Saturday, April 30, 2016

"Aviation Art by Romain Hugault"


"They're Here have been for Years!"

"I KNEW IT!!!"

Aha! Just as I suspected! It was a government plot all along. The whole UFO deal that Majestic-12, and up stuff. It was the Military Industrial Infotainment Fun House behind it from  day one.

Thing is are the government zombies in cahoot with the Greys or are they independent players in a multi-planetary cold war? Also how does this jibe with the Reptilians plans to get us all to switch to Blue Ray (tm)? Thereby furthering their plans of mass mind control over the hapless consumers.

Comrades beware the trap of Blue Ray!

I myself though tempted have forswore that evil technology. I will 'not' be a mindless drone in thrall the Reptilian Pixar empire.  I'll go back to listening to vintage Mambo records on my Marconi crystal set before submitting to the chains of those cold blooded fiends! 

Stay Tuned

Thursday, April 28, 2016

"Mickey's Jammed as Hell"

"Tea for Two"


I'm sleeping too much albeit in small installments. Times of stress are like that. In the old daze when I was a part time drug addict,...well okay maybe not addict.

When I got to know 'real' addictive comrades I found out what a total amateur I was.

These heroic pharmaceutical maniacs sucked down quantities of chemicals during a weekend binge that would have taken me two years to score, and do!

One pal described a gleeful cocaine angel dust speed whiskey cocktail that would have killed a dozen Cossacks, and the draft horses they rode in on.  ...and then went back for seconds.

Where was I?

Right dreaming of dust buster parties past. I recall back in the fading 1980's doing what we called "Biggles". Named after someone in a Monty Python skit.

A Biggle is basically a quarter gram or more cocaine line. Eh back in the day the recording, film video, and general broadcast industry ran on speed, and coke. Hey it was another era different values gimme a break.

Anyway to prove your insanity one would snort down the whole thing in one quick zap! This to the demented applause of your pals. If you didn't 'die' you were rewarded with a vodka martini..extra dry.

Ah I gleefully recall the summer of '83. What me, and my old pals calls the "Martini Summer". 

One of our TV/radio host comrades whom you've heard of, but for legal reasons goes somewhat nameless here was once a bartender in a Madrid dive. He remembered his skills well!

Anyway this suicidal "Biggles" thing was the custom among the engineers back then. Yeah I had a terrible drug problem,...I was always running out of the stuff, and it was terrible.

Flash forward near 30/40 years, and all the survivors are basically tea-totalers. 

So like I sez now instead of snorting up Peru I attempt chemical-free sleep. I even succeed somewhat. 

Nutty dreams too. 

Stay Tuned.

"Lord of Hosts",...working overtime

Here's a snapshot of gawd.
At least one of the more candid shots of Him. There 'e is working in His office at night. What a sorry Bastard. 

I feel really bad for the guy.
He so well meaning, but nothing he does ever really works out.  He creates this end of the Mulitverse, far so good. Then he starts messing about with life. Next thing ya know there's sentient life all over the place.

Imagine a trainee chef with a million pots boiling over in the Celestial Kitchen! 

You know the rest. 

His pets the Angels start getting ideas of their own then we show up. 

Before ya know it Klingon's the bleeping Krell the Kazinti them weird Ring World Engineers Demons from that Hell he accidentally created,..and of course the Yeti, and all them other unofficial species that keep popping up.

Yeah if I was Him I'd be exhausted freaked out smoking, and drinking too much too.

There He is above working on us. 

Yeah he's always tinkering about trying to help us make sense of the crappy little lives  given to us. I'm on his table somewhere so are you. I think I see Napoleon, and Walt Disney in the background. 

What a mess. 

I hope He has better luck with the folks He's put on the other planets. Aw heck he's such a sweet guy I really hope it works out for'em, one day.
Stay tuned.

"We Stand on a Knife's Edge"


"Fag City"

Wow the Emerald City is crawling with QUEERS! You can't throw a lemon lime cream pie without hitting one in the butt. Everywhere I look there's buff guys, and hot Dames!

I was on the local coming into the studios today when this kid comes on wearing Angel wings, and almost nothing else. What do you say to a naked Angel?

Beside that interesting vision there's gleeful Queers of every variety walking, and fluttering up, and down the streets, and avenues. I was thinking how sweet it is to be amongst one's own sort.

So often I have the feeling of as scripture puts it of being, " the presence of mine enemies."

Queers are bashed, and killed all the time. That, and who knows how many more Queer kids, and teens will die at their own hand or the hands of their tormentors.

A Queer 12 year old just took his life. The note he left said, "...I can't live in a world that accepts me only one day a year."

 " the presence.."

However on that "one day" we can at least see who we are. The masks are off. Yes "our sort" are always around in the same numbers, but on this special weekend the disguises are left at home. 

Interesting what would the streets be like if 'everyone' of all orientations, and interests secular sacred or profane dressed as they really were?

Imagine that for a moment.

I mean beside the huge "Star Trek" uniform contingents things would look interesting indeed.

I'd mostly wear cowboy/Civil War uniform drag. That's when I wasn't done up as a Nun or Geisha. Just think of it folks feeling free to explore all their pent up visions. Yeah it would make the commute much more interesting.

Bless that Angel boy,...who somewhat looked like a lad I had a crush on back millions of centuries ago in high school. Bless all the Fags, Dykes Queers Straight-gays, and assorted weirdos as they take to the streets to celebrate 45 years of fighting back!

Also bless that Tribe that loves Boys.

There's swell Sufi scripture that celebrates that.

Stay Tuned,


"Mother Nature’s Sons"

I could never understand why the sight of boys kissing puts fright into so many. I remember the first time I saw two teen lads kissing. I was 16, and wandering around Central Park.

There was a gleefully confused Anti-War gathering/Be-In going on. Mind you I wasn't a full fledged Hippie at the time. I couldn't afford the costumes, drugs, communes or upper middle class background that supported all that. 

Class resentments aside.

I drifted onto the Sheep Meadow, and saw several high school boys laying on the grass kissing. I tried to be hip, and pretend this was no big deal. After all this was 1966!

Gimme a break! That sort of thing can 'still' get you bashed or worse. Still the sight of it made my heart flutter. There they were peacefully embracing in Manhattan's green oasis. 

In the shadow of urban mayhem Mother Nature's embarrassing step children were at play in the fields of the Lord.

My passionate desire was to be able to do the same with my high school heart throb,..."X".  

Nice that, "X", sort of what a sweet 19th century Vermont lady would call a lover in the novel she was secretly writing.

Btw I once wrote an "R" rated story about that fumbling, and intermittent affair. One day before I kick the bucket I mean to make a little video about it.  I plan to use dolls, and puppets. 

Anyhow seeing happy perverts going at it is where so much of the murderous rage of the bashers, and haters comes from. 

The sight or even the thought that this is going on fills them with killing rage, and for some secret desire. Life love desire hate rage quite a stew.

I think this is at the core of what makes bullies drive Queer youngsters to their deaths This is the engine that drives the wicked, and cruel to do their evil work.

Just the thought of such a simple tender scene drives these wounded angry souls to madness.

Fear is the true root of all evils.

More later.


On a warm heavy night long ago when I was a boy.

I was unable to sleep

There was a storm coming

I felt it rumble in my chest

The curtains heaved

The first pelts

The ceiling flashed

The sky ignited

I got up

I undressed

'crept downstairs past my sleeping parents

'went out into the yard

Oh the wind!

The rain!

I had never felt nature as this

It covered me

All of me!

Arcing light from horizon to horizon!

I stood by my mother's roses

silhouetted by fire 

I 'was' the wind 

the rain 

the light 

I was washed clean

I was re-born

Re-born, and Baptized by Lightning!



Some of this story is true, some is not. Not yet, but it's all sincerely shared.

I woke up this morning with "Wings!" Not little fledgling feathers, but with radiant Raphael renaissance wings. Think the Angel Gabriel in all them Annunciation paintings.

I was in bed between being awake, and dreaming when I felt an itch where I'd never felt one before. Something was going on around my shoulder blades. I experienced that strange sensation amputees have, but in reverse. There was now 'more' instead of less.

I touched my back. There was something there. I rolled out of bed, and nearly fell over, center of gravity had changed! I picked my way through the semi-light of early dawn to my dresser mirror.

Well there I was. Looking as I usually did when I wake up. At least now in my grumpy middle years. I'll spare you the grim details, but there was a light over my shoulders. I half turned. Wings.

I had wings.

(It wasn't exactly like this, but I thought it was a cute picture so what da hell)


A few days ago,...before the wings. I was standing on a corner waiting for the light to change. There were some school kids horse'n around near the edge. One of the kids spilled out into the street oblivious to the danger.

A Hugh! "SUV" big as a tank was speeding straight at 'em! The bastard wasn't even thinking about slowing down. As they say in these sorts of stories, time slowed down. The world, and all in it seemed to drift like feathers in a light breeze.

Well I was standing right there so just reached out, and pulled the kid in. Time resumed it's natural flow. The car/tank flashed by, and the kids didn't miss a beat. They continued laff'n, and playing.

All of them apparently unknowing of the tragedy averted. The light finally changed, and the kids frolicked away. Life went on.

Once more I 'happened' to be there to pull someone in. "Right place", "Right time",...again. A few months ago there was that little boy I pulled back from slipping over a railing, and falling into the East River. Then there was that teen-aged girl I yanked back from stepping into the path of a bus.

There's more,...the old lady in the subway, the man at that construction site I 'happened' to be passing, the little girl, and that car backing out of the driveway.

Wait it gets better.

A couple of summers ago there were these two teenagers that were gonna knife each other on the train. I stood between them. Don't ask me why I did it 'cause I don't know.

One moment I'm sitting with everybody else hoping that someone would 'do' something. Next thing I know that someone was me! How the hell did that happen?! Hey, I'm a New Yorker, but I ain't 'that' crazy!

Now this sort'a thing has been going on for most of my life. Since I was a kid. I never questioned it. It was just 'something' that happened sometimes. There's people that can shoot milk through their nose's, me I save complete strangers from certain death.

(This here is one busy painting in a creepy sort of way, but ya get my point, yes? Btw if ya clicks on it this pix' get's big, and scary!)

'And no, I can't predict horse races or lotto numbers. My rotten luck, figures. Unfortunately this ain't a "gift" I can make a living off of. Don't expect to see me on "Oprah" anytime soon. Unless of course I "happened" to pull her from the path of a speeding "Health Quack", and their publicists!

Anyway through it all the folks involved in these "incidents" don't got a clue. They all seem totally oblivious to the danger averted. I guess it all happens too fast for them to notice that the very "Jaws of Death" had just snapped at them!
'And because I was there,...missed.


I was considering this curious personal history as I looked over my shoulder at my wings. Interesting, they seem to react to light like a prism. My every movement was creating rainbows around my bedroom.

Truly this is a gift though I don't think I ever prayed for it. I suppose this is my "Stigmata", my unasked for token from Heaven.

I should say for those not raised by deranged Nuns. The stigmata is a sign from G-d to the particularly faithful or insane. Take ya pick. Since I consider organized religion the worse disaster in human history. Well, maybe second to the last ice age or that comet or whatever that blew away all the dinosaurs. I guess that narrows ya choices.

(Oh yeah that looks like fun. Where do I sign up?!

About the stigmata though. You're basically awarded, "awarded" mind you with the inconvenient, and extremely painful wounds suffered by Jesus during his passion.

One look at that blood-fest Jesus flick that Mel Gibson splattered across the complex's of the world should give you a good idea what this swell "gift" is all about. Yuck!, nailed hands, and feet. Crown'a thorns, stabbed side, the works as only "gawd da father can provide!"

Kind'a makes ya wonder what the 'other side' is offering. Humm, just sign here in my own blood, and I get's my way with the world for the rest of my greedy life. Yum!

(Eh, now that I think about maybe this signing my soul away deal ain't so sweet after all. Nothing' personal there Mr. Satan, but I'll keep the wings. Floating in molten lead for eternity might give me a headache)

I've seen that episode of the "Twilight Zone", ya know the one with Sebastian Cabot as the devil. Forget it.
Them wings though, I seemed to have been let off easy on the the stigmata scale. They don't bleed, and they weigh almost nothing. I wonder if I can fly? Wait a minute, that would put me on "Oprah!" Things might be looking up for me after all.

I'm assuming that this is a gift from the "Good Guys." My wings are amazing. They seem to have weightless weight, and edge-less edges, presence without presence. Running my hands over them is like passing ones fingers through a thick warm mist. They're just this side of solid.


The Dreams. I have too often seen things that will happen. 9/11, the south Asian tsunamis. I had dreamed these, and other things over the years, and told you about them on the air. On my radio program, "Carrier Wave". I described these terrible events in detail long before they happened. Others did so as well, and you laughed, and forgot.

The dreams are the worst because no one believes them, and when they come true they don't remember I told them. If I bring it up they look at me like I belong on the front page of a supermarket tabloid. Yeah me shake'n hands with a space alien or a yeti or something'.

All I can do is see these things. I can't stop them. I once begged G-d to take this "gift" away. I remember telling this to my dear friend, and colleague Bob Fass. He said it was "better to 'see', and tell" because a few "might hear it", and believe. Some "might benefit from your gift which is why you have it!"

Then there's the Spirits. They visit me, always have since I was little. They touch my hands, my face. They enter my dreams, the speak to me, and show me wonders, and horrors.

Angels, Spirits, Demons, remembering the future, pulling souls from the jaws of eternity,...and now Wings! Have I been given this unambiguous miracle so that those I pull from "Well of Forever" will know from where their rescue really comes?

Paradise has bestowed on me an undeniable token. Bright Wings! A Miracle for which I did not ask, and don't know what to do with.




I was, and am still a "Mouseketeer." I remember that sign-off goodbye song the "Mouseketeer's" used to sing to us. "...and now it's time to say goodbye, all our family." "M-i-c,...see ya real soon,..k-e-y." "Why?" "Because we like you." "M-o-u-s-e!"

My Grandma made us, my sisters, and brother mouse ears. "Mickey Mouse" Mouseketeer ears. She used black felt, for the beanie'n ears, and white linen for the "M." She also made a "Zorro" cape special for me, but that'z another story.

I was think'n about all of this while I was out, and about tonight. This shooting star night. All this in the context of the sum of a life. All the wonderful gems, the memories that put together we call our lives. Too often I concentrate on the traumatic, and disappointing. Just read my blogs. it's peppered with the stuff.

Yeah I know there were no colored kids in the cast of the program. Amazeingly for the times Walt Disney did consider an integrated show,..briefly. This story from his brother.

 A light skinned colored girl was give'n a screen test separate from the other kids. It was a big studio secret. Remember this was the mid 1950's. It would have been a social bombshell, and killed any chance of major sponsors. All this despite the "Disney" brand.

Believe it or not, we have actually come a bit of a way. Not a long way, but a bit. Just a bit away from all that. But back then it was thought, that is simple justice was not practical. The youngster didn't get the part.

Sometimes I wonder, if this anecdote is so, I've wondered how things would be different now if important people with influence had decided not to be so practical. I was 6 or 7 years old, and blissfully unaware of this sad history. I just wanted to be a Mouseketeer just like I wanted to be a boy scout. I have a scout story near the bottom of the page that dovetails with Mr. Disney's practicality.

Mouse ears, I want mouse ears. I went looking for some. Turns out they're a rarity. Disney puts some out, but they're very small. Only toddler sizes it seems. Somebody should tell them that there are some former 8 year olds, even colored ones, that would like to don the ears,..just one more time.

When Cubby, Annette'n the gang sang that sweet goodbye song I really thought they were singing to me personally. Oh! the wonderful innocence of children. In those days the children's market wasn't as glossy, and slick as today. There was still at least the "appearance" of sincerity. Enough so to convince many a boomer that they weren't alone after all.

You know I was thinking of what sort of costume I'd design for the Coney Island annual "Mermaids Parade." Nurse Pickles has offered assistance on that. Scroll down for the reference. Anyway maybe some "Mouseketeer" sort of thing might work.

I'll have to look around for the material, but I think we can cook something up. Just need the mouse ears, a t-shirt or something with "Mickey" on it. That, and some various other weird assorted stuff thrown on, and we've got it!



My gawd did I wanna be a Cowboy! Still do! More than I wanted be a Nun! Regards this dream I have no shame what's so ever folks. I want to ride the range in my cool cowboy suit, and bark at the moon!

Yeah I knows all about the Native genocide, the lynching of Chinese workers, the routine rapes, the lack of toilet paper, and bad breath. Still I refuse to give this one up. Especially since I always KNEW! that there was Colored Cow Boys!!

Yahooo!!! relation to that certain computer company.

Yippie!, Yippie!, Kai!, Yai!, Yay!! Get'a long! Git!, Git!, along! You Doggies!!

 Right my pals reading this are say'n,"..he's finally lost it." Nah I'm okay.

 It's just that this fantasy is as vivid as when I was 7 or 8.

 It really hasn't changed that much. There's just something about that American myth of the West that makes most human males go nuts.

Regardless of race creed or color we all, or at least a heck of a lot of us wanted to be cowboys that's all there is to it. Period, and Amen. Okay there's exceptions, politically correct language bullies, race nuts, and Native Americans.

The Native American are the only ones with morality, and history on their side of the argument.

The rest of them is just assholes.

Out of respect to my Native pals ya might want to skip this one, and scroll down. Or maybe not. See to be able to keep my dream of the West I had to make certain ,, historical "adjustments" here, and there. Hey, I'm politically incorrect, but I ain't a damned Nazi!

See in my alternate history parallel  reality "American West" there was 'no' genocide, slavery, wanton murder, or mayhem.  In this 'other' history the meetings of peoples on this continent was friendly, and peaceful. Native, and settlers were pals. Slavery was forbidden, and eveybody got on swell.

It is in this happier West that I play out my Cowboy Dreams.

So there! My west is a cool, fun, happy one. We play shoot'em up, and have fun, but nobody gets hurt. We have a big bar-b-q after playing Cowboy all day,...a veggie table too.

I got a lot of paleface, and Native boyfriends. We have square dances at the fort every Saturday.

I remember explaining all this to George Stonefish, some will remember him as the producer of the Native program "Drumbeats."

He said he'd like to visit my "West". This because then he'd have his Country back, and could go home.

More later partners. I has to take a snooze.


"A Game Show in Hell"

(Bad Taste Post No. 82 in a series of 666.)

"Welcome to Escaaaape Your Punishment!"

The audience of the Damned applauds wildly.

A Demon in a white tux, and holding a bright glowing red pitch fork sez...

 "Alright contestant number one here it is."

"Should you eat this bowl of freshly aborted babies, careful they bite."


"Dig out this Nuns heart with a dull spoon?" 

The sound of a big ticking clock, and tense game show music begins.

The crowd yells, "...the babies!,...the Nun!, for it repent!....the babies! 

The Demon calls on the Punisher Angels to pour molten steel on  the audience.

"Now now clam down no help from the audience please!" 

"Remember this is for the Grand Prize!"

"A 'whole' hour off from the Lake of Fire,..."And!"

"Wait for it..."

"A Large Glass of Ice Water!!" 

 The audience of the Damned goes, "...OOOOOOOOOOH!!!"

The music builds as the Nun  desperately squirms against her chains, and the contestant slowly edges towards the rack of dull spoons!" 

(This was inspired by a recent nightmare I had. Hey you get your material where you can.)

"I Knew it!"

These are some Angels on their break at the Funny Hat Sweatshop on Heaven's Lower East-side.

They get free ice cream in the summer, and half a day off on Lucifer's Birthday.

Seems the Big Guy still has a thing for his old Flame.

"Every Dream has a Price"

"Rabbit Under Glass"

There I was walking along minding my business when I see's this Rabbit. Under glass.

I have no explanation for this vision, and neither as far as I know does the rabbit.

It just happened is all. We were just sharing space in the random realities of this Big Scary City. 

Stay Tuned.


"Uncle Sydney vs the Boy Scouts"

Well it was the early 1960's, and "Morning in America!" Jackie Kennedy was "jazzing up" the White House, and trying to give us a little class for Christ's sakes. Dr. King, and others was out there risking their lives for the soul of the nation. Because of that white folks was finally starting to feel a little ashamed of all them lynchings 'n stuff they let pass.

We was putting up the first satellites, and planning to go to the Moon! For those of you who wasn't there I got'a tell ya this country was serious shit in them daze!

Dig it,.. our folks had good jobs, gas was cheap, we had TV's, and was watching 'em till the cows came home! The schools worked, the trash was collected, Santa came every Christmas, and any working Joe could buy a house.

Shit! We had the H-frigg'n Bomb, and zillions of shiny new B-52's to deliver them! So nobody dared give us crap. Not only that, but polio was licked, and comic books was 10 cents.

Hey! Was that a "Golden Age" or what?!!

Well, in the middle of all that bright, and happy noise I decided I wanted to be a Boy Scout! 'Made sense given the times. I wanted to serve my country,..over easy with fries. It was "Camelot" big time back then, and I wanted to do my bit for "King'n Country!"

Also in my horny young mind I figured the scouts was just the place for a Queer kid, with Anarchist tendencies. I figured getting in would be no problem. After all I was real smart, sweet, and polite as hell!

I also had the "Blessed Virgin Mary", da frigg'n "Pope", my Mommy, and Robert Kennedy's Justice Department on my side.

How could I lose?

See I had gleeful visions of wearing one of them "Smokey the Bear" hats that scouts gets to have. Boy those things is neat! Better than cowboy hats any day. I was dreaming of that, and all them badges, ribbons, medals, and assorted bright, and cheerful doodads they heaps on ya in the scouts for being a good kid.

'Course then there was the official "Boy Scouts of America!" hatchet, canteen, compass, handbook, and surplus national guard folding mini-shovel dancing like sugar plums over my innocent, and curly head!

Eh, say nothing about them cute scout short pants, and knee sox. Well okay that was a later "fetish",..but still ya gets the idea.

Let me tell you of my innocent boyish scouting visions,...

I saw me, and my new scout pal's out in the wilds of New Jersey,..tracking down mountain lions, digging up "Spanish Gold!", building tree house's, and sighting UFO's.

We'd also be hot on the trail of "Atomic Spies", rescuing cats, exploring mysterious caves, and making friends with da Indians.

We'd be tying all sorts of knots, and painting ourselves up like "Sioux Warriors". We would eat wild berries, shit in the woods, wipe our butts with leaves. The lot of us would go running on all fours, and howl at the moon like wolves!

To relax we'd go skinny dipping, have kissing contests, circle jerks, blow things up, and build model airplanes!

At night under the stars we'd sing do-wop songs, cook foot long kosher hot dogs over a roaring camp fire, and tell scary stories about deranged communist robots from Venus invading Nebraska.

At bed time we'd set up surplus air force parachutes, and use them as our communal tents. We'd all recite our prayers, kiss each other good night, cuddle up like puppies, and slip into the gentle arms of Elysium. Perhaps some few might stay awake to chase fireflies or sing songs to each other.

Oh, such a sweet, and innocent vision.

Unfortunately 'none' of this swell shit went down. What did happen was...

My Mom: "What did you say?!"

Scoutmaster: "Eh,..I'm sorry Mrs. Smith, but it's just policy". "There's nothing I can do about it"

"This troop doesn't admit Coloreds".

My Mom: "But my son goes to this school which is integrated". "Your troop is part of this school"

Scoutmaster: "Technically yes, but the board has the final say in these matters".
"As I said I'm sorry we can't admit your son into our program."

My Mom was gonna slug this jerk, but didn't. He seemed, (at least to her, she said). This American apartheid apparatchik seemed ashamed of having to do this foul shit.

I'd have slugged him anyway, and maybe burned the school down too. Anyhow the "I'm just following orders" drone went on to tell my Mom of another troop that was willing to take a 'few' negro boys.


That bunch was a long bus ride away from where we lived so "thanks", but "no thanks!" Adolf. So with my scouting life receding in the rear view mirror I made do.

From then on I was looked after by the crazy old ladies at the Brooklyn Community Center. They were a bunch of very nice old Jewish ladies, and they taught me all sorts of stuff.

Mrs. Gold who's husband had fought in Spain against the Fascists showed me how to make cupcakes. She also taught me that white people weren't all full of shit.

Thank you Mrs. Gold.

If it wasn't for you I'd probably be a *fearful closet case in the Nation of Islam or one of them other race nut groups.

*('s rumored the "Nation" kills any gays they find in their ranks.)

Getting back to what my Mom went though. I have to say I didn't know about any of this. Instead my Mommy told me this whole concocted story about their being no room in local scout troop that season.

'Made sense too. You have to remember it was the early 60's. The height of the "Baby Boom" era.

There were zillions of us kids all over the place. Hell, we was "climbing in through da gawd damned windows!", quote Holden Caufield.

So yeah I bought it.

Next year I asked again, same story. The year after that I didn't ask. I had other problems. 'Like slamming face first into my "wonderful" teen years.

Well the seasons passed,..imagine the pages flying off a calender or hour glass's going nuts like in them old black, and white movies. Well with one thing, and another I found myself a young man.

Eh, perhaps I should put that another way. Never mind, look it was 1976 the Bi-Centennial year.

We'd just lost the Viet-Nam War, there were mile long lines for petrol, the economy was in the toilet. Ford Pinto's were spontaneously com-busting on our highways. The latter because it was cheaper to pay off the families than fix the problem.

...rot in hell Henry Ford.

We'd stopped going to the moon, or anywhere else for that matter. People thought "platform shoes" were cool, and the first rumblings of the Drug War, and AIDS were being heard. Oh yeah, and lime green was 'in'.

...the 1970's.

America was 200 years old,...for the first time!

Well "lime green" or not you only get one "Bi-Centennial" to a country. So we celebrated.

  It was our 200th national birthday, and I had gone home to visit my folks.

'Back then I was living way out west.

'Stuff happened. I saw interesting, terrible, and wonderful things out there. The west is truly another country. New York is like Idaho like Moscow is like Lisbon.

...and about the same distance too.

I never told anyone about them strange, scary, wonderful days. Not my family, not my pals, not my radio audience, not you. day maybe.

But back to this particular story.

I was home sitting in the parlor watching the parades, and mayhem with my Mom on her color tv. Her first. Aw gee. I remember when I first saw color tv. Heck even the commercial looked good. Anyway as we watched there were these guys dressed in civil war uniforms re-enacting some battle.

After that six-gun toting cowboys showed up, and shot at each other for a while. Then some white guys came on dressed as Indians, and did some sort of phony native dance. There was a float with some actors pretending to be astronauts on the moon we no longer went to.

Next some old farts in funny hats driving "Model T's" chugged along. This was followed by a mess of high school "ROTC" drill teams goose stepping down 5th avenue like the Hitler Youth. They was flipping their M-1 carbines all over the place, and not one was dropped!

Next a bunch of folks rolled by dressed like pilgrims. They was drinking Cokes on a flatbed pulled by oxen. Some "Rough Riders' on horseback shot at some Cubans, and all this followed by poor slobs in hot dog suits shoveling up after them.

Yep! That's "America" okay. '..recognize her anywhere.

Well, after a while on comes the Boy Scouts,..hundreds of 'em! They was wearing their "Smokey the Bear" hats too! Wow them boys was having a great time marching, and horse'n around with each other.

I mention to my Mother it was too bad about all that "over crowding" when I was a kid. I told her how I 'really, really' wanted to be a scout.

My Mommy gets quiet, she looks at me, and tells me the whole story..., all of it.

Like I said, parents, the good ones protects their kids. Protects their Innocence as long as they can.

Many many seasons later. Long after my Mommy had gone to Heaven. I got a call from my sister. She said her son, my youngest nephew had been called "nigger" at school that day. He was still crying, was my sister. " begins I thought".

"Let your children enjoy their Innocence for as long as possible". But when the demons finally do breech your walls of love, and protection. Make them ready. Make them strong. Teach them to face the fire,..and Survive.

'But teach them to Love, and Forgive as well.



I still want one of them "Smokey the Bear" Scout hats,...I really do.

(I wrote this some years ago, and try to post it at least once a year. It's important to me.)