- Winter Weather
- John Lewallen
- Affiliation Resolution
- Pet Jimmy
- PSPS Insurance
- Dangerous Shoulder
- Panther Basketball
- Giving McThanks
- Riotous Education
- Gahan Wilson
- Long Putters
- Two-Headed Man
- Pot Production
- Yesterday's Catch
- WTF PGE
- Men's Day
- Ill Prepared
- Earp Vendetta
- Public Utility
- JFK Wanted
- Broken Future
- Shattered Bowl
- Califia's Children
- Right Enemies
- Remembering 2019
- Found Object
THE RECENT STRETCH OF MILD AND DRY conditions with chilly overnight lows will continue through Monday. A potentially significant winter storm will impact the area Tuesday and Wednesday, bringing high elevation snow, gusty winds, low elevation rain, coastal small hail, and potentially localized coastal flooding. This storm is likely to impact holiday travel. Colder temperatures are expected Tuesday through the end of the week, potentially very cold Thursday through Saturday. (National Weather Service)
JOHN JULIUS LEWALLEN
John Julius Lewallen, beloved husband, father, grandfather, and Mendocino County community member, died Nov. 1, 2019, in his daughter Rebecca Kagin's Petaluma garden cottage in the warm care of his wife, Barbara Stephens-Lewallen. Born Nov. 14, 1942, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, to Grace and Walter Lewallen, John grew up in Brisbane, California; Salt Lake City, Utah; and Anchorage and Juneau, Alaska, graduating from Juneau High in 1960. Young John loved hunting, fishing and exploring the wilderness. John received a full-ride scholarship to Whitman College, graduating in 1964 with honors and a Bachelor's in Political Science. John spent a year in India on a Fulbright Fellowship, before attending Stanford Law - again with a merit-based scholarship. John withdrew from Stanford in 1967, heading to Vietnam as a volunteer with the International Voluntary Service, providing humanitarian aid to displaced indigenous peoples. John returned in 1969, a peace activist, an environmentalist and a hippie, writing a war memoir, "Land of Frozen Laughter," published 2016. In 1970, John married Eleanor Sara Leventhal, a teaching student, and the pair settled in the East Bay after a honeymoon, circumnavigating globe. In 1972, John's book, "Ecology of Devastation: Indochina" exposed the impact of Agent Orange on Vietnam, and John organized a Convention on Ecocidal War in Stockholm, Sweden. In 1974, daughter, Rebecca, was born, around the time John co-edited "The Grass Roots Primer" and worked as features editor of Clear Creek magazine. In 1978, the family relocated to Northspur, where John and Eleanor published their periodical, "The North Country Star." John and Eleanor were well-known activists in the homebirth, anti-war, anti-nuclear, ocean protection, sustainable forestry and Green Party movements. In 1980, son, Shanti, was born at home and the Lewallens established the Mendocino Sea Vegetable Company, harvesting, drying and marketing wild edible seaweed. In 1985, son, Loren, was born. The family relocated to Comptche in 1991. In 1994, John ran as a Green Party candidate for California governor. In 1996, John and Eleanor published the "Sea Vegetable Gourmet Cookbook and Wildcrafter's Guide." In 2001, Eleanor, devoted wife, mother and community member, passed away after a five-year battle with cancer. In 2001, John published "High Altitude Nuclear War," opposing nuclear brinksmanship in space. In 2005, John married Barbara Stephens. Barbara collaborated with John in seaweed, activism and all aspects of life. Their activism included advocating for fishing and seaweed wildcrafting rights, and nuclear de-escalation. In 2012, John ran for Congress, campaigning for peace conversion of military assets, among other progressive goals. In April 2019, John and Barbara hosted a seminar at the UN on nuclear risk reduction. John delighted in writing, the wilds, living off the land, nonviolent resistance, transcendence, literature, shamanism, family and Barbara. John unrelentingly lived by his convictions, an independent spirit who believed in the power of human choice to create one's own happiness and destiny. His candid wit, irresistible charm and deep wisdom will be missed by all who knew and loved him. John is survived by his wife, Barbara; children and children-in-law, Rebecca and Jeremiah, Shanti and Leah, and Loren and Katherine; grandchildren, Analise, Walter, Natalia, Eleanor, Opal and Ezra; stepson, Jonathan; brother and sister-in-law, Roy and Beth, and family; and his friends and family around the globe. A celebration of life will be held at 10 a.m. on Saturday, Dec. 7, at the Anderson Valley Grange. Friends and family are welcome and encouraged to bring a favorite dish to share, a good pair of shoes for a hike, and a biodegradable offering.
MALCOLM MACDONALD REPORTS:
At a November 22nd meeting of the Mendocino Coast Healthcare District's Board of Directors it took about two hours to come to a foregone conclusion. The Directors eventually voted 4-1 in favor of a resolution to affiliate with Stone Point Health, a subsidiary of Adventist Health. A second resolution, by the same vote (Director Amy McColley dissenting in each case), sent the affiliation agreement on to the county clerk to place it on the ballot in March for a simple up or down vote.
The ballot wording will be similar to the following:
"With no additional taxes to the taxpayers and to assure continuing emergency medical services, acute hospital inpatient services and outpatient services, with substantial investments by non-profit Stone Point Health to meet the needs of Mendocino Coast residents, shall the Mendocino Coast Health Care District enter into a lease agreement of Mendocino Coast District Hospital for up to thirty (30) years at fair market value to Stone Point Health, per terms approved by Resolution 2019-17 adopted November 22, 2019? YES _ NO _"
PET OF THE WEEK
Jimmy is a happy fellow with a playful and smart personality. He knows sit and is attentive to the human at the other end of the leash. Jimmy is the kind of dog who is eager to please. He enjoyed meeting a spayed female during his evaluation/meet & greet, and invited her to play. This dude is gonna be a wonderful companion. Jimmy is a 1 year old, male, mixed breed dog who currently weighs 43 pounds.
The Ukiah Animal Shelter is located at 298 Plant Road in Ukiah. Visit our website for information about our canine and feline guests, and all of our services, programs and events: http://www.mendoanimalshelter.com For more information about adoptions please call 707-467-6453.
SUPERVISOR WILLIAMS: Supervisor Dan Gjerde reminds us that businesses impacted by the power shutoff should look into an apparent option to get unemployment insurance for their employees during a PSPS. It appears a PSPS claim will not increase the unemployment insurance rate charged to the business.
LAW ENFORCEMENT TO THE HOOP! Justin Rhodes of Fish and Wildlife is coaching girl's basketball this season while Luis Espinoza is back as boy's coach. The season kicked off with the Panther girls pawing Roseland Collegiate Prep in Santa Rosa, 20-17 as the Panther boys were cuffed, 35-33. Coupla days later, all four Panther teams were seriously mauled by Upper Lake.
WHO WANTS TO GO TO MCDONALD'S ON THANKSGIVING? ME.
by Justine Frederiksen
My favorite Thanksgiving as an adult began when my husband and I woke up with suddenly no one to cook for but ourselves.
So instead of spending the day in the kitchen, we decided to drive the dog to the beach. And stopped for Egg McMuffins on the way.
I never thought I would choose to walk into a McDonald's on Thanksgiving. I wasn't ready to wave the white flag of, "I'm an orphan. I've got nowhere else to go."
After my immediate family evaporated when I was 15, I spent many years hovering around other people's holiday tables, hoping to be invited to sit. And even though I usually felt like a stray cat let inside for just that day, any family table was better than none.
Then when my husband and I created our own family table, we began hosting friends and family, and I loved offering a place for anyone I knew needed it. So at first I felt adrift again when we found ourselves without any guests to host, or any gathering to attend on Thanksgiving.
But soon, I felt the freedom in not being tethered to a family table. The freedom to eat whatever I want, with whomever I want. Even the freedom to decide I'd rather go to McDonald's instead. So I was certainly grateful to find the Ukiah location open that Thanksgiving, as were a lot of other people:
Like the man drinking coffee and charging his computer. Maybe he was on the road and very happy to find a place open on a holiday, like my sister and I were the New Year’s Day we spent in a small town in New Mexico. At first we had fun, standing in the hotel parking lot at midnight and setting off sparklers, something that had been illegal in California since we were kids. But the next morning we realized we had no food, and with no grocery stores open we worried we might have nothing to eat all day. Until we saw the lights and life at McDonald’s. The restaurant was a refuge for me that day, and many times since.
Like the couple sitting with their young kids, enjoying plates of eggs and pancakes and sausages. Maybe they were also on the road, or maybe the father treats the family to McDonald’s on holidays to give his wife a break from cooking everything. My favorite Thanksgiving meal as a kid was the year my parents took my sister and me to a restaurant. Not only was the food much better than what we had at home, my mother was relaxed and smiling because she hadn't spent the day cooking.
Like the teenage girl eating with a woman, perhaps her mother. Maybe the girl was like me at that age, left with one ill-equipped parent who hated American holidays and decided that with his wife gone, he could finally stop celebrating them. Maybe that girl was perfectly happy eating chicken McNuggets on Thanksgiving because she didn't have to buy all the ingredients and cook them herself.
Now, I certainly recognize that any McDonald’s likely only opens on holidays to make more money, and I also recognize that any business open on Thanksgiving will likely be forcing some employees to work. But I’ve worked plenty of holidays without resentment. In fact, another of my favorite Thanksgiving meals was with my co-workers while we put out a newspaper, because it had better food and more grateful smiles than most family tables I’ve eaten at. And even if all employees working on Thanksgiving aren’t treated to a good meal, I still choose to believe that most of them are grateful to have a job.
For those who prefer their family’s table and never want to go to McDonald’s on Thanksgiving, I hope they never have to. But those of us who are no longer part of a family gathering — either by choice, circumstance, or a little of both — might really like having the option of finding food and community elsewhere.
Like the man in line ahead of me at the Harvest Market in Fort Bragg on Thanksgiving who reminded me of my father. Not only because of what he was buying — a six-pack of beer, a bottle of booze, a tin of sardines and a jar of olives — but because he chatted with the checker as if that were his main social interaction for the day.
And like my husband and me, who could still eat delicious turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy the day we went to the beach because of the cooks at Harvest Market. And I remember smiling as we ate our holiday meal in the car with to-go containers balanced on our laps and the dog behind us, anxiously waiting for a taste of turkey. Smiling because I wasn't at a family table, but I felt more at home than ever before.
As for this year, we are hosting again, so I will be in the kitchen that day hoping the gluten-free change to my galette recipe isn't a disaster. But I will still be smiling, because while it feels good to know I no longer need to sit at a family table to enjoy Thanksgiving, it feels even better to offer a seat at our table to others.
THE YEAR OF RIOTOUS LIVING
by Dave McCain
The year of riotous living at San Francisco State University, 1968-1969, contained one of the most recent major upheavals of our society. In 1968 the country was yet again divided over race relations and colonial militarism. The divisions penetrated every corner of our society: government, schools, political parties, haves/have-nots, family and even down to individuals themselves. Riots in the cities, stalemates in the war in Vietnam, and losses in the war on poverty, social despair became the norm. Everyone lost control of the youth. Assassination was political change; King, Malcolm X., John and Robert Kennedy, Evers. Aquarius hit the cusp of Mars and all hell broke loose.
Into this I entered into my own war to become an educated man and hopefully gain employment that didn’t require me to give up my body for the profit of others -- a male version of whoring. I went back to San Francisco State in the fall of 1968. At age 29 and a college career that started at 19, I was in my 10th year of struggle to become what I had hoped: an educated man. I became the odd combination and product of the result of what happens when you give a redneck a Renaissance education.
The first day of classes set the tone. It was like an audition of an opera, and I had no idea that so many used band uniforms were available for sale. The tie-dye was everywhere. Color was as riotous as the times allowed. It was the birth of identity in all areas of life. The exception ruled. Out was in. In went out. Things were fenced out, then in, then torn down. Boundaries were blurred by ideology and drugs. Everything was negotiated. Committees and subcommittees and then those had subs like a broken fraction with no controlling unit, only parts and fragments. Often was the denominator, “whatever” was the numerator. I even had classes where the curriculum was subject to debate, but those were mostly in psychology during the craze of transactional therapy, EST, Esalen, Tim Leary, and the psychobabbles of the chemically stoned.
I was jolted by how much the college had changed in my absence. The Department of Humanities used to be staffed by UC professors who refused to sign a loyalty oath during the hysteria of the McCarthy era. But due to rioting, they exited to other colleges in droves. Classes often were not taught. The assigned professor did not show up for ideological reasons. Most teachers had to say up front whether the course would be taught or not.
I was often placed in the position of "parent of the room," pointing out that I needed to finish and become employed in some field that used my brain and did not abuse my body. And they, due to this and age, nicknamed me “Dad.” “Aren’t you for minority rights in education?” I said I was but there was no –oint in admitting those who were so educationally deprived at a primary level, there is no way they can succeed at college level.
Sadly, this proved to be true. Under pressure from the civil rights movement and all its various factions, this was the seed along with the Viet Nam protests that fueled the revolt. Once that bomb was dropped the explosion framgmented the “revolution” into shrapnel that hit both the innocent and the guilty. Nothing has more righteous indignation than the "oppressed" discovering they had "rights." It was not just us versus them, but black versus white, male versus female. Black power abandoned King for Malcolm X, and the Black Panthers stormed the legislature while armed. The conflict of minority education set this off.
One day, I was crossing the commons when a speaker at a student rally suggested that they storm the administration building and occupy it until their demands were met. Five hundred people suddenly started running toward me shouting “Storm the builing! Somebody locked the door. Hayakawa (Samuel Iceiye), a Semantics professor who stepped into the administration when the last president fled the chaos into retirement, called the cops. Somebody drove a sound truck to the main entrance of the building, and after turning up the volume began to chant, Shut it down! Shut it down! Wandering folk singers went through singing protest songs and guerrilla theater groups acted out master-slave oppressions. The crowd grew and became fervent and vocal.
In an instant of samurai ritual heroism, Hayakawa emerged and ripped out the wires on the sound truck. The crowd, momentarily stunned, fell silent. Then the Grande Dame of the English Department, writer Kaye Boyle, resplendent in blue stockings with painted eyebrows arched to mime surprise, emerged from the crowd. She shook her finger at him and called him a fascist pig and a coward like he was a naughty schoolboy who had just pushed Suzy Cream Cheese into the boy's bathroom. Hayakawa retreated back into the building as the cops showed up. Someone pushed a garbage can against the door and set it afire. It was a conflagration that did little damage but it did embolden the crowd.
As the cops and the San Francisco Fire Department and Sheriff’s Department complete with a cavalry consisting of lean horses ridden by fat men raised on B-Grade western movies and the CHP arrived, the students decided they would occupy the business building instead. Unfortunately, I tried to escape the cops and the protesters by trying to exit to the parking lot through the same building. It was itself already occupied by the tactical squad of SF Police Department and I got locked in with them.
Anyone who was in San Francisco in the 60s knew the Tactical Squad. They were the goons of the Police Department bent towards bullying and not the "administration of justice" which for them was burying a nightstick in the bones of your face. I knew them from walking the picket line on Market Street in 1966. Not opposed to throwing hot coffee on you and calling you a commie prick, they used to train by destroying Chicano bars in the Mission for recreation. I got in the building alright to escape the crowds only to have the doors locked with handcuffs behind me. They ordered me to get up on the second floor and stay away from the windows as they unlimbered the firehoses from the cases embedded into the walls to get ready to turn them on the students. Then they sallied out into the crowd to bust heads. After I was pushed upstairs they ID’d me, emptied my briefcase, discussed my age, asked me if I had been in Vietnam, put me up against the wall, spread ‘em, and patted me down. The interrogation began by asking me if I belonged to any radical organization, if I was now or had I ever been? They asked me to identify people in the crowd. I couldn't truthfully, and said so.
"You ain't sandbaggin’ us are you, motherfucker?"
They had leather gloves on with weights sewn on the back. They would pump themselves up by punching fist into palm, one to the other and then run downstairs, sally out into the crowd and drop somebody, then dash back and laugh among themselves.
"Him him so hard he was pissing himself going down."
Downstairs the windows started to break as the hoses got turned on. The crowd, realizing the building was locked, turned like a huge flock of starlings and headed for the science building where one lone cop was suddenly faced with 500 charging people screaming Off the pig! I watched him through the window of that second floor in the business building. He did the only sane thing possible: he pulled his pistol, fired a shot skyward, then leveled the gun on the crowd. It worked. Faced with possible death, it was every dude for themselves. He wasn't from the Tac squad or he would have killed several people. It was one of the greatest things I've ever seen a single man do. Then the cavalry rode in to disperse the crowd.
Like most confrontations that provoke violence, this action turned out to be what a British Lord used to say about sex: the incitement is lengthy, the pleasure is momentary, and the expense is damnable — and this pretty much describes revolutions past, present and future. But with revolt there is no post coital bliss.
The student movement went underground. In those pre-internet days, rallies were constantly being held and everything became possible. Dawn had come with students and youth in revolt against established authority. It was, as in all revolutions, adolescent in nature. Injustices perceived as the catalyst are always looked upon as the spark that ignites the proverbial flame, but the door of remedies of wrong attracts the lunatic fringe.
A friend of mine who worked at the Langley-Porter mental facility confirmed this. During the demonstration the caseload of appointments fell to zero — nothing like a public spectacle to solidify the perceived victims of life. Ah, the joys of belonging, acceptance at last, the heart swells with the unified beliefs of the masses. We have achieved courage through the delusion of change. Wrongs will be righted, justice will sprout wings and fly at last. The longing we have had for a final solution in the defeat of the original sins and the glory of acceptance of the righteous is the opium that drives change. With the loss of the individual identity to the mass collective comes the surge of raw power.
Great pressure was applied at the time. Instructors anguished over which action to take. Confrontations were constant as to where you stood. Lines were drawn and individuals faced what were or thought to be defining positions. Were you for: integration, civil rights, withdrawal from Vietnam, pro-feminists, pro-sexual rights, free admission to education, fair housing government guaranteed income, universal healthcare?
Sound familiar? Only love, LSD and constant delusion can save us. If delusion didn't work, try drama, denial and finally blame.
Day in and day out it continued. Increased police, sheriff’s deputies, mounted or not, the threat of the National Guard. The pressure to commit to a utopian idea was intense. I had a wife, a mortgage, a job, a car. I had been on my own for a decade. I felt like the longshoreman who told Harry Bridges, Fuck the Revolution, Harry, the bills are due on the first of the month. Thus it was with me. I had my own end to worry about, one daughter living and another child on the way. I had neither time nor money nor spiritual nor emotional support. All I had was a sense of responsibility for what I did sexually. To put it in redneck language: You all went and did it and now you gonna have to go git it!
Children crying from want tends to focus me and most men I have known. But the problem of means and ends was operative in the school from hour to hour. The means of funding the Black Student Union, originally founded at San Francisco State and later established at multiple colleges and universities, ended with Huey Newton absconding with $600-grand of state money to go into the dope business in Oakland, and he, one of the founders of the Black Panther party, was gunned down over a dope deal gone bad. Huey got freed, but not in the way he expected.
First it was black identity and the death of passive resistance to the bearing of arms. Nonviolence to violence. When that happened I knew from that point forward the game was over. Those who sought change through violence were doomed because they were outgunned and they had no property to speak of. They failed to understand that you can harm people and usually get away with it. But if you harm property, the favorite target of the radical, you threaten the assets of the powerful and they will try to crush you and usually succeed — the current example being the riots now happening in Hong Kong.
Slowly the bourgeoisie turns on you. The blowback starts with loss of public support for education. The increased meritocracy to guarantee that the lower classes stay low, and the demand for tax relief based upon the behavior of the landless. To be a conservative implies something to conserve. The renter cannot lower his rent because of diminished earnings, but the landlord has the right to raise his earnings to continually profit. One of the main foundations of our democracy is that very principle laid down by our founders. Originally, only the propertied had the right to vote.
The fragmentation continued. The women's liberation movement started. Women's studies, ethnic studies. Interdisciplinary studies. Turf was staked out, surveyed and recorded. Everything became a liberation except the slavery of biology and its glandular drivenness and what turned out to be the enduring idea of that age. Identity was decided by the individual and belongingness was the reward to the club. It was like the supermarket of the Self.
All academic year long it raged. Some courses got taught and were helpful later on. One was not and the class threatened a lawsuit to get credit. We had to do a final paper on a topic given by the department head. People disappeared. Vanished. Good faculty left for better teaching conditions. In the confusion I wound up in grad school courses and graduated with nine units in learning disorders which seemed appropriate for the school I got them from. I taught that graduate-level minor all my teaching life ending in adult education at age 69. After graduation I looked for work but was never asked about my education, only my politics. When I finished, the campus was still occupied and San Francisco State sent me a letter asking if I wanted to come to the graduation ceremony.
I wrote back, "Not unless you give me a combat infantry man's badge."
They sent me the diploma in the mail. It was signed by S.I. Hayakawa, the greatest somnambulist in the history of the United States Senate and Ronald Reagan. My education thus confirmed by a grade-B actor who became California's state governor and US President.
PS. My first teaching offer was in Bullhead City, Arizona for $3400 dollars, a third of what I was making as a cement mason. I felt like a fool for working so hard just for a place to practice. I did not realize then that the value was not financial but how it changed who I was, what I could do with what I saw. The jobs came and went. So did the wives. The children grew up and my parents grew down. The only thing I did that remained mine was my education. It has kept me lucid and thoughtful to this day.
GAHAN WILSON, MACABRE CARTOONIST, DEAD AT 89
TRUMP ON GAY MARRIAGE: “It’s like in golf. A lot of people — I don’t want this to sound trivial — but a lot of people are switching to these really long putters, very unattractive. It’s weird. You see these great players with these really long putters, because they can’t sink three-footers anymore. And, I hate it. I am a traditionalist. I have so many fabulous friends who happen to be gay, but I am a traditionalist.”
MORE FROM THE CANNABIS INDUSTRY: Production capacity by county.
Tabulated with average yield of 25 grams / square foot with average turns being outdoor: 1, tier 1: 2, tier 2: 4, indoor: 4.
Biomass, cultivation method, cultivar, higher yields, more turns, weather, actual utilization of licenses, etc. are not factored in. This is a rough estimate.
CATCH OF THE DAY, November 23, 2019
DELBERT ALFORD, Ukiah. Parole violation.
DANIEL AYALA, U(kiah. Concealed handgun/not registered owner, concealed weapon in vehicle, probation revocation.
RYEN DELGADO, Ukiah. Petty theft, conspiracy.
FREDRICK FITCH, Redwood Valley. Assault with deadly weapon not a gun, protective order violation, probation revocation.
THOMAS GALINDO, Ukiah. Disorderly conduct-alcohol. (Frequent flyer.)
JAMES JOHNSON, Willits. Disorderly conduct-alcohol, probation revocation.
EVAN LEWIS, Redwood Valley. DUI, controlled substance.
JAMES LOWE, Ukiah. Failure to appear, probation revocation.
MELISSA NIDROS, Ukiah. Domestic battery.
JOSE PANIAGUA-HERNANDEZ, Willits. DUI, probation revocation.
JACOB PARMELY, Ukiah. Parole violation.
TRAVIS STRICKLAND, Ukiah. Robbery, probation revocation.
THREE LITTLE LETTERS
PG&E, three little letters with a whole lot of power. Well, here’s three little letters for you: WTF? You try living without power or gas for four or five nights at a stretch and tell me what letters come up for you.
I want to know why this company can’t shut off, and more importantly, turn on power in a timely fashion. Where is the money from its considerable profits going ($1.6 billion from one quarter in 2017)? It surely hasn’t gone into maintaining and replacing infrastructure and equipment. Surely it hasn’t gone into improving service to customers. So where’s the money gone besides the pockets of your executives and shareholders? How much of our money goes to lobbyists and PR peddlers in Sacramento?
These aren’t rhetorical questions. I’d like to know.
I’d also like to know who devised the incontiguity of the service grids. There seems to be no discernible pattern. What gives with that?
PG&E has had decades to improve and prepare for weather-related events, service for its dependent customers and troubleshooting likely events. It has failed mightily and proven its ineptitude in the power business. Proof of this is its financial failure. PG&E has no business being in the power business.
“We weren’t as well prepared as we thought, and we needed to give a little more attention — a lot more attention — to impacts after we shut the power off,” PG&E’s CEO told state legislators.
Seriously? Perhaps if a PG&E board member or high-level executive lived in the Santa Rosa area they might understand what the problems are. Apparently, some of the Southern California utilities have figured out how to turn off electricity to smaller areas, why not PG&E?
AFTER THE OK CORRAL, the Cochise County Cowboys wanted their revenge against the Earps, so they attacked two of Wyatt’s brothers. One was killed and one was brutally maimed. That's when things got truly dark. The Earps were ambushed by the Cowboys while transporting their fallen brother to California by train. But the Cowboys forgot who they were dealing with, and Earp would go on to exact swift revenge.
With the rank of Deputy US Marshal, Earp embarked on a vendetta ride to bring down the men who had ambushed his brothers in Tombstone. The Earp Vendetta Ride, as it was called, lasted from March 20 to April 15, 1882, and resulted in several Cowboys being killed (though movies frequently increase the number of deaths).
CAMPAIGN TO MAKE PG&E A CA PUBLIC UTILITY
PG&E chose shareholders over the people of California when the Wall Street-owned company paid bonuses and dividends rather than making fire safety improvements, and now the billion-dollar corporation plans to cut power to millions of residents throughout the next decade to prevent fires. PG&E has been found responsible for 17 wildfires in 2017, as well as last year's Camp Fire, the record-breaking blaze that killed 85 people and left tens of thousands without homes. Instead of upgrading infrastructure and fixing faulty equipment, PG&E paid out billions of dollars in bonuses and dividends to investors and executives. The good news is that the bankruptcy gives an opening for California to take over the company and make it a public utility. As a public company, PG&E can finally do good for the community by investing in clean, renewable energy, performing necessary grid upgrades, and assisting low-income consumers. Governor Newsom needs to make PG&E public so that the company will finally do the infrastructure work necessary to prevent wildfires. Will you sign Courage Campaign's petition calling for a PG&E that serves California?
SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE.
To welcome JFK to Dallas, the Birchers (evolved into the modern day Tea Party with the Koch Brothers affiliation) took out an ad in the Dallas Morning News and passed out "Wanted for Treason" posters accusing him of turning the US into the Communist controlled United Nations (sound familiar?).
ON LINE COMMENT OF THE DAY
It’s worse than ever.
The worst of the mentally ill have been hitting the streets in record numbers, since health care “reform.”
Then there’s the fact that far too many of our young people are being treated from a very young age for conditions they don’t have.
Yes, ADHD is real, but even the man who came up with that diagnosis says it is being terribly overused.
The Parkland shooter needed treatment and medication for his severe problems.
The wrong, one size fits all treatment makes people like him worse, almost worse than no treatment at all.
I think that the almost 50% may be young people who just know, correctly, that something is very wrong with a system where they go to school or work all day and still can’t get ahead or break even.
We broke the social contract with large swaths of America.
The Occupiers and Tea Party were on the same side, so we separated the young people from the accumulated wisdom of their grandparents, and gave them demented college professors who might hit you with a bike lock for having a different opinion.
I WAS PLAYING BRIDGE one evening with a musician, a chemistry teacher, and a painter when, during a particularly tense hand, a large porcelain bowl that we kept on the piano suddenly shattered. After we had all calmed ourselves down, we found four completely individual reactions. Looking at all the tiny scattered pieces, I thought that I had never realized before how final a metaphor a broken bowl could be. The chemistry teacher pointed out that someone had emptied an ashtray into the bowl with a cigarette still burning, and of course the heat had shattered the bowl. The painter said that the green of the bowl was deepened when the light caught the small pieces. The musician said that the sound it made when it broke was a G sharp. Then we went back and finished our bridge hand.
— Shirley Jackson
CALIFIA'S CHILDREN: HARBIN HOT SPRINGS AND THE HEART CONSCIOUSNESS CHURCH
Most communal-religious groups start with a vision. Then they organize as a formal group. And finally, they sanctify a piece of land as their spiritual home.
Fairly charged as crimes not proved,
Still rate our notice.
Congress called them crimes,
The Senate said no, not quite,
And the People watched.
Criminal or not,
Vast wrongs were Seen. Marked. Called Out.
Will be Remembered.
—Jim Luther, Mendocino
BUTTIGIEG SUPPORTS ISRAEL’S MISSILE ATTACKS on Gaza, but condemns Palestinians when they respond