Back in 1966, I was continuing my father’s “I Say” column at the Daily News at a time when he was still required to pay for it, as he did not want the Editor at the time to edit his work. But then along came Jim McGiffin as Editor and Publisher and he began paying me for writing the column.  An editorial of Jim’s explains what was going on at the time.

            “Mr. Minch And A Calculated Risk.

            Not long ago our columnist, Bob Minch, (my given name of Robert had not yet been established by the media) remarked that it was easy to get something in the paper…all you had to do was pay for it. And, this he does, as regularly as clockwork, to the delight of the owner of the News. And to the delight of News readers apparently, for Tom Oliver, who lives on Rt.2, Red Bluff, throws a few bouquets Mr. Minch’s way as evidenced by Oliver’s comments reprinted below.”

            ‘To The Editor: I don’t know whether or not Mr. Minch’s column is in his own commercial interest in your paper or you publish it for its own fine value in subtle humor, but neither purpose distracts from it. I sincerely believe you or he should enlarge it. I find a local man, putting together local events in an amusing fashion quite warmly different! I’m sure others do too. Signed, Tom Oliver.’

            “Now, there is an obviously calculated risk in the publishing of such complimentary remarks about Mr. Minch’s writing. He may take the attitude that the News should be paying him instead of the reverse.  But knowing Mr. Minch as the complete spendthrift that he is , unconcerned with the value of the dollar and completely oblivious to fiscal matters, we’re certain, or almost so, that he will continue to divvy up with nary a murmur. Meanwhile, some of his other readers may wish to comment. Surely not all of ‘em find his column that good. The News likes its balance of payments position unchanged.”

(Ed. Note. As great friends that we were, it was not until I defected to the Corning Daily Observer years later, that I became a paid columnist…and was eventually hired back by the Daily News on the basis of $20.00 per column. When I was then edited out of the DN and went to the Redding Searchlight, they upped the ante to $50.00 per column. But nothing is forever, and when they began picky and unwarranted editing, we dissolved our relationship. Too bad everything in life comes down to either control or money. Tsk, tsk.)

“Wonder” seems speculative.  I believe he meant “ponder” rather than “wonder”. He pondered City Council wisdom, the City Manager’s attention span, the plethora of applicants for Council seats, the labeling of our community, our Governor, Meg Whitman, the demise of car dealers, the McGlynn pool, KBLF and other subjects ripe for musing

I could address all the above subjects, which would serve to either calm his fears or reinforce his concept that we are lacking leadership around town…and around the State as well. But one subject hit home to me…and that is of the current City Manager.

Early on, I was cautioned by a friend that Mr. Nichols might not have had a thorough back ground check when hired by the Red Bluff City Council. While my friend was serving as a  department head in Butte County, he felt that Mr. Nichols wasn’t doing his homework and exercising his vigilance as County Manager. My informant assumed our Council had “vetted him” before his hiring…but hinted that some “positive” reports of his tenure might have been an attempt to see that he hired on some place other than in their County.

Moving on, I did some wondering of my own.

I wonder at the trials and errors of the very young as they struggle to walk, to talk and learn what is good and what is bad.

I wonder why, after years in the slaughter house business, I refrain from killing all animals, but will swat a mosquito and eat a steak without a second thought.

I wonder what would have happened if, after Infantry OCS, I had gone into combat in Korea rather than the safety of the Medical Field Service Corps in Alaska.

And I wonder how I could have managed to live such a splendid life after all my early missteps and mistakes.

* * * * *

Cousin Bill from far away Burlingame, noted the crossbreeding of show dogs to produce  new breeds, such as mating a cocker spaniel and a poodle to produce a cockapoo…and other exotic breeds such as goldendoodle, labradoodle or even maltipoo. Therefore he proposes a cockadoodle poo as another breed. Anyhow, that’s what he thinks and he has vigorously implored me to inform my readers of his insight. Sigh.

* * * * * **

It was good thinking for the DN to produce the “Pages of History “insert last Friday. By including pages pulled from the Daily News, The People’s Cause and the Evening Sentinel over the past 125 years, readers were able to hearken back to a time when life played out at a slower pace. Good show.

* * * **

Police logs booked one Jacob Dylan Cozine for something or other. But, as is happening a lot these days, they discovered he also went by an alias; “Chicken Nuggets”. How does a guy get a name like that? Does he like Chicken Nuggets or does he just look like one? I shall wonder and ponder about that even if no one else does.

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J. Angelo informs us that “Paraprosdokian” sentences are those in which the first part has one meaning…and the second part gives the phrase a whole different meaning. For example:

Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.

War does not determine who is right…only who is left.

Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.

* * * * * *

An old man went into the hospital for the first time in his life. Toying with the bell cord which had been fastened to his bed, he asked his son, “What’s this thing?”

“It’s a bell.”

The old man pulled several times and said, “I can’t hear it ringing!”

“NO”, the son explained, “It doesn’t ring. It turns on a light in the hall for the nurse.”

The old man was indignant. “If the nurse wants a light on in the hall, she can damn well turn it on herself!”

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* * * **

I am very proud of the fact that our employees spent over one thousand dollars of their wages during the month of November for defense bonds. Among them were Morris Savercool, Carmen Rutala, Larry Burke, Hank Kerber, John Hoy and Herb Bowe.

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My wife Evelyn, watching me type this out, says “You know you might be famous all over the world some day for your writings”, and then adds, “They say that it takes peculiar people to make a success of writing, and if you are not peculiar I would hate to live with one who was”.

Dave Minch 1900-1964

“I never saw a moor,

I never saw the sea;

Yet I know how the heather looks,

And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,

Nor visited in heaven;

Yet certain am I of the spot

As if the chart were given.”

Emily Dickinson 1830-1886

To which Mrs. Parker responds:

“Who lay against the sea, and fled,

Who lightly loved the wave,

Shall never know, when he is dead,

A cool and murmurous grave.

But in a shallow pit shall  rest

For all eternity,

And bear the earth upon the breast

That once had worn the sea.”

Dorothy Parker 1893-1967

* * * **

Baseball is the national pastime, though many sport enthusiasts will tout the virtues of football and soccer. What baseball offers is the thrill of athletic achievement within the confines of a mostly leisurely devotion to the structure of the game. It is also a game easily learned by the young without fear of serious injury. But you know all of that.

I mention this sport, because I came to it late. The missus is a fan, and if I wanted to be in close proximity to her in the evenings and on the weekends, I had to take a seat on her sofa and see what it was all about. One of my favorite writers, George Will, is a student of the game…and if he finds it stimulating, then so should I. In the process, wondered about the key to any game. Was it the hitting…or the pitching? I learned, last Sunday, it is the pitching.

The Ess Eff Giants were winding up their road trip and playing the St. Louis Cardinals in a crucial final game. Except for two hits by one of the Giants, their pitcher, Garcia, pitched a 10 to nothing shut out and silenced our big bats. It was no contest. They knocked our starting pitcher out of the box and coasted to a win. The fact that the next day, at home, we walloped the Cincinnati Reds by a similar score, proved the point: their starting pitcher was pathetic…and the Giants hit at will. Their pitcher made our hitters look like Barry Bonds clones. Ergo, pitching is the name of the game. End of story.

* * * * * * *

The government takeover of Butte County Bank was a sobering reminder that the economy is still in the recession and, to quote the familiar cliché, things will get worse before they get better. Of course that’s what the Republicans require in order to take back control of Congress. If so, it will be a

heavy price to pay, which reminds me of two recent DN columns. The one by Don Polson which touted the Reagan years…and the one by ex educator Joe Harrop bemoaning the state of our legislature.

Don promotes the resurgence of conservative thought via Tea Parties and the like and writes of the good times under President Reagan. He maintains any negative results were because the Democrats reneged on their promise to cut spending. A vocal critic of Don’s, a retired physicians, says that Reagan created the current great national debt via unbridled military spending and other nefarious deeds. The point is that, via this recession, both parties’ oxen are being gored…and the finger pointing continues. Keep all this in mind when reading Joe Harrop’s column last Saturday in which he writes, in essence, the inability of Congress to act…is not worth the powder to blow them to hell. They are all a bunch of rascals and incapable of fiscal responsibility. Of any responsibility. Tsk, tsk.

* * * ** *

Speaking of our local paper, it has dawned on me that rather than denigrate its lack of substance and editorial leadership, we should, as Shakespeare wrote of Mark Anthony, we should praise rather than censure their efforts. In this manner, other newspapers in faraway places, may heed the resumes undoubtedly sent out by the DN editor, and hire him away from us here in river city. In that manner, we may once again have a kindly thoughtful and insightful editor who will recognize the wisdom of bringing back a former columnist who will revitalize the ailing daily. Surely one will come to mind….cough, cough.

* * * * * *

Worth repeating: Mrs. Smith needed a lawyer. She looked through the yellow pages and chose the firm or Schwartz, Schwartz, Schwartz and Schwartz. She dialed and said, “Is Mr. Schwartz there?”

A man replied, “No, he is out playing golf.”

Mrs. . Smith said, “Well, then can I speak to Mr. Schwartz?’

Again the man replied, “No, he’s no longer with the firm.”

Mrs. Smith said, “In that case, may I speak to Mr. Schwartz?”

“I’m sorry, madam, but he is away in Detroit on business.”

“I see…well, then may I speak to Mr. Schwartz?”

“Speaking.”

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During the banquet Saturday night, a number of officials were called upon to give their blessings to the further development of Highway 36. Our own Fred Engle Jr. recieved a great ovation in recognition of his work with the Correctional Conservation Camps. Everybody got into the act .The engineers told us of the money being spent and the dirt being moved. The politicians got in their licks, and then, when everyone was feeling as though a new Autobahn was in the making, John Erreca, Director of Public Works for the State of California, arose and said that this was all well and good, but that until the Interstate Highway plans (which did not include Highway 36) were completed in 1972, nothing was going to happen…and furthermore, if you wanted to see him retained as Director of Highways, you had better vote for you know who. I just about choked on my New York steak…which came, by the way, from San Francisco via Highway 101.

* * * * * *

Miss Karen Arano, our new Miss Tehama County, heads for the Sacramento State Fair Monday to represent this area in the Miss California Contest. She is provided with transportation and lodgings to the Fair for herself and her chaperon…and I think given a swimsuit. But for the rest of her wardrobe, there is no assistance. Too bad some local merchants don’t kick in a little ensemble or two. I have a soft spot for Miss Tehama County winners. I was privileged to marry the first one.

Robert Minch 1929-

We made the trip in two days and were thankful for a well maintained fire trail through most of the way. We camped out the first night, fished a little and saw a black bear. The next day we worked our way west and north until we hit the south fork of the Trinity River…and then followed it the rest of the way to Forest Glen.

When we got back to civilization, the next day I found I was so stiff I could hardly walk. When I hobbled into the boning room where George was the manager, I told him that I had stumbled over a baby carriage in the dark that morning and got kinda banged up. He didn’t buy it and just smiled and said something like, “That was a quite a test, wasn’t it?”

I tell this story because my son Brandon is into physical fitness…and now he wants to take the trip with a buddy of his. I found a map and am checking with the Forest Service to see if the trails are still intact and maintained. If so, I will mark the map and start him off with a wish for a good trip, but George and I will sit this one out.

As a postscript to my years of association with George Selvester and his brothers, I knew that they came from the little town of Beegum and were familiar with the lore of the place. One spot of renown was called Deer Lick Springs. The water there gave off a strong sulfur smell and its waters were considered to be healthy and restorative. One day George brought back two gallons of the stuff and suggested we both give it a trial run and see what it could do for us. Each morning we were to drink a large tumbler of the stuff. About the 3rd day, I reported to George that it apparently did not agree with me… because each time I gagged it down…it came right back up. He said he was glad that I told him of my experience, because he was barffing every time he drank it himself. We promptly abandoned the project in those wonderful dog days of summer…many years ago.

Robert Minch

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be

blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves

off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the

deck-hand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter

singing as he stands.,

The wood-cutter’s song, he plowboy’s on his way in the

morning, or at noon intermissions or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at

work , or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day…at night the party of

young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.”

Walt Whitman  1819-1892

I could never understand the popularity of this broken verse nor its

construction. I guess he was breaking new ground, but even then…

He considered Calle, a black female Labrador, his girlfriend, even though, as girlfriends are wont to do, she did not reciprocate. She lived in the Woodside area south of Ess Eff, but visited the ranch quite often in the company of our daughter and son-in-law. Anyhow, Bert had a crush on her, and was often perplexed that one day she would be at the ranch, and the next she would not. He could not comprehend that she had a primary residence in the bay area, so this resulted in a reoccurring behavior on his part.

When I arise in the morning, I switch on a light, locate Bert asleep on his sheepskin pillow…we call it his “baa baa” for obvious reasons, and with hand signals (he is quite deaf) indicate that it is time for him to go outside to do his thing. However, before we go out the logical door, he takes a scenic route to another door where, in the past, he has found his girlfriend taking her beauty sleep. When opening said door, and proving to him that she is not there, then, and only then, will he agree to the alternate patio lawn. This behavior has continued long after his lady friend went to her reward, but I put up with it because I don’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. But knowing Little Bert, he would probably not believe me that she will no longer be available as his love interest. Come to think of it, that’s the way humans react as well. Perhaps we are all in denial when it comes to matters of the heart.

* * * * * * *

Daughter Melody has a professional friend in the Marin area whom she visits from time to time. They have become close friends because of their mutual interest in jogging and fitness. However, the other day the topic was children and peer pressure. Meg, Melody’s friend, has three sons, and the oldest, a year ago, began hanging out with the son of a movie actor…said actor living next door to Meg, in Marin. Meg began to realize that the actor’s son was a bad influence for her son…a lifestyle of the rich where apparently anything goes, to put it mildly. To cut to the chase, Meg told her son he was in bad company and finally shipped him out to a school in Utah where the environment was decidedly different. After a couple of false starts, he began to acclimate, and now professes to have no more interest in his old Marin buddies nor their way of life. Meg, therefore, believes she rescued the kid in the nick of time. Once, during her sons

sojourn to Utah, she encountered her next door neighbor, the actor, and told him of her decision. To her surprise, the actor agreed that it was the thing to do…that he had not been a good role model for his own son. The actor? Sean Penn.

* * * * * *

In publishing the names and the salaries of local officials, the DN may have opened up can of worms. When years ago we envisioned those who worked for the county as merely some fellows who leaned on their shovels a good part of the day, we now realize that some City and County positions pay rather well…and, when the local economy is less than robust, we might feel those, at the public trough, have it pretty good…too good, in fact. But we must remember we nurtured today’s salaries when times were good and City Council and County of Supervisors may have been asleep at the switch…or, more likely, coerced by unions. However, this would not be the time to try to drastically reverse the trend by reducing all salaries to the minimum wage. In so doing, we might lose some valuable City and County employees. On the other hand, their volunteering for pay reduction might be viewed with appreciation. At least until the economy improves. It will improve, won’t it?

• * * * * * **

In his ‘The Way I See It” column of the 16^th, Don Polson used a nice analogy. He compared the plan to build a “Ground Zero Mosque” in New York as to the mounting of a Japanese Cultural Museum near the USS Arizona Memorial in Hawaii. However, he wrote,”…many of us are really getting resentful and starting to hate having our devotion to the civilization -sustaining institution of traditional marriage being mischaracterized as such.” Don, be that as it may, our civilization is overburdened with people! We have too many people copulating within “traditional marriage”. We need less civilization rather than more.

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Bud Black manager of the San Diego Padres, did not endear himself to S. F. Giants fans by saying, “They (the Giants) are not going anywhere.” This was probably in response to our Giants pitcher who predicted a sweep of the Padres in last weekend’s games. Tsk, tsk.

* * * * **

Mark yourself a Type A (hyper) person if you find automatic doors not opening fast enough…and ripping a new band aid apart without fiddling with the little tabs at the top.

** * * * * *

A grasshopper walked into a bar. The bartender said, “Say, we’ve got a drink named after you!” The grasshopper replied, “You’ve got a drink named Edgar?”

A rabbi, a priest and a bishop walked into a bar. The bartender said, “What is this, a joke?”

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Bill Dalby’s cat is named “Ariadne” whereas Judge Wetter’s cat is merely referred to as “Damn Cat”. This would indicate to a student of animal behavior that the Dalbys have found that one in a million Siamese that is both haughty and loving and have gone to Greek Mythology for a fitting moniker. The good judge, however, has probably come to the frustrating realization that a cat does not ascribe to rules of conduct laid down by the court or any other body, august or otherwise. That’s just the way it is with cats.

The dog, however, will, for a stroked head or scratched ear, tolerate a demeaning name heaped on him by his owner, and still remain his best friend. That’s why our cattle buyer Herb Flournoy, once had a dog answering to the name “Stinky”. My father’s cocker spaniel was named “Piff”. For every royal title of “Rex”, “King” and “Prince”, there will be a “Shorty”, “Bonzo”, “Tiger” or worse. I recall Don Phillips story of the sheep herder calling all his dogs to dinner: “Here Ring, here Rock, here Spring, here Sprock, here old dog with nine pups…here all you sons a bitches!”

I once had a female boxer dog that the late Hank Kerber had found half starved out on the Diamond Range west of town. Most of her teeth were gone but she was still a classy dog. I took her in and named her “Mrs. Kennedy” in honor of the first lady at the time. She, the dog, eventually passed away, but just in time, for she would never have come to dinner if I, to keep abreast of the times, had to call out “Time to eat, Mrs. Onassis!”

Robert Minch 1929-