TIME has an article on Amazon’s Jeff Bezos and his Kindle. His internet sales via Amazon have sired one of the first non-books. The Kindle is a hand-held reading device.

            For the elite, packing the Kindle around is preferable, in this enlightened age, to carrying around a lot of books in a rucksack. Apparently you open the Kindle and scroll from page to page…and book after book! This concept has led to a tsunami of self publishing authors. In fact, for the first time, more books are being self-published than in the regular way…and with it, the stigma of “vanity” publishing is wearing away. The Kindle, which first hit the market in 2007, “offers a very different editorial method…and engages a very different set of literary values.” Or so says TIME.

            I mention this because I am meeting more and more people who have written, or “are going to write a book”, than you can shake a stick at. I would describe them as leading very mundane lives, and if inclined to bare their souls for worldwide distribution, they would have very little to say unless they used a little poetic license and jazzed things up a bit. I’m saying you should not believe everything you read in a book, a Kindle, a newspaper or a blog…with the exception of “I Say”, of course, which should be accepted as gospel. What is gospel you ask?   1) A set of beliefs held strongly by a group or person. 2) Something believed to be absolutely and unquestionably true. I lean towards #2.  Some may feel I write like “number two”, but they are in the minority existing on organic sour grapes…and we should pay them little attention.

                                         * * * * * *

            J. Angelo sent in this bit of doggerel which should be in the poetry section, but isn’t:

 ”Said Billy Rose to Sally Rand, “Dance for me without your fan”.

So Sally danced without her fan. Billy Rose…and Sally Ran.”

* * * * **

President Obama smokes. I don’t mean he is a hot property, but that he smokes cigarettes. In this, he is not a good role model. However, he is never photographed with a coffin nail in his mouth.  FDR prohibited photos of himself in a wheelchair, and I suspect Obama has done likewise re the cigarettes. However, all is not lost. Sources say our current President told his wife that if she allowed him his run for the White House, he would stop smoking. Being a man of his word, I anticipate a photo op in the near future depicting him flushing a pack of Camels down the toilet.

                                                ** * * * *

    Last week’s quiz: Whereas several readers reported that Charles Darrow patented Monopoly circa 1935, no one picked up on why the song, “Basin Street Blues” is, as I put it, “interesting. It is so because it is not a “blues”. It does not contain the standard I-IV-V chord progressions. Tsk,tsk.

 This week’s quiz: Without looking it up, define “Iconic” vs “Ironic”. And, what is the quote on the label of Morton’s Salt?

* **  * * *

There is new masonry on Cone & Kimball Plaza. It is on the south line of the Plaza which is contiguous to the north wall of Peter Lassen Square. It appears to be a “water wall” of some sort…the idea being that it will have a cooling effect on visitors to the Plaza when the temperature gets to the double digit figure. Visitors might stand in the shadow of the Clock Tower except that the sun doesn’t get that far north to cast a shadow on the little park. Oh well, the water wall will do nicely. It is not a big ticket item like other improvements I could mention.

* * * * *

“Some women hold up dresses that are really ugly and always say, “This looks much better on.” On what? On fire?” Rita Rudner

(To respond to this website: rminchandmurray@hotmail.com)

            I wanted to tell you about a fellow name Willie Foey…but I could find little information about him.  He was quite a character about town in the 5o’s and 60’s , and I will eventually run into someone who went to school with him…or fished with him…or ate at his restaurant. However, I contacted my most reliable source, the Oak Hill Cemetery folks, and they brought up the information on their computer that William Clifford Foey was born in Red Bluff on February 19, 1909 and died on July 14, 1970.

            Many knew him as “Bill”. I knew him as “Willie”. He was a cheerful rotund fellow who was married to a much younger and taller woman. They were an unlikely couple and seemed to have little in common…but Willie laughed a lot and perhaps that was enough to cement their marriage. Sources say they had two children. It was also rumored he had money…invested in stocks and bonds.  

            Willie was a chef in various Red Bluff restaurants, and eventually opened his own café near the old St. Elizabeth Hospital on Main Street. His specialties were pies, and as I recall, his menu was more American cuisine than Asian in those days. Before  our revised lexicon, we would have said “Chinese”.

            Mr. Foey came to our meat plant, 2 miles west of town, once a week and always opened the conversation with, “Got something cheap?” He favored offal…that is, heart, liver and tongue and melts… a melt is also known as a spleen, and is an organ along a cow’s stomach. How he prepared these items I have no idea. I only know that he made delicious pies. He would bring me one when he came to the plant. It appeared to be a gift, but it was apparent he expected payment for same…or a generous discount on his offal purchases.

            That’s about it. No monuments to his achievements. No Scholarships in his name. Just one of the people who are now long gone and who left little trace of his 61 years plying his trade in Red Bluff.

            I wrote this poem in 1977 about my old friend, Bill Dalby, who is no longer with us, but his memory lingers on.

                   OLD FRIEND ON A TANGENT

Hello Robert?…Bill Butterworth here.

I’ve just got a minute, so lend me your ear.

You remember the work I’ve been doing of late?

The gazebo, the terrace…they really look great.

Well, Mrs. Pierpont Morgan the third

Dropped by this morning to give me this bird.

She, by the way, is a decent half-sister

To the Bigelow boy, who’s neither Miss nor Mister.

It’s been quite a blow to the queer chap’s father,

Mr. Benjamin Bigelow…whom I think would rather

Toss the little sap right out of his house,

For he’s embarrassed and a partner in Hart, Shaffner and Klaus.

Klaus is a bully, and mean as hell,

A considerable drinker and a wencher as well.

I was told by his gardener, who recently died,

That evidently this bloody fool Klaus had lied

When he said that his father had invested in steel.

He was actually involved in a land swindle deal!

It was the mother who invested, in Proctor and Gamble.

Ah…where was I? My how I ramble…

Klaus..yes Klaus…oh how absurd!

Klaus …yes Klaus…such a peculiar bird.

Bird! Yes, of course, I’m getting perturbed,

I was telling you about Mrs. Morgan, the third.

And how she brought over this terrible bird.

Well, the Morgans just recently, became our neighbor.

Unknown to me…but not to Joyce Haber.

The Haber woman is a Hollywood gossip,

And, whether true or not, it’s really a toss-up,

But it’s rumored that Morgan had married before.

That the ceremony was conducted behind closed door.

He had fallen in love…this very mixed up man,

Well, I’m sorry to say with an Orangutan!

Of course he was cut off, without a cent

By his widowed mother, a Mrs. Reverend Quent.

She was a Snavely before marring this gent

Who once had money but now mostly spent.

He coerced Miss Snavely into paying his rent

Before he would make her Mrs. Reverend Quent.

Her father, Byron Snavely, was old and bent,

And drove a Packard with many a dent.

Byron counseled his daughter who took the hint,

That one of the Rockefellers had money he lent.

And, if she favored him…you know what he meant,

She would get money now…and later, repent.

So the girl gave her what-not, and the gentleman sent

Fifty dollars, or so, to cover that rent.

Then she married the preacher…even bought him a tent,

Plus a bible, a collar and a suit with a vent.

They made plenty of money and were no longer forlorn.

He bought her a cow, yes, with a crumpled horn.

Well, it’s getting late…and I really must go.
I’ve enjoyed this chat, I want you to know.

You know, my boy, you’ve  got a way with a word..

And…By George! I’ve forgotten that damable bird!

Robert Minch

            (Note: Father wrote a lot of fine columns over the years. Here is one, however, which shows that a man may have the finest moral character and love of his fellow man…and yet harbor a bias that suggests he is not thinking clearly…or at least not in command of all the facts. Here is one instance.)

            “Newspapers have been full of condemnation of Germany the last two or three years. We take it for granted they are a barbarous country ruled by an insane man. Let’s consider Germany from a different angle. A lot of adverse information comes from sanctimonious England who, as Goebbels says, is always ready to fight for an ideal if it takes the last Frenchman or American to do it. We are told of the terrible treatment accorded prisoners in the concentration camps. Perhaps they are as bad as they are pictured, but we have chain gangs in our own southern prison camps that are nothing to be proud of. England raises an awful lot of noise of Germany invading and taking over small countries of Europe which are strongly German in population. The reason for this is that England already had more colonies than she can handle and does not want any more countries to expand when she can’t. Germany needs room, for the population is overrunning what territory they had at the end of World War I. Germany has accomplished her conquering with a minimum of bloodshed and against countries supplied with modern arms. England was not so particular when they acquired India and parts of Africa from nearly defenseless natives. I take with a grain of salt the terrible atrocities that are visited on Jews and others of different political fair, for I remember the propaganda that England circulated when trying to arouse hatred of Germany before the United States entered World War I. German soldiers bayoneting babies and so forth. After that war, it was proved these stories were deliberate inventions of Allied propaganda. I am not condoning the wrongs that Germany has done, but the next time you read a news dispatch about Germany, think it over and see if it might have come from a biased source. Most of the German people I have known have been very fine people and I can’t believe that the race has deteriorated in one generation.”    Dave Minch 1900-1964

(Ed. I’ll check to see if he later recanted when confronted with subsequent facts and disclosures.)

            Our grandsons graduated last weekend. We journeyed down to the Peninsula…the area immediately south of Ess Eff, to witness the ceremonies. Said area is peppered with affluent families who want nothing but the best for their children. These families pay for their public and private schools via taxes or tuition. It is a grand tradition, and our future lies in the hands of the graduates. However, we are not talking college or High School here. We are talking graduating from the 8^th grade…even from the 7^th grade at middle schools. This is not the way it was done when I was a tad in the Year One. As I recall, my graduation from the Lincoln Street Elementary 8^th Grade occurred with far less fanfare.

At the conclusion of the school year, we were handed a certificate…suitable for framing, I imagine, and that was it. Then we goofed off all summer and  went to High School in the fall with high hopes. I doubt if there were awards handed out with the certificates. I did not get an award, but that is not proof that awards were not given. Come to think of it, I was never given an award for anything during my educational endeavors…nor did I deserve any. I was not a good student and often not a good boy. I had other fish to fry. 

            I mention awards, because there were many awards given out at our grandson’s ceremonies. Each graduating class had 60 or 70 students…and, I would guess, several hundred awards changed hands. I see this as overkill. The more awards, the less the value. It is though every student should have an award even if every student did not deserve an award. I think the self esteem police were out in force. I can envision educators discussing how no child should be left behind. They then segue to self esteem. From there it is just a hop, skip and a jump to a plethora of awards…the only criteria being that the graduate must be of room temperature…and be able to walk or wheel to the podium.

            If only I had been given even one little award, readers could have been spared this rant. Maybe my grandsons will let me put theirs on our mantle.

* * * * *

            The machinations of the DN are once again of interest. Editor C. Chip Thompson writes of changes to come. As though a light bulb has been activated over his admittedly educated head, he has discovered that a consensus exists. It has nothing to do with his addition of a quiz to his editorials. Nor does he consider adding a poetry section. No, he has discovered that local readers want to read of local events! With this revelation, the editor has vowed to change the scope and direction of home grown columnist. No longer will they be allowed to vent on the national and international scene. Now they must tie their views to the goings on in Tehama County. Instead of President Obama, he wants, for example, Supervisor Charlie Willard. As the latter always offers fodder for journalistic cannons, this should not be too much of a stretch.

            I think the Editor is on the right track even though he cashiered his best columnists causing C. Larimer to flee to North Dakota…and yours truly to hide in the internet. However, when I, as a public service, must call the news desk to tell them ground has been broken for the new US Bank, it appears the DN needs more reporters and less opinion.

* * * * **

            Last week’s quiz was first answered by the tireless L. Merry of Manton, who knew that USO stands for United Service Organizations which provides morale, welfare and recreation type services to uniformed military personnel…and that John C. Fremont was known as the “Pathfinder”.

            This week’s quiz: What is interesting (or unusual) about the song “Basin Street Blues”…and who invented the game “Monopoly” and when?

* * * * **

            Definition of a gentleman: One who can play the bagpipes…but doesn’t. Difference between a banjo and a Harley-Davidson? You can tune a Harley. Difference between a soprano and a Porsche: Most musicians have never been in a Porsche. (That’s mean!)

            (To respond to this website: rminchandmurray@hotmail.com)

            Note: A “documentary” is currently in distribution regarding unsanitary practices in the meat industry.  It is  tabloid sensational, one sided and designed to inflame. That said, here is a letter from a USDA Food Inspector in Baldwin, N.Y. by the name of Sidney Roth. I had written my monthly column for Meat Industry magazine in July of 1977, and complained about the heavy handed inspectors who cost us money with their constant micro managing and inspection requirements. Inspector Roth took umbrage of my remarks, and although long dead by now (and the reason for his inclusion in the Passing Parade) wrote, 32 years ago:

            “Your column was, in my opinion, extremely biased and basically untrue. I’ve been an inspector since 1934and worked in every type of slaughter house and processing plant…good, bad and terrible. How bad? Rats throughout the slaughtering rooms so bad that when you turned on the lights in the morning, you had to bang on the door with a meat hook to give them a chance to run down to the hide cellar. Flies all over the place and roaches making their homes in the warm, snug electric boxes and panel boards. As to the workers, many spit on the floor where they worked because they dipped snuff or chewed tobacco. Some plants had no handy toilet facilities. All the stink did not come from the four footed animals.

            Well, the good old days were not that good and you can bet your last cent they are not coming back. Any packer who would like to see them return can’t be much of a businessman. Let him look at how much less product is now being condemned then there used to be (Oh?) The bottom line is that sanitation pays. Seriously, we inspectors are there to protect the public and part of the protection is to prevent waste, because it is the public, in the end, that pays for waste. We cannot or will not tolerate conditions which can cause injury or harm to the public. We want everyone to be able to eat in complete safety the food that is produced in meat and poultry plants. I believe that the great majority of food inspectors do a great job.”

So advised, Inspector Roth. Rest in peace knowing the industry is in good hands.

            (Contributors of home grown poetry, or your favorites, graciously accepted.)

            “There was an old man with a beard,’

            Who said, ‘Tis just as I feared!

            Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and a Wren,

            Have all built their nest in my beard!’”

Edward Lear (1812-1888)

            “Be with me, words, a little longer; you

            Have given me my quitclaim in the sun,

            Sealed shut my adolescent wounds, made light

            Of grownup troubles, turned to my advantage

            What in most lives would be pure deficit,

            And formed, of those I loved, more solid ghosts.”

John Updike (1932-2009)

“Let us all point an accusing finger at Mr. Latour.

Mr. Latour is an illiterate boor.

He watches horse races instead of the sport of kings, when at the track,

And to him first base is simply first base instead of the initial sack.

He eats alligator pear, instead of avocado;

He says fan, or enthusiast, instead of aficionado.

He has none of the feeling for words that Ouida and Spinoza felt.

Instead of Eleanor, he says Mrs. Roosevelt.

Sometimes he speaks even more bluntly and rashly,

And says the former Mrs. Douglas Fairbanks Senior, instead of Sylvia, Lady Ashley.

He drinks in a saloon, instead of a tavern or a grill,

And pronounces “know-how” “skill.”

He calls poor people poor, instead of underprivileged,

Claiming the English language is becoming overdrivileged.

He says the English language ought to get out of the nursery and leave the toys room,

So he goes to the bathroom, instead of the little boy’s room. 

I will offer the hand of my daughter and half my income tax to he who

Will bring me the head of Mr. Latour on a saucer

Before he has everybody else talking as illiterate as Defoe and
Chaucer.”

Ogden Nash (1902-1971)

            Dr. Kilgore, the well known surgeon of San Francisco was in Red Bluff Sunday and explained the California Physicians Service to me.

            It is a cooperative non-profit association of California physicians with an idea of giving protected medical care to people at a given amount. Any group of 5 employees or more can subscribe to it. The total cost being $3.50 for the first month and $2.50 per month thereafter. The doctors agree to give all medical care necessary for the insured person, including calling in a specialist for consultation when necessary, all laboratory, X-ray and radium treatment, if necessary, and hospitalization for 21 days following an injury or sickness. The only exceptions are people over 65, people afflicted with mental diseases or alcoholism or drug addicts.

             Dr. Kilgore mentioned the fact that 80% of California people earn less than $130.00 per month. Most of the doctors in California belong to the CPS group.        We are putting it up to our employees for their consideration. To me, there is nothing more disheartening for a man to live carefully and get along,  when all of a sudden he is hit with a large doctor or hospital bill which he cannot pay,  which hangs over his head discouraging him from trying to get ahead.

Dave Minch 1900-1964)

            The taciturn Mr. Dale was fishing, with another angler, up in the Manton area, I believe. They were doing quite well, catching fish and enjoying the mountain ambiance. But as the light began to fade, they headed back out of the ditch in which they were fishing, and towards their transportation. In the process, Mr. Dale slipped on a rock, fell heavily landing on his hip…and broke it. The pain, as any broken hip survivor can tell you, was intense. With his companion’s assistance, Mr. Dale was able to get to their pickup, only to find it had a flat tire. It was, by then, dark and they had only a small pen light to illuminate the undercarriage of the truck to find and free the spare tire therein. It was a time consuming effort to change the tires, needless to say.

            When they hit the flat lands, they drove directly to the emergency room at St. E. Hospital where things proceeded at a snail’s pace….the awaiting one’s turn, filling out of papers…and then the wait to see the doctor. As this process is being carried out, nothing can be given the patient to ease his intense pain until he is examined and X-rayed to confirm the break. Only then did he get a pain relieving injection. However, as no surgeon was available, he was transported to Redding. As, by then, it was late at night, the surgery was scheduled for the next morning.

            The patient, who will be 87 in a week or so, is now doing well and moving about cautiously with a walker…so all’s well that ends well. However, if one is to break a hip, it will be to their advantage to do so closer to civilization.

* * * * * *

            A sign of maturity…and perhaps patience, is one’s ability to properly open a band-aid, as designed by Earle Dickson way back in 1921. Legend has it that Mrs. Dickson was prone to cutting her fingers while preparing meals, and Earle decided that the old method of gauze and adhesive tape to cover the wound was time consuming and inefficient. So he cut a small piece of gauze and placed it in the center of a piece of tape, then covered it with crinoline to keep it sanitary. His boss, at Johnson and Johnson liked the idea and decided to mass produce it. He also made Earle vice president of the company. However, the opening of the sterile wrapper today is often frustrating with the arthritic fingers of the elderly…and they tend to pull and tug at the sides of the cover rather than patiently and carefully separate it from the top as the company instructs. Thus will maturity and patience win the day.

 * * * * *

            Last week’s quiz was answered promptly by S. Orner and simultaneously by

R. Adams, who named the Molina brothers, Benjie, Jose and Yadier as the major league catchers.

            This week’s quiz: What does “USO” stand for and what does it provide…and what American explorer was known as “The Pathfinder”?

* * * * *

            On vacation in Canada, a New Yorker bought a chain saw from a dealer. The next day he came back irate and said it took him all day to cut down just one tree. The dealer looked the saw over, pulled the rope and started it up.

            “What’s that noise?” asked the startled New Yorker.”

        (To respond to this website: rminchandmurray@hotmail.com)

            Another observation by R.Scheuler:

“The essence of English, John Bull’s finest breed.

He wears sweaters of lamb’s wool and collars of tweed.

He’s far too well mannered to bark or to bite;

As a watchdog he’s useless-no help in a fight.

About dogs and others don’t believe what you’re taught.

The Bulldog’s image leaves him daily distraught

While relating quite falsely the battle’s he’s fought.”

* * * **

Here is something a little more familiar, but seldom visited these days:

“It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.”

And,

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered , weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door:

Only this and nothing more.”

Edgar Allen Poe certainly knew how to get one’s attention.