come on, apparently it was an older set and needed warming up. Then upon the screen I apparently saw a sight that I had missed in my previous experience. As the picture became clearer and clearer, there were jiggling breasts displayed on the screen. Granny lunges towards the television set and turns it off.
Apparently Granny was fearful of breasts, because in both cases she felt the urge to run away. So we had to leave our hotel room. We retreated to the arcade where there was an abundance of pinball and no bare breasts. I played pinball, Granny regained her composure, and then we left the arcade and started to walk around.
As I said in my previous story, Granny can’t resist a good Disney movie. So as we travel the streets we spot a movie theatre that sure enough one is playing a Disney movie classic. We go walking up to the theatre box office and Granny asks for two tickets, one adult and one child.
“Are you SURE you want to bring the kid into the theatre?”, says the man in the ticket booth.
Granny is surprised at such a question, and fires back, “Sure, why not? This is Disney’s Alice in Wonderland, right? It’s a kid’s movie.”
The man responds, “Lady, this movie is ALEX in Wonderland, and it is a pornographic movie. This ain’t no Disney film.”
Granny was flustered once again, and we headed back to the hotel room. No television of course. And headed back home the next day. It was an adventure to be sure, and while I think travel broadens horizons, I think this NYC trip added a few more gray hairs on Granny’s head.
The End.
As I wrote previously, my Granny was my best friend growing up as a kid. She was a special person in my life and taught me a lot. One of the things she taught me was the joy of travel. I was very lucky as a kid, having gone to both Disneyland and Disney World, Hawaii twice, London England, Paris France, and lots of other places with my Granny. This story is about our trip to New York City.
Granny worked in downtown Chicago at Lake Shore Bank on Michigan Avenue as a customer service representative. She knew Chicago, and thought since she could handle Chicago, New York City would be just a step up in size. I don’t know if she quite was ready for what NYC dished out.
I think I was about 12 years old when we made the trip to NYC. Granny booked the trip through a travel agent I think, but not exactly a tour package. I think the plan was to explore the big city for ourselves.
The first thing that caught my eye entering the hotel room was a strange device on the door. On the inside of the hotel door was a large metal bar, which reached from the middle of the door to the floor. I would later understand this to be a safety device to prevent someone from bashing down the door, but I hadn’t ever seen one before (or since).
The first couple of days were pure bliss. We toured the city, ate the food, and took in two Broadway musicals. One of those musicals was “The Wiz”. What was completely awesome was that the day after the show we met Stephanie Mills and two members of the cast on the streets of New York. They were really pleasant to two fans, asking us about the show.
The third day we were basically on our own. I was a huge fan of pinball back then and we went to the biggest arcade I ever saw in my life. More pinball machines than you can shake a stick at. I was in pinball heaven.
As we left the arcade, we walked the streets of New York looking at some of the shops and taking in the sites. I spotted another pinball machine, one that the arcade didn’t have. And of course it needed my quarter and needed to be played. I told Granny I was going to play, and she continued to look in the shops, knowing approximately where I would be heading.
I put in my quarter and started to play pinball. Apparently I didn’t at all look at where the pinball machine was located. I didn’t really care; I just wanted to play pinball. Granny gets done with the shop, and then comes to meet up with me.
She noticed something I didn’t, that the establishment that I walked into play pinball was a bar. And of course not just any bar. A bar where ladies take their tops off and expose their breasts. Her 12-year-old grandson was playing pinball in a topless bar!
She was sly and was able to get me away from the machine. Most importantly, she got me away from the machine without me even looking at one booby. And she would of almost made it if I didn’t put up a fuss about wanting to play pinball. She then explained to me that it wasn’t the right kind of place for a kid.
A little flustered by this small brush with naughtiness, Granny insisted we head back to the hotel room. I said OK, and was planning on watching some television.
The hotel television had a box connected to it where you could watch movies. I believe we were looking to see the movie “Oh God!” with George Burns, good wholesome family entertainment. I went ahead and pressed the buttons, and turned on the television set.
The TV took awhile to come on, apparently it was an older set and needed warming up. Then upon the screen I apparently saw a sight that I had missed in my previous experience. As the picture became clearer and clearer, there were jiggling breasts displayed on the screen. Granny lunges towards the television set and turns it off.
Apparently Granny was fearful of breasts, because in both cases she felt the urge to run away. So we had to leave our hotel room. We retreated to the arcade where there was an abundance of pinball and no bare breasts. I played pinball, Granny regained her composure, and then we left the arcade and started to walk around.
As I said in my previous story, Granny can’t resist a good Disney movie. So as we travel the streets we spot a movie theatre that sure enough one is playing a Disney movie classic. We go walking up to the theatre box office and Granny asks for two tickets, one adult and one child.
“Are you SURE you want to bring the kid into the theatre?”, says the man in the ticket booth.
Granny is surprised at such a question, and fires back, “Sure, why not? This is Disney’s Alice in Wonderland, right? It’s a kid’s movie.”
The man responds, “Lady, this movie is ALEX in Wonderland, and it is a pornographic movie. This ain’t no Disney film.”
Granny was flustered once again, and we headed back to the hotel room. No television of course. And headed back home the next day. It was an adventure to be sure, and while I think travel broadens horizons, I think this NYC trip added a few more gray hairs on Granny’s head.
The End.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
The Death of Dolton
Since getting more than a handful of fellow Doltonites to “friend” me on facebook, I decided to write about something I feel very passionate about. The death of the town I grew up in, and my perceptions of same.
Dolton, Illinois is a Southern suburb of Chicago, My Mom, Dad, brother, and I moved from Chicago to the town when I was in 2nd grade. We lived in a ranch style house at 14500 Van Buren Street. I loved growing up in that house and have some very fond memories. I remember every Christmas spent there, the family dinners at the table, and moving bedrooms three times.
Dolton itself was a bustling community. It had basically everyplace a kid would need growing up. Minnie’s candy store, Andy’s Dairy Freeze, Boz Hot Dogs, Value Village department store, and Dolton House Restaurant were local business hangouts. There was a park with a huge rocket slide, and so many sidewalks and side streets to ride a bicycle on. It even had streetlights everywhere, and I know this because Mom always told me as a kid that I should be heading home when I saw the streetlights turn on.
I think I traveled down memory lane enough. Fast forward to High School. Dolton started to change and not for the better.
Every good story needs a villain, and in this story the villains were greedy real estate developers and speculators. They had a brilliant plan, and unfortunately it lead to the destruction of the village.
They looked upon Dolton as an apple ripe for picking. A bustling community of hard working middle class people, most with jobs in Chicago, and land for the taking. But how to engineer their plot?
The Illinois Supreme Court caught a bite of the liberal bug and started the process of bussing kids to different schools. So some of the predominately Caucasian kids of Dolton would be bussed to the predominately African American school in Harvey, and vice versa. This was supposed to equalize the system. To make it ever more confusing the two schools shared similar names: Thornridge and Thornton.
I don’t know how they figured out the whole thing, perhaps a dartboard or consulting the entrails of a swine. But Dolton was split among the two schools, and the residents weren’t excited about it. Dolton kids who lived just blocks away from Thornridge would be bussed to Harvey. No choice.
As for myself, I managed to eject from the fray and went the private route attending Mount Carmel High School in Chicago. I got a well-rounded education that prepared me well for college, and the teacher and student population were extremely diverse (except perhaps on religious viewpoints, but that’s to be expected). Through Mount Carmel I would come to fall in love with the City of Chicago, which to this day I still call my hometown.
But enough about me, and back to the story. With the bussing of students, the evil real estate developers and speculators saw how it was affecting Dolton. They saw that this predominately white community was perhaps a little on the racist side. Or if not racist, there was enough of a fear of other races to be used to our villains’ advantage.
So they begin their plot. They start selling houses in Dolton to African Americans, perhaps even putting their own money towards the purchase price to encourage the process. It is my belief that they specifically targeted black people for houses in Dolton as those houses became available. They weren’t interested in selling to white people, as it didn’t serve their needs.
Then the fear struck Dolton. The neighborhood will be overrun, and poor whites will become the minority. The sky is falling, run and tell the King!
I remember Mayor Michael Peck of Dolton. I had once visited his office with the intention of starting a Dungeons & Dragons group and needed approval to use village meeting space (Yes, I was a D&D playing geek and I loved it).
I will never forget walking into the Mayor’s office. His desk was adorned with various figures showing less than flattering caricatures of black men and women. Some of the statues had pins stuck in them like something out of Voodoo, and others hanging by a rope. No attempt to hide such figures, as they were in open display for all to see. All he needed in that office was a KKK outfit to complete the ensemble.
Far from a hero, the Mayor strove to defend Dolton. I think it just played into our villains’ hands all the more in that it continued to stoke the fires of fear in the heart of the citizens that their white-bred community was in danger. This fear was like pure cake to the speculators.
It was obvious to me that Dolton was using every legal resource at their disposal to stop the racial makeup of their town from changing. Including outlawing real estate signs in front of people’s houses. All these maneuvers wouldn’t stop our villains, as the law shielded them. You can’t discriminate in housing. You can’t stop commerce of people buying and selling houses.
One by one the houses started to sell. The fear grew and grew. As more houses sold, the selling price of homes went down and down. The white citizens wanted out of Dolton, if not for the fear of another race, then for fear of dwindling house prices.
During this time, my Dad’s employer let him go. Chicago was no longer going to be a center of steel production, as foreign markets for steel were more attractive. I was in college at Illinois Institute of Technology in Chicago when my parents told me that they were leaving Dolton and heading for Indiana. So I had to leave my beloved Chicago.
I am not sure exactly whom my parents sold the house to, but I have a strong feeling that it helped add to our villain’s scheme.
The speculators I am sure no longer had to prime the pump with their own money. I am sure they were advertising to the black communities that they should take their money and come to the nice suburban town of Dolton. All are welcome! Good schools! Parks! Businesses! More houses entering the market everyday. Good homes at good prices.
When I last visited Dolton, nothing was the same. No longer white bred, but a mix of other races. The businesses not the same, the schools not the same. Nothing of what I remembered. This town I grew up in was no more. And I’m sorry, but while I embrace change, this was not for the better. This was a sad transformation.
Even if you go to the website now for the Village of Dolton, you will find that none of the links work.
However, looking back on it, the real estate speculators were just servants of the real villain. They set it up, they profited by it, and they helped destroy my Dolton. The true villain of this story is racism, hatred, and fear. Had the citizens not given into these and accepted their fellow human beings, this would not have happened. Instead they were lead by the speculators like lambs to slaughter.
We live in a great country, this United States of America. A country of different races, colors, creeds, nationalities, sexual orientations, ages, genders, political affiliations, cultures, foods, entertainment, and beliefs. All of these become a rich tapestry that should be embraced. Our differences make us strong, not weak.
When we allow our differences to divide us and fuel hate and fear, we give in to the most powerful of evil destructive forces ever known. At least powerful enough to destroy a village, perhaps a nation.
Dolton, Illinois is a Southern suburb of Chicago, My Mom, Dad, brother, and I moved from Chicago to the town when I was in 2nd grade. We lived in a ranch style house at 14500 Van Buren Street. I loved growing up in that house and have some very fond memories. I remember every Christmas spent there, the family dinners at the table, and moving bedrooms three times.
Dolton itself was a bustling community. It had basically everyplace a kid would need growing up. Minnie’s candy store, Andy’s Dairy Freeze, Boz Hot Dogs, Value Village department store, and Dolton House Restaurant were local business hangouts. There was a park with a huge rocket slide, and so many sidewalks and side streets to ride a bicycle on. It even had streetlights everywhere, and I know this because Mom always told me as a kid that I should be heading home when I saw the streetlights turn on.
I think I traveled down memory lane enough. Fast forward to High School. Dolton started to change and not for the better.
Every good story needs a villain, and in this story the villains were greedy real estate developers and speculators. They had a brilliant plan, and unfortunately it lead to the destruction of the village.
They looked upon Dolton as an apple ripe for picking. A bustling community of hard working middle class people, most with jobs in Chicago, and land for the taking. But how to engineer their plot?
The Illinois Supreme Court caught a bite of the liberal bug and started the process of bussing kids to different schools. So some of the predominately Caucasian kids of Dolton would be bussed to the predominately African American school in Harvey, and vice versa. This was supposed to equalize the system. To make it ever more confusing the two schools shared similar names: Thornridge and Thornton.
I don’t know how they figured out the whole thing, perhaps a dartboard or consulting the entrails of a swine. But Dolton was split among the two schools, and the residents weren’t excited about it. Dolton kids who lived just blocks away from Thornridge would be bussed to Harvey. No choice.
As for myself, I managed to eject from the fray and went the private route attending Mount Carmel High School in Chicago. I got a well-rounded education that prepared me well for college, and the teacher and student population were extremely diverse (except perhaps on religious viewpoints, but that’s to be expected). Through Mount Carmel I would come to fall in love with the City of Chicago, which to this day I still call my hometown.
But enough about me, and back to the story. With the bussing of students, the evil real estate developers and speculators saw how it was affecting Dolton. They saw that this predominately white community was perhaps a little on the racist side. Or if not racist, there was enough of a fear of other races to be used to our villains’ advantage.
So they begin their plot. They start selling houses in Dolton to African Americans, perhaps even putting their own money towards the purchase price to encourage the process. It is my belief that they specifically targeted black people for houses in Dolton as those houses became available. They weren’t interested in selling to white people, as it didn’t serve their needs.
Then the fear struck Dolton. The neighborhood will be overrun, and poor whites will become the minority. The sky is falling, run and tell the King!
I remember Mayor Michael Peck of Dolton. I had once visited his office with the intention of starting a Dungeons & Dragons group and needed approval to use village meeting space (Yes, I was a D&D playing geek and I loved it).
I will never forget walking into the Mayor’s office. His desk was adorned with various figures showing less than flattering caricatures of black men and women. Some of the statues had pins stuck in them like something out of Voodoo, and others hanging by a rope. No attempt to hide such figures, as they were in open display for all to see. All he needed in that office was a KKK outfit to complete the ensemble.
Far from a hero, the Mayor strove to defend Dolton. I think it just played into our villains’ hands all the more in that it continued to stoke the fires of fear in the heart of the citizens that their white-bred community was in danger. This fear was like pure cake to the speculators.
It was obvious to me that Dolton was using every legal resource at their disposal to stop the racial makeup of their town from changing. Including outlawing real estate signs in front of people’s houses. All these maneuvers wouldn’t stop our villains, as the law shielded them. You can’t discriminate in housing. You can’t stop commerce of people buying and selling houses.
One by one the houses started to sell. The fear grew and grew. As more houses sold, the selling price of homes went down and down. The white citizens wanted out of Dolton, if not for the fear of another race, then for fear of dwindling house prices.
During this time, my Dad’s employer let him go. Chicago was no longer going to be a center of steel production, as foreign markets for steel were more attractive. I was in college at Illinois Institute of Technology in Chicago when my parents told me that they were leaving Dolton and heading for Indiana. So I had to leave my beloved Chicago.
I am not sure exactly whom my parents sold the house to, but I have a strong feeling that it helped add to our villain’s scheme.
The speculators I am sure no longer had to prime the pump with their own money. I am sure they were advertising to the black communities that they should take their money and come to the nice suburban town of Dolton. All are welcome! Good schools! Parks! Businesses! More houses entering the market everyday. Good homes at good prices.
When I last visited Dolton, nothing was the same. No longer white bred, but a mix of other races. The businesses not the same, the schools not the same. Nothing of what I remembered. This town I grew up in was no more. And I’m sorry, but while I embrace change, this was not for the better. This was a sad transformation.
Even if you go to the website now for the Village of Dolton, you will find that none of the links work.
However, looking back on it, the real estate speculators were just servants of the real villain. They set it up, they profited by it, and they helped destroy my Dolton. The true villain of this story is racism, hatred, and fear. Had the citizens not given into these and accepted their fellow human beings, this would not have happened. Instead they were lead by the speculators like lambs to slaughter.
We live in a great country, this United States of America. A country of different races, colors, creeds, nationalities, sexual orientations, ages, genders, political affiliations, cultures, foods, entertainment, and beliefs. All of these become a rich tapestry that should be embraced. Our differences make us strong, not weak.
When we allow our differences to divide us and fuel hate and fear, we give in to the most powerful of evil destructive forces ever known. At least powerful enough to destroy a village, perhaps a nation.
Friday, May 7, 2010
FNF: Teenage Girl Gives Birth to Cricket
Every parent has stories about their child when they were little. Somewhat embarrassing stories about you that seem to creep up in conversation when they are meeting someone you’re dating. They seem to get a laugh about it. Well this seems to be “my story” that my parents liked telling, so here you go…
My Granny was a wonderful person in my life. I’ll likely write more about her as this blog continues. She was the best friend a kid could ever have. One of her standard practices was taking me out to see Disney movies. One of these was the Disney version of the story of “Pinocchio” where a wooden boy of a puppet becomes a real boy.
Anyway, my favorite character in this movie was Jiminy Cricket who served as a kind of conscious to the boy. He tries his best to keep Pinocchio out of trouble, but with little success. I was such a fan of the character when I got to go to Disney World I wouldn’t be happy until I found someone wearing a Jiminy Cricket costume. It never happened, and although I have pictures with practically every other character, no Jiminy.
Fast forward just a bit, I am still a little kid though, and my Mom and my Aunt Jean go out shopping. As it happens to practically every child in a good-sized store or mall, I got separated from my Mom and couldn’t find her.
Being raised to ask for help when I am lost, I go to the store counter and tell them I can’t find my Mom. The employee asked my name, to which I confidently replied “Jiminy Cricket!” Not sure if the employee knew anything about the movie, or perhaps she thought it was my true name. Apparently my apparel color was also important.
She picked up the microphone and announced to the store, “Will the mother of a little boy dressed in GREEN going by the name of Jiminy Cricket please report to the service counter”.
Apparently my Mom was embarrassed to have a cricket for a son, and didn’t want to claim me. She turned to my aunt who was a teenager and said to her that she would need to claim me and bring me to the car. My Mom then apparently headed for the car waiting for my aunt to retrieve me.
So here this teenage girl needs to go claim that this cricket dressed in green was her son. Which she did so, apparently getting only a few stares as she left the store with me holding her hand.
Mom claimed that if it weren’t for my aunt, I would still be waiting at that customer service counter.
The End.
*** BONUS SIDE STORY ***
Kids behaving made me also think of this tale, which is not large enough to be it’s own FNF.
Fast-forward a lot more to the very late 80s. I was in college and got a part time job working at a Ponderosa Steakhouse in LaPorte Indiana. Basically I waited tables, brought drinks, took dirty plates away, cleaned up, etc.
Anyway, once day I was working and this woman was having a difficult time with her unruly son. He didn’t want to behave. She threatened, “If you don’t start behaving I am going to leave you here!”
Not missing a beat, I approached the table and looked the kid in the eye with a sad expression on my face. I told him, “You best behave. I didn’t behave and my Mom left me here years ago and now I have to work every day.”
The child’s eyes widened in surprise and he immediately started acting like a complete angel. The Mom was almost laughing, holding it in not to give it away as the joke it was. She thanked me for the help and I got a nice tip.
The End.
My Granny was a wonderful person in my life. I’ll likely write more about her as this blog continues. She was the best friend a kid could ever have. One of her standard practices was taking me out to see Disney movies. One of these was the Disney version of the story of “Pinocchio” where a wooden boy of a puppet becomes a real boy.
Anyway, my favorite character in this movie was Jiminy Cricket who served as a kind of conscious to the boy. He tries his best to keep Pinocchio out of trouble, but with little success. I was such a fan of the character when I got to go to Disney World I wouldn’t be happy until I found someone wearing a Jiminy Cricket costume. It never happened, and although I have pictures with practically every other character, no Jiminy.
Fast forward just a bit, I am still a little kid though, and my Mom and my Aunt Jean go out shopping. As it happens to practically every child in a good-sized store or mall, I got separated from my Mom and couldn’t find her.
Being raised to ask for help when I am lost, I go to the store counter and tell them I can’t find my Mom. The employee asked my name, to which I confidently replied “Jiminy Cricket!” Not sure if the employee knew anything about the movie, or perhaps she thought it was my true name. Apparently my apparel color was also important.
She picked up the microphone and announced to the store, “Will the mother of a little boy dressed in GREEN going by the name of Jiminy Cricket please report to the service counter”.
Apparently my Mom was embarrassed to have a cricket for a son, and didn’t want to claim me. She turned to my aunt who was a teenager and said to her that she would need to claim me and bring me to the car. My Mom then apparently headed for the car waiting for my aunt to retrieve me.
So here this teenage girl needs to go claim that this cricket dressed in green was her son. Which she did so, apparently getting only a few stares as she left the store with me holding her hand.
Mom claimed that if it weren’t for my aunt, I would still be waiting at that customer service counter.
The End.
*** BONUS SIDE STORY ***
Kids behaving made me also think of this tale, which is not large enough to be it’s own FNF.
Fast-forward a lot more to the very late 80s. I was in college and got a part time job working at a Ponderosa Steakhouse in LaPorte Indiana. Basically I waited tables, brought drinks, took dirty plates away, cleaned up, etc.
Anyway, once day I was working and this woman was having a difficult time with her unruly son. He didn’t want to behave. She threatened, “If you don’t start behaving I am going to leave you here!”
Not missing a beat, I approached the table and looked the kid in the eye with a sad expression on my face. I told him, “You best behave. I didn’t behave and my Mom left me here years ago and now I have to work every day.”
The child’s eyes widened in surprise and he immediately started acting like a complete angel. The Mom was almost laughing, holding it in not to give it away as the joke it was. She thanked me for the help and I got a nice tip.
The End.
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