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Sports

Disgusting, absolutely disgusting!!!  Americans Favorite sport? Really? I’d rather sit by my pool and watch the grass grow.

LOS ANGELES, CA – JULY 23: Los Angeles Dodgers kneel during the National Anthem prior to a MLB baseball game on Opening Day at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles on Thursday, July 23, 2020. (Photo by Keith Birmingham/MediaNews Group/Pasadena Star-News via Getty Images).
                          How about this one for a reality check?

As a sports fan, it pains me to say this: I watched not one inning of the 2020 World Series. This revelation is not some preening, pin-a-medal-on-me political puffery — “Those sports ball players are annoying, America-hating commies, so I’m not watching” — but rather the embarrassed confession of a discouraged, disillusioned former fanatic who has come to realize that my erstwhile sports obsessions are really not all that important.

Apparently, I’m far from alone. The Tampa Bay Rays’ instant classic walk-off Game 4 win drew 8.95 million viewers, the second-lowest viewership in World Series history — ahead of only Game 3’s 8.2 million. For contrast, remember that only four short years ago, Game 7 between the Cubs and Indians peaked at 49.9 million viewers. Game 7 of the classic 1986 Mets-Red Sox series had an estimated viewership as high as 60 million.

The ratings numbers have attached themselves to an anvil and tossed the anvil off a cliff into a black hole. It’s a shocking decline. MLB is not alone in seeing its appeal become more selective, Spinal Tap-style. The NFL’s once-vaunted viewership juggernaut is shedding passengers at an alarming pace; the league is left celebrating a 33 percent decline year-over-year for the most recent Sunday Night game, because it represented a slight uptick compared to the rest of this season’s dismal numbers.

And the NBA?  Woof.  Game 3 of the 2020 NBA Finals averaged 5.9 million viewers. For comparison, Michael Jordan’s last game as a Bull, the clinching Game 6 of the 1998 NBA Finals, averaged almost 36 million viewers. Overall, the Lakers-Heat series dropped 51 percent from the 2019 numbers and 67 percent from 2018.

To extend the Spinal Tap metaphor, the NBA is a few BLM woke bombs away from second billing behind Puppet Show. Let’s be fair: There are mitigating circumstances. Nothing about this year is normal. MLB shoehorned a 60-game season into a pandemic-ravaged sports calendar. The NBA played its Finals at a time of year when teams are normally in training camp. The NFL has clung to something resembling a normal schedule, but the mostly empty stadiums and piped-in crowd noise have lent a surreal, off-putting atmosphere to the proceedings.

Personally, I’ve found it hard to care about sports when the very future of the Republic seems to be at stake, and every day’s headlines bring some fresh hell to torment and terrorize my fragile psyche. Sport becomes far less relevant in times like these, even as simple escapism. There’s no escaping a pervading sense of doom. But after the election, will my apathy magically dissipate, much like I expect the pandemic panic to do? Will I re-engage my former passion for pro sports? It’s entirely possible. A return to normalcy in 2021 would likely include a reboot of a casual interest in the exploits of overgrown man-children and a willingness to set aside their silly political posturing. A post-election de-weaponization of the virus will allow us all to relax, breathe and reclaim life’s simple pleasures. I hope so, anyway.

One final piece of advice: Don’t wait for woke-ism to recede from pro sports before re-engaging. Believe it or not, it is possible to set all that aside and simply enjoy the games themselves. If I let politics control my entertainment choices, I’d be left with listening to the Beatles song “Taxman” on an endless loop, and not much else. Life’s too short, and Jon Voight’s not making many movies these days.

Originally posted 2020-10-30 10:52:09.

Another Shot Across the Bow

for sleepy Joe from one of my FAVS, Victor Davis Hanson.

Biden, ‘The Great and Powerful’

For now Joe Biden’s best hope is that some Emerald City media lackey does not play the role of the tiny dog Toto, rip away the curtain, and reveal the tiny man and his machinery behind the projection.

 

Victor Davis HansonSeptember 13, 2020

Media bias is not new.

In addition to the Russian collusion hoax and the phone-call impeachment farce, who can forget the marquee media toadies of JournoList and the release of John Podesta’s email trove?

Or the moderator Donna Brazile’s primary debate questions, leaked through CNN, or Candy Crowley’s hijacking of a debate as moderator-turned-real-time-hack “fact-checker”?

Nothing then is new to the media’s fusion and collusion with the “progressive party.”

Yet never in American history have mainstream journalists not merely promoted a candidate but actively fused with his political candidacy to the point of warping, fabricating, and Trotskyizing the news and indeed history itself.

The trope of a vast charade to create an illusionary powerful figure out of nothing is an old one in fiction, Hollywood and television. We remember “The Great and Powerful” Wizard of Oz fakery, a formidable screen image created backstage by gears and levers operated by a tiny man “behind the curtain.” Similar is the famous scene in an episode of the old Star Trek series, depicting a near comatose on-air John Gill used as a televised prop by his puppeteers, in a utopian federation project gone haywire.

But reality has outdone art with the Biden campaign. The concoction is holistic, from the mundane construction of a fantasy, on-the-go candidate to the supposed middle-of-the road old Joe Biden from Scranton radiating an aura of kindness and moderation in times of plague, panic, and protest.

Bunker Illusions

For six months, Biden has run a Zoom campaign on the pretext of mandatory quarantines—our current version of a 19th-century, stationary presidential candidate, who campaigned by spitting out wit and wisdom while immovable on his front porch.

Biden has conducted no free-wheeling, unscripted press conferences. He will not do extended one-on-one interviews with a disinterested journalist. He rarely will even try Trump-like cameo appearances on CNN or MSNBC to answer unscripted questions from supporters. His press events instead are Orwellian, requiring a media mass suspension of disbelief.

The questions are canned. They are submitted in advance by “journalists,” whether formally or via electronic chatter. The inquiries are obsequious—seldom a word about Hunter Biden, China, Biden’s troubling racist remarks, his handsy past, his scary cognitive lapses, or his “contract” with Senator Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) and Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-N.Y.). Instead the softball, known-in-advance inquiries are in spirit carried over from the Obama years, phrased in the manner of “Were you outraged enough by Trump’s outrage?”

Biden’s Oz functionaries seemingly are always experimenting with all sorts of screen props. The trick is to discover how best their challenged candidate can square the circle of completing sentences and remaining semi-coherent, while not giving away the game that his illusionists are feeding him answers to synthetic questions.

When asked point-blank on Fox News by Brett Baier whether Biden used a stealth teleprompter, his national press flak, T.J. Ducklo would not answer with a simple yes or no. Instead, he went on the attack, with the fossilized accusation that right-wing Fox News asks too many partisan questions.

So we were left with a de facto “yes”: Biden does read off a stealthy teleprompter when answering canned press questions—and gives the impression he does not.

But Biden, like the mirage of the Wizard of Oz, nonetheless can’t always keep the curtain closed.

When he strains to see the teleprompter that sits just behind, and thus out of sight of, his camera lens, he slips and mutters “bring it closer”—reminding any who watch, except the media that helps collude in these orchestrations, that the question asked is not a serious one, but a prompt to facilitate the proper nonspontaneous response.

Yet even then Biden cannot act out the part of the Star Trek federation’s addled Gill without someone either giving him the prewritten answer on the teleprompter or writing it out for him in real-time. Sometimes if Biden is not reading a hidden teleprompter script, he looks down in panic for notes or his smartphone instructions in ways that only expose the sheer ridiculousness of this faux media-staged event.

Sometimes he shows off family pictures on screen that seemingly inadvertently reflect and expose the ghostly presence of a teleprompter’s reflection in the background. On other occasions when speaking, Biden searches in vain for his “schedule” and asks handlers to fetch it, whatever that exactly means.

In a presidential campaign first, Biden even reads out the written directives of his controllers as if to say “I’m not really saying this myself, but so what?”

So not surprisingly, during one of these sessions, out came a reference to his script’s talking point “topline” headings. When faking impromptu answers, Biden bumps into and voices his handlers’ notation of “end of quotation.”

Occasionally a “citizen” questioner sort of rebels from the media Borg and asks an unapproved question (e.g. “I’m just going to be honest Mr. Biden, I was told to go off this paper, but I can’t. We need the truth and I am a part of the truth”). In reaction, Biden’s handlers and fact-checkers rush to assure the public that the approved question was written by the questioner’s sympathetic organization rather than from Team Biden itself—as if we are supposed to believe the campaign had no idea what its own surrogates would ask.

Sometimes the effort is scary. When old photos reappear in a CNN puff piece about a younger Biden holding his young son at a long-ago Washington Redskins game, the team logo—the now-politically incorrect Redskins logo—is airbrushed from his son’s stocking cap. And then presto, legions of “disinterested” “fact-checkers” in the media emerge to confess that Biden, not CNN, supplied the doctored image.

But, in turn, the Biden campaign assures the press that the doctoring was only for “copyright” reasons, as if candidates routinely photoshop out all the cap logos they wear. The impression is that Biden is terrified that his new leftist friends in the Ministry of Truth are combing his past and ordering embarrassing moments to go down the memory hole.

Oz Wizardry

As a general rule, the Soviet-style apologia for the media-Biden fusion—usually outsourced to a now utterly corrupt left-wing institution called “fact-checking”—only solidifies the fact that the media and the Biden campaign are indistinguishable.

In Soviet times, one easily just assumed the opposite from Moscow’s party-line efforts and, presto, stumbled onto the truth. In the case of Biden’s optics and press conferences and appearances, we easily deduce that the downside of scripting and programming a compliant candidate far outweighs the existential risk of turning Biden loose to answer questions like a normal human being.

True, even before his cognitive decline, Biden was known in Washington as someone whose incoherent and impromptu loquaciousness usually embarrassed his friends more than hurt his enemies—in addition to his long history of plagiarism and inflating his thin résumés with false data about his past.

But with the onset of his cognitive decline, Biden’s own once-feeble social antennae are now more or less unplugged most of the day.

The result is that he has a creepy propensity to blurt out patently racist tropes as if the old inner Biden who talked of Obama as “clean” and the first “articulate” black presidential candidate, and pandered to his working-class Democratic supporters with references to the inner-city “jungle,” is now free of his harnesses, bits, and halters.

For some time, Biden unchained has shouted about “you ain’t black,” and, earlier, his Corn Pop series of inflated tales as Biden, the white knight, equipped with a chain no less, protecting the inner city from itself.

Biden showed his tough-guy mettle with putdowns of a transitorily noncompliant black journalist and sneered that he is comparable to a “junkie” and drug addict. To a liberated Biden, blacks just don’t think independently like Latinos.

Given all that, the decision of his campaign and their media stand-ins to reinsert Biden into his safe space, wheel him out for scripted occasions, and pray at least that he can follow either the teleprompter, his iPhone, or written notes in his lap, or remember his cues—without including the prompts themselves—seems understandable.

This was all known to Democratic primary voters who initially wanted little to do with Biden. The narratives advanced by primary rivals Kamala Harris and Corey Booker implied that he was either a virtual racist or cognitively challenged or both—insinuations the left-wing media was willing to fuel, in the heydays of a preferable Berrnie Sanders, Elizbeth Warren, or Beto O’Rourke prairie fire candidacy.

All that media fantasy imploded when would-be savior Michael Bloomberg proved little more than a billionaire bore and Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders cranky and shrill socialist septuagenarians with even scarier agendas.

Floating to November

So the lightweight Biden was reflated as a sort of centrist hot air balloon to be used to float the hard-Left basket carriage beneath across the election defining line.

But fusion/collusion is not just a matter of a Potemkin veneer. Biden’s agenda is a fantasy creation. His role was to save the party from Sanders, win suburbanites, and pander to the party’s socialist sympathizers of Antifa and the Black Lives Matter movement. That is an impossible task because today’s Democratic Party is a conglomeration of squabbling tribes and looney agendas.

Biden is now ordered to keep still on the issues of the day, because what he once said to get nominated and please the Left would lose him the election. He wants to defund the police, but not to defund the police. He wants to phase out fossil fuels and end fracking but not to end fracking in Electoral College-rich Pennsylvania.

The rioting, Biden insists, is due to police brutality but not due to it entirely. Trump’s COVID policies killed thousands, but Biden’s own bromides are either identical or would be less effective.

And on and on, as Biden is made to wink and nod to the Left that his only role is to get them elected before collapsing at the finishing line.

The media thinks this will work, and so owns the project. Biden will stay sequestered, visit a key state occasionally, pop out of the plane to say he is “barnstorming” Michigan or Wisconsin and then fly back into his Biden bunker for more Zoom puff interviews—and hope progressive polls show that he can endure weekly bleeding until November 3.

Every four or five days the media will blast the airways with, “Trump is ripping out mailboxes,” “Trump won’t concede and will have to be forcibly removed,” “Trump insulted our war dead as ‘losers’ and ‘suckers’ as he hid from the rain to keep his hair dry.” Most recently Bob Woodward’s book queued up for its turn of 72 hours of smears, right after gab-bag Jeffery Goldberg’s anonymous sources faded out.

Will this joint project of progressive ideologues of the Democratic Party and the major media work?

So far the rope-a-dope has succeeded in slowing down somewhat the pace of the erosion of Biden’s lead. And Biden as the tough-talking Wizard projection will continue until, when, or if the polls show an undeniable Trump surge ahead.

For now Biden’s best hope is that some Emerald City media lackey does not play the role of the tiny dog Toto, rip away the curtain, and reveal the tiny man and his machinery behind the

Originally posted 2020-09-17 11:31:04.

What a Great Shot!

Hello Gang, I’m back. Sorry for the long disappearance, but my bride and I needed to get away from this house once it was finally put back together after Ian. We took off on 31 July in the  new (to us) RV in search of cooler weather, which we did not find until we got to Northern MN. Had a great 30+ day vacation and really enjoyed the northern  States of MN, WI, and MI. We especially liked the latter and spent several days in what they call the “UP.” We even spent a day on Mackinaw Island; what a treat that was. I learned the significance of the different spelling of Mackinac and Mackinaw. LOL

Anyway, Greg sent me a new article and I loved it and decided to post it today. I hope you like it.

 

The shot seen round the world                                      By: Greg Maresca

 

If a picture is worth 1,000 words, how much does that infamous mugshot of Donald Trump rate? Taking advantage of what Trump believed an opportunity, he posted the photo to the social media platform X after its release.

The numbers back Trump up. According to politico.com within the first 24-hours, The Donald’s 2024 presidential movement raised $4.18 million making it the single-highest 24-hour funding period of his campaign to date.

Booking photos of scandalous celebrities, the nefarious, and the reprehensible are nothing new, but this was of a former president of the United States where nothing like this has ever occurred in American history.

Such an event was unnecessary. Who wasn’t aware that Trump was under indictment in four jurisdictions that a typical mugshot was a necessity?  Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer David Hume Kennerly who has photographed ten presidents, said the Trump photo will be “the most published photograph ever.”

Ever since Trump announced his presidential campaign from the escalator of the Trump Tower in Manhattan in 2015, he has been a nonstop moving target for Democrats, their allies throughout the media and the unelected bureaucratic swamp that is the deep state personified. Baseless allegations and name-calling were just part of the daily activities as that echo chamber refused to stop ringing.

Both Trump impeachments were counterfeit and served as a blatant diversion of the deep state’s machinations that continues to chug along at full bore.  Considering the nonstop freight train that continues to pummel Trump over the last eight years, the Queens, New York native is still standing and is more cognizant than Joe Biden was 30-years ago.

The photo reminded me of a Parris Island dress blue photo shoot where only your war face would suffice. Any semblance of a smile or even a smirk would earn the wrath of the nearest drill instructor.  Trump’s pose would not have disappointed as it was a “you’re fired” scowl straight out of The Apprentice.

Booking photos are usually an exercise in humility. Trump made it into an opportunity to showcase his campaign’s grit and determination. The image is now blazoned on T-shirts, coffee mugs, even shot glasses and since mugshots are copyright free expect more of the same.

Photographs are much more than their pixels – they hold much of their mystery in perception – a moment forever frozen in time.  Trump is a living meme and more than willing to fight no matter the odds.  The mugshot is a rallying point for his base. Moreover, the photo is a significant political portrayal on just how far American politics continues to unravel at blinding speed.  Those pixels of Trump have cemented itself alongside iconic photos like the Iwo Jima flag raising and the flight at Kitty Hawk, securing itself a unique place in American history.

However, this is not a celebratory photo, no matter what political affiliation you identify with.  Since the advent of the FBI’s Most Wanted List, what criminal ever faced so many indictments in different jurisdictions nationwide simultaneously?

Other than those whose eyes fall here; how many folks do you know that truly recognize what this situation represents?  Conservatives understand that their Judeo-Christian culture is under attack and that it is them who is the primary target with the former president providing cover.

If a parent speaks out at a school board meeting, they are a domestic terrorist.  If a pro-lifer prays while hindering access to an abortion clinic, expect an early morning raid from the FBI. Declare that only women can get pregnant and be prepared for a garden variety of backlash.

Meanwhile, the Bidens, Clintons, Barack Obama, and every swamp dweller gets off scot-free.

Keep electing Democrats and expect more of the same.  The choice is elementary: either you are for this White House administration that is Obama’s de facto third term, or you are not.

The cases against Trump are all scheduled to be heard during the middle of primary season. If anything, it will showcase the Democrats’ duplicity and most of all their hypocrisy. When will the reality that the nation is drifting toward tyranny cast out the mote out of thy leftist’s eye?

The Left got their prized Trump mugshot.

The question remains – will it backfire?

Postscript. Today as I write this there is a service going on at the Quantico, VA Marine Base cemetery and afterwards a  memorial at the Marine Corps Museum. I wish I could have been in attendance, but matters at hand did not allow me to do so. The service and memorial was for a great friend, a decorated hero, a Brother, and a dedicated Marine. His name was LtCol Vic Taylor, USMC (Ret). Although Vic was my monitor as a Major, I did not meet him until after we both retired and he lived on his ranch in Steamboat Springs, CO, and I on mine in Roscoe, MT. 

He sent me a picture of himself one time after we had a conversation on the phone about our early days in the Corps

LCpl B.V. Taylor, a Marine’s Marine!My thoughts have been about you all day my Brother! God bless you sir!

 

 

 

BLM

Good Day Followers, I hope this post finds you well, safe, and enjoying life as best we can during these very troubling times within the world we live. I am so sick about hearing about BLM, I want to puke. It seems everyday there are more and more indictments coming out concerning the so-called leaders of this organization.  Finally, there seems to be a  significand rise in Black people realizing just what this organization is really all about. Lord, I hope hope so.  

From The “Patriot Post” MARCH 3, 2022

Marxist Envy Drives BLM Grifters

Black lives matter, and that’s why the organization that coopted that phrase as its name deserves utter condemnation for being little more than a bunch of Marxist grifters.

Consider Patrisse Cullors, the self-described “queer” and “abolitionist” (as in abolishing the police) cofounder of Black Lives Matter (BLM). If you doubt that she’s a Marxist, don’t just take our word for it; take hers: “We are trained Marxists,” she said. But she’s also a wildly successful capitalist because she managed to peddle her divisive tripe all the way to the bank, raking in millions of dollars and buying multiple mansions before “retiring” from BLM last year at age 37.

She must be content to sip chardonnay in the quiet spread of one of her four homes, chuckling at all the dupes who funded her lavish lifestyle, right? Wrong. Her recent interview with The Guardian begins this way:

“You’re gonna make me cry,” Patrisse Cullors warns when I ask how she feels about being criticized by other Black people. Then [she] turns away from the webcam and starts to sob, hand to her mouth. “I’m crying because I was prepared for rightwing attacks. I wasn’t prepared for Black people to attack me. And I think that’s probably the hardest thing in this position, to lose your own people. The people that you love the most, the people that you do this work for. The human being feels betrayed, the leader feels like: ‘Yeah, welcome to Black leadership. This is the f**king hazing.’”

She talks about having been to therapy, which she claims is “difficult because we don’t live in a world that cares for black people’s vulnerability.” What is she talking about? In the years since she and two others began BLM, she raised perhaps hundreds of millions of dollars ($90 million in 2020 alone), often from decent Americans who simply thought their gifts meant they were showing that they care for black people. Yet here’s Cullors, vengefully biting the hand that fed her, while admitting that she daily contends with “a lot of resentment.” Resentment for what? That she didn’t raise a billion dollars?

No, that she’s being “treated as the fall guy” for all of BLM’s missing money.

Speaking of Black Liars’ Millions, we recently noted that roughly $60 million of BLM’s graft was unaccounted for. Well, it seems that’s an underestimate. Thanks to BLM’s diversified network of fundraising arms, millions more dollars have mysteriously become what Democrats love to deride as “dark money,” vanishing to who knows where.

Whether or not Cullors used BLM money to fund her real estate or anything else, she certainly cashed in on the racial resentment and division BLM fomented. “I’m also a published author, writer, producer, professor, public speaker and performance artist,” she has said previously. “I work hard to provide for my family.” Indeed.

So why did BLM fail at financial transparency? “I think it’s because black people in general have a hard time with money,” Cullors said. “It’s a trigger point for us.”

Just imagine a white person saying that.

Her hatred of the police comes from her circumstances growing up. Forget the war on drugs, she says; let’s focus on the “war on gangs.” She describes growing up in 1990s LA where “essentially the federal government [was] declaring a war on brown and Black children and calling them domestic terrorists.” She claims it was “a literal war zone.” Going to school in a neighboring white community, however, is what fed her resentment and envy.

Her comments are actually quite enlightening about leftism generally and Marxism in particular. That philosophy and ideology is built almost entirely on envy. A Marxist thinks, Someone else has something I don’t, so I’m either going to take it or at least make sure they can’t have it or pay dearly for it. That’s obviously oversimplified, and it’s not to reject the reality that sometimes life isn’t fair. Sometimes it doesn’t seem right that one group has it so good when another group doesn’t.

But envy is a foundational idea behind Marxism, and building ideology on top of sinful desire is a recipe for disaster. Unfortunately, Marxism is increasingly the ideology undergirding American leftism and the Democrat Party.

AMERICAN NEWS Mar 15, 2022 6:35 PM EST

Boston BLM leader charged with fraud in federal indictment

Monica Cannon-Grant and her husband are charged with three separate schemes: defrauding donors, illegally collecting about $100,000 in pandemic unemployment benefits, and lying on a mortgage application.

A prominent Black Lives Matter leader in Boston was arrested Tuesday, and she and her husband were charged in an 18-count federal indictment.

1-year-old Monica Cannon-Grant and her 38-year-old husband, Clark, were charged in connection with three separate schemes outlined in the indictment: defrauding donors, lying on a mortgage application, and illegally collecting an estimated $100,000 in pandemic unemployment benefits, Boston Globe reported

The pair allegedly raised more than $1 million in donations and grants for those in need, but used a substantial amount on themselves for expenses like rent on their Boston apartment, and buying a car for a relative.

In one case, Cannon-Grant was handed a $6,000 grant for her nonprofit, Violence in Boston Inc., to take a group of at-risk young men to a retreat in Philadelphia.
The trip never happened though, and she used the money to take a vacation to Maryland with her husband, dining at restaurants like Bubba Gump Shrimp, paying for groceries and car rentals, and visits to a Boston nail salon, federal prosecutors allege.
“While Cannon-Grant reported to the IRS and the state attorney general’s charity division that she received no salary, prosecutors said that in October 2020 she started paying herself $2,788 a week,” according to the Boston Globe.
This marks the first time that Cannon-Grant has been implicated in the schemes, and brings additional charges against her husband, who was arrested in October by federal agents after a raid on their Taunton home.
Her husband was previously charged with illegally collecting unemployment benefits and making false statements on a mortgage application.
After appearing before US Magistrate Judge Judith Dein on Tuesday, Cannon-Grant was released on personal recognizance, and was told that she could continue working at her nonprofit, but cannot handle the organization’s finances.
Cannon-Grant will be arraigned on the charges next week.
“VIB [Violence in Boston] and Monica have been fully cooperating and their production of records remains ongoing. Drawing conclusions from an incomplete factual record does not represent the fair and fully informed process a citizen deserves from its government, especially someone like Monica who has worked tirelessly on behalf of her community. We remain fully confident Monica will be vindicated when a complete factual record emerges,” said her lawyer, Robert Goldstein.
“We are extremely disappointed the government rushed to judgment here.”
Really?

A Day to Remember

The day of which I speak  is of no significance to anyone but me. However, as I grow older each year, I feel this undying urge to recognize it. So if you aren’t interested in my day to remember, just skip it.

As Franklin D. Roosevelt speaking of December 7th 1941 coined the phrase, “A date which will live in infamy,” my date lives in my memory as though it was just yesterday, not sixty-four years ago! I am certain many of you have a similar date as well. My high school friend—Teddy Wood—and I had left school before the report cards came out during our senior year and enlisted in the Corps.

What follows is an excerpt from Chapter #2 of The Book:

On March 6, 1958, after completing all the paperwork and physicals at Fort Holabird, Maryland, I said goodbye to Mom and Dad. Woody and I then boarded a train at the Baltimore station, along with several others, bound for Parris Island, South Carolina, where the Marine Corps’s East Coast recruit training facility was located. The recruiter entrusted to me a large, sealed manila envelope. I was to deliver it to someone in command when we arrived at our destination. He informed the group that I was in charge—my first responsibility as a future Marine.

The train ride remains a vague memory to me except that we were assigned to a specific car where we were told to remain for the entire trip. I recall that some of the boys brought along a considerable amount of beer smuggled in their baggage. They shared with some of the others, but I was much too nervous to do any drinking. I remember one of the boys boasting as to how he was going to breeze through this training—he wasn’t going to take any guff from the drill sergeants.

With each stop along the way, our car became more crowded with more boys on their way to this infamous place with an exotic-sounding name—Parris Island.

Most of us were asleep when the conductor shouted out that this was our stop—Yemassee, South Carolina. I stepped off the train into total darkness with a cigarette in my mouth. Suddenly it flew off somewhere into space with what I thought were a few of my teeth. This cantankerous fellow, wearing a hat I’d last seen on a bear with a shovel in his paw on U.S. Forest Service posters, was screaming for us to do something. I had no idea then how symbolic that hat was nor that I myself would someday wear it.

Everyone was running in circles, bumping into each other, falling down. The greeting Marine was screaming, “Move! Move! Move!” which we were certainly doing but had no idea where to. I heard someone crying out for his mother. Another boy was screaming for help—surprisingly, he was the one who bragged about not taking any guff from the drill sergeants.

Absolute chaos ensued. Finally, after several minutes of the Marine shouting at us, he pointed to a building. We all ran towards it, jamming the doorway, attempting to get through it and out of the way of this insane person’s wrath.

Inside the building were steel beds stacked two high with a bare mattress lying on them and bright lights in the ceiling with shades hanging over them. The Marine thundered, “Get in a rack!” What the hell is a rack? we wondered. I didn’t recognize anything that might be a rack, so sheer chaos returned as we all tried to figure out what exactly this fellow was directing us to get into.

Finally, someone jumped into one of the steel beds whereupon we all followed suit; some beds even had two boys squeezed together. The Marine yelled, “Freeze!” Immediately the room fell into total silence except for the springs of the steel beds squeaking slightly as we all lay very still. He turned out the lights, and slowly paced up and down the center of the room while telling us we were shit, slimy civilian shit. We were in for one hell of a time when morning came, he warned, so we had better get some sleep since it would be the last time sleep would come for the next four months.

Welcome to boot camp!

As I lay there, I could hear the muffled sounds of several boys sobbing, probably wondering like the rest of us, What the hell have I gotten myself into?

 I don’t know how long I slept or if I even slept at all, but suddenly the lights came on and a loud banging sound awoke everyone as a Marine was screaming at us to stand in front of our racks. The large metal trash can he’d thrown was still rolling around the floor as we scrambled from our supremely uncomfortable beds—now to be known as “racks.” We were then herded outside onto a greyhound-type bus. I had no idea of the time except it was pitch black and cold.

As I was boarding the bus, I remembered the manila envelope still lying on my rack. I was to have surrendered it to the appropriate person upon arrival—my first responsibility as a Marine and I’d blown it. I really did not want to approach this crazed Marine, but I had to retrieve that envelope. I reluctantly began, “S…S…Sir…I need to go back into the building to—” I never finished the sentence. He was screaming and spitting saliva all over my face. I had no idea what he was saying, but I sure wasn’t going to ask him to repeat it. He shoved me towards the building. I ran in, grabbed the envelope, and bolted back outside.

By the time I returned to the bus, I was the last one to board thereby forcing me to sit next to the ill-tempered, Smokey Bear-hatted Marine. I developed goose bumps as I took my seat, so close to this fearsome devil that I was expecting him to chew my head off just for kicks.

I distinctly remember the bus passing through a gate and seeing the Marine sentry smiling as we drove past. Other than swamps on both sides of the road, I could see nothing out the window—no lights—nothing that gave a hint of civilization.

We finally came to some buildings whereupon we were herded off the bus into a classroom filled with school chairs, the types that have a small desk attached to them. There were several other Marines waiting there for us.

After much shouting for us to find a seat and sit our slimy civilian asses in it, we were required to fill out a post card addressed to our parents. We were told to write them that we arrived safe and would write again later. Then they hurried us into another part of the building where we went through a line holding a metal tray out in front of us while someone piled food onto it. We ate in total silence. When we finished—mind you, this was not as leisurely a breakfast as we were accustomed to at home—we were herded back into the classroom.

The sun was just rising on our first morning as recruits—literally as well as symbolically.

The story continues . . . . . . .

Little did I realize it then, but that day changed my entire life forever, and thirty-five years, six months, and twenty-two days later I took off the uniform and became Jim Bathurst, USMC (Ret).

Oh what a trip it was, What’s say we do it all over again guys?

Semper Fi Brothers; Jim

 

 

 

 

 

 

                       March 1958                                         October 1993