In the process of learning right from wrong, children have long been spanked. It has been the American way of life. I learned not to hit my sister by being spanked by my mother. It got my attention as she used a coat hanger to deliver the blow. When I pick up a coat hanger today, I am glad it is only to hang a coat. It was with great relief, but with mixed emotions, when my Father said, “You are getting too big to spank, so you won’t be going to the Saturday matinee this week”. I would certainly miss the Flash Gordon serial…but no more spanking was worth it. However, today, parents are oriented to “time out”.

Our great grandson, Jacob, is about a year and half old, and more than an arm and a half load. But he is not spanked. He is issued a “time out” edict. He has to sit his little butt in a chair in the corner until his mother deems he has learned his lesson. I can’t believe this is effective but apparently he gets the message. In my day, if sat in a corner, I would spend the time plotting my next misdemeanor.

I guess punishment is in the eye of the beholder. When we were in the fourth grade, several of us were caught engaged in a fight on school grounds, and sentenced to staying indoors at recess for a week. But discovering we were unsupervised, we promptly made up a game of tag by jumping from desk top to desk top. These high jinks probably later caused the resignation of the teacher, Mrs. Helen McKenzie Owens after only one year in the saddle.  A good switching at that age might have prolonged  a teacher’s tenure. But, that was a long time ago and who’s to say how children learn right from wrong. Some never do.

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Department of miss-spoke:

“Outside of the killings, Washington D.C. has one of the lowest crime rates in the country.” Former Mayor Marion Barry

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The Chamber of Commerce recently asked what can be done to stimulate business in Tehama County. I was stumped to come up with answers.  It seems an impossible local task when confronted with the national and international financial abyss. We need to get people employed and enriched with disposable income to get us rolling again. Apparently one of the suggestions getting the most interest is to set up a full video billboard along Interstate 5 . It would be updated hourly and spotlight the goings-on in Red Bluff for travelers heading up the freeway. Events such as the Bull Sale and Roundup would be highlighted. I would go a step further and have photos of some of our movers and shakers appear on the screen saying something like, “Welcome, Pardner! Why not turn off and rest a spell in downtown Red Bluff. You’ll be glad you did!”  Of course the fellow would have to be handsome and look good in a cowboy hat…like Larry Lalaguna Jr. for example. Maybe a current or former Miss Tehama County, in her banner and swimsuit, would get the job done. The Chamber is open to suggestions.

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Adam Gopnik, in The New Yorker, has an interesting concept: “Even if we make allowances for the Book of Mark’s cryptic tracery, the human traits of his Jesus are evident: intelligence, short temper, and an ironic dueling wit. What seems new about Jesus is not his piety or divine detachment but the humanity of his irritability and impatience. He is no Buddha. He gets annoyed at the stupidity of his followers, their inability to grasp an obvious point as he says, ‘Do you have eyes but fail to see?’”. Gopnik quotes several other illuminating passages. Rather interesting, what?

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Last week’s quiz asked why a collection of maps is called an Atlas, who’s name was given to Mercator Projection and when was the War of 1812 fought? N. Rick discovered that a fellow named Gerardus Mercator set the standards for map making in 1569…and the War of 1812 lasted from June, 1812 to the spring of 1815.

This week’s quiz: Charlie Brown’s dog Snoopy is alleged to have flown what plane in his duels with whom…and what was the Apollo 19 Lunar module nick named?

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Some old jokes are worth a second run: A blonde was being interviewed for a job. The interviewer asked, “How old are you?”

She started counting on her fingers and announced “22!”

“And how tall are you?”

She measured with a tape measure and said, “5 foot two!”

When asked her name, she paused and sang, “Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me…happy birthday dear….my name is Mandy!”

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

David Sale went to his reward last Saturday. This was not unexpected. He vowed, over a year ago, that he was not going to have anymore treatments for the cancer he had been fighting for years. He said the side effects interfered with the quality of his life…and the hell with it. When I asked how long he thought he would survive, he said his objective was to live to be 80, which occurred on the 2^nd of October of last year. When he hit that milestone, we once again discussed his time on earth and he thought he could make it to 2010 and beyond.

If I were asked to describe David Dandridge Sale in one word, I would say  he was taciturn fellow… reserved in speech and manner through most of his life, and then stoic at the end, where he showed patience and endurance during adversity. David was unique in many ways…and I’ve never heard an unkind word about him in the 75 years we’ve been friends.

He was less than average height in high school, and only qualified for B team basketball…and yet shot up to 6′2″ or so after graduation. He was in the service during the Korea Conflict, and taught swimming at Ft. Ord as I recall. He loved hunting in the North Yolla Bolly mountains and requested his ashes be scattered there.

I met him when we were both about 5 years old, and he was living in the large two story Sale house on Gilmore Road. They had a two party telephone line in those days and the number was 9-F-2. Back then, before the freeway, the road meandered out from the river and across the sand dunes. We trudged many a mile going to and fro.  Ritchie and Mary Sale sat for dinner every evening in those days at a long oblong table full of offspring: Virginia, Lindley, Leila, Latane, Margaret, Douglas, Eleanor and David. When I was invited to join them, they were always kidding one another with “in family” jokes. I recall them working over Lindley because he had purchased a new car…the reason being his former one got dirty. And they worked me over because my father had a meat plant…and so their meat had to come from our competitor, Vestal, of course.

David was a very popular guy in school, and in numerous school plays as well as many athletic endeavors.  Though not given to running off at the mouth like the rest of our gang, he nevertheless had a great sense of humor and participated in some of our more memorable events such as the Halloween stunt in which we used Jack Growney’s jeep to pull over many street corner signs. When confronted by Police Captain Walter Williams a few days later in a hastily called student body assembly, Dave and I remained silent while others of the gang reluctantly came forward and acknowledged their guilt. In a Block R gathering soon thereafter, Dave and I were called on the carpet. Because of his reputation as good student not prone to such shenanigans, he was merely chastised for his behavior…while I, unrepentant, was ceremoniously given the boot. Ah…those were the days!

The trouble with living long is that your circle of friends from the old days gets smaller and smaller. And with David’s passing, the circle is smaller still.

R.I.P. old pal.

“I remember, I remember the house where I was born,

The little window where the sun came peeping in at morn;

He never came a wink too soon nor brought too long a day;

But now I often wish the night had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember the roses, red and white,

The violets and the lily cups…those flowers made of light!

The lilacs where the robin built, and where my brother set

The laburnum* on his birthday…the tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember where I used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh to swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then that is so heavy now,

The summer pools could hardly cool the fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember the fir trees dark and high;

I used to think their slender tops were close against the sky:

It was a childish ignorance, but now ‘tis little joy

To know I’m farther off from Heaven than when I was a boy.”

Thomas Hood 1799-1845

* A small tree native to central and southern Europe

(Ed. Note: We mention Cliff Larimer aka The Benchwarmer, The Word Merchant etc. quite often because a) He worked at the Daily News to the delight of many of his readers, then b) quit and moved to North Dakota where he was not treated kindly, developed a stroke and nearly died, and c) is currently regaining his strength for a trip to Texas where he may bask in the sun and recall sunnier days. Anyhow, back in 1966 he was Sportswriter for the DN under the benign guidance of Editor Jim McGiffin, but had handed in his resignation. For some reason, I chose to write a Letter to the Editor. It went like this:

“Don’t do it, Benchwarmer. Don’t fold your tent and steal silently into the blight, because, on the one hand, we need you as a catalyst. Can you seriously imagine adults reading the sports page for sports information? Of course not. After a front page of war there, and creeping socialism here, and a weather report of questionable accuracy, how can any intelligent person get interested in men at play for pay?

No, the discerning reader takes a quick glance at the editorial to see if Editor McGiffin is loafing and quoting other periodicals,  thence to the TV listings to confirm his suspicion there is nothing worth the look, then a slight pause for the profound prose of Friday by one who shall go nameless, and then, to the sports page. What windmill will Mr. Larimer tilt at next? Little League, Los Molinos, Mothers, the Flag, my brother-in-law, etc.? How disgusting. How controversial. How delicious! This is the service you so ably render, Mr. L.

And think what you are leaving behind if you flee. This is the best of all worlds. The county that, so far, progress has mercifully passed by. No plane stops for passengers or mail. The trains whiz thru and may even pick up the track behind them. The highway has tiptoed away via the Interstate…even the paddle wheelers don’t stop here anymore. And you, C. Larimer, are making the greatest mistake of all by assuming that by going to a bigger city and a larger paper, you are getting ahead! No, you are going behind! Behind the eight ball.

I once met the top executive of a very large bank in San Francisco and said, “You must feel great in your new position here in S.F.” And he replied, “Are you serious? Do you know who has the greatest bank job in the world? Jim Froome in Red Bluff and Del Pilliard in Chico. Why, you couldn’t pull those men out of those jobs with a team of wild horses! They have it made. Do you know how I get home every night? On a greyhound bus for a one and half hour ride!”

Well, that’s the way it is, C.L. You had it made and you blew it. But it might not be too late. Editor McGiffin needs a sports editor and he can’t get Lee Peters away from the Community Concerts series and Ella Hendricks is retired. So give it old humility bit and come back with pith helmet in hand. You could do worse than Red Bluff…and you certainly can’t do better.

Robert Minch

Quotes from spiritual leaders who may know what they are talking about…for a change:

A prophecy, uttered by a 49 year old Catholic theologian, who envisioned a post imperial papacy shorn of wealth and pretense of earthly power: “A church will emerge that will have lost a great deal. She will be small and, to a large extent, will have to start from the beginning. She will no longer be able to fill many of the buildings created in her period of great splendor. Because of the smaller number of her followers, she will lose many of her privileges in society…she will present herself much more as a community of volunteers. All of this will require time. The process will be slow and painful.” Joseph Ratzinger, spoken on German radio 40 years ago.

Q. How do you stay so optimistic and faithful when there is so much hate in the world?

A. “I always look at any event from a wider angle. There’s always some problem, some killing, some murder or terrorist attack or scandal everywhere, every day. But if you think the whole world is like that, you are wrong. Out of 6 billion humans, the trouble-makers are just a handful”.

Q. How can we teach our children not to be angry?

A. “Children always look to their parents. Parents should be more calm. You can teach your children that you face a lot of problems but you must react to those problems with a calm mind and reason. I have always had this view about the modern education system: we pay attention to brain development, but the development of warm-heartedness we take for granted.” The Dalai Lama

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The Saturday DN had a photo of the Class of 1959’s donation to RBUHS of a large format scanner. Among the donors Grace LeBaudour. My aunt, on my father’s side, was named Grace, a name you don’t hear much anymore. Aunt Grace was doubly “graced” by the name because her middle name was “Darling”. Grace Darling Minch. Has a nice ring to it. It should have led to  marriage, but she died a maiden…another word you don’t hear much anymore.

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We have a grandson in high school who is toying with the idea of entering the service once he graduates. He is thinking high…West Point, and I imagine they turn out some splendid officers from that academy. However, if he were to ask my opinion, I would tell him that would be a big mistake. Certainly he could get a splendid education and might rise  through the ranks rapidly to great  heights, but he would be sacrificing one of his inalible rights as a U.S. citizen…the right to question authority. Despite our continuing wars, statistically  he might be at no greater risk to life and limb than a young man in the private sector, but the latter can question those in command. The old bromide of the military, “Yours is not to reason why…yours is but to do or die” is still the way it works in he service. When the time comes, kid, give it some deep thought.

Herb Flournoy was one of my father’s employees as evidenced by the I Say column father wrote in June of 1942:

“Herb Flournoy, who has been with us for seven years, has joined the dangerous convoy service (Merchant Marines) and is sailing from San Francisco in a few days. In our organization we pride ourselves on the high type of young men who work for us. Herb stands out as one of the finest. His main thought has always been to do his work well and to make us money. No job given him has ever been too difficult or too dangerous. One winter we sent him to Westwood with a load of meat they needed badly. The road was in bad shape to start with, and by the time he got to Mineral, the snow had closed the road entirely. He waited in the extreme cold until a snow plow started through and then followed it finally to reach Westwood where his was the first truck to reach town.

At the time of the flood waters in the spring of 1940, we had some steers on river bottom land. I gave them up for lost but Herb insisted on getting his brother Laverne (Skeet) and they started out in a motor boat into what looked like the Pacific Ocean to hunt for the steers. Later they found them tangled up in the grapevines and in immediate danger of drowning. Without regard for his own safety, Herb took off his clothes, got out in that muddy swift water, and with his pocket knife, cut the steers loose and then herded them to safety.

No day was ever too long for him and many times he complained of the days in winter being too short for him to accomplish what he wanted to do. His loyalty was always above question. In the seven years he worked for us, he never requested a raise and on numerous occasions, refused payment for time when he had not worked what he considered enough to deserve it. We shall not try to replace him. We shall only hope that it will not be a long time before he has finished serving his country and is back with us again.”

Ed. Note: Herb did return from WWII and worked at the plant for an additional 30 years. He was a very industrious fellow who married 3 times and lived a rich and full life although he occasionally skirted the letter of the law. One time he found a large bundle of new railroad ties along the railroad tracks south of town. He collected his brother Skeet and another cattle buyer Oakley Kerber, to help load the ties onto his truck, and then stowed them away on a vacant parcel of Oakley’s. They locked the gate after them planning to come back later and divide the spoils. However, Herb went back in the middle of the night, cut the padlock and removed the ties to his ranch in El Camino. Is was not until later that Skeet and Oak learned of Herb’s maneuver.

A sad suspension of my father’s admiration of Herb, came one evening shortly before father’s death. He had received an anonymous call alleging  that the company car father had given Herb to travel to auction yards, was being driven in the evenings by his teenage son, Mike. Father called Herb about this and Herb swore that Mike was not driving the car; in fact the car was sitting in Herb’s driveway in El Camino at that very moment. Father then drove over to Oak Street where Mike lived, and sure enough, the company car was there. This was obviously a breach of trust and father took it with him to his grave some time later.

A couple of viewpoints regarding love:

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints…I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life…and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.”

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)   who tends to let it all hang out, whereas Mrs. Parker tends to be more clear eyed:

“This is what I know:

Lover’s oaths are thin as rain; love’s a harbinger of pain…
Would it were not so!

Ever is my heart a-thirst, ever is my love accurst;

He is neither last nor first:

This is what I know”.

Dorothy Parker (1893- 1967)

Deportment is defined as “behavior…bearing”…and our behavior, as we cruise through life, tells other people who we are and what to expect from us. Some grow up shy, while others wind up as extroverts or an amalgam of the two.  Therefore we adopt a persona early on, and act out that role from then on.

Many of us do things for shock value. From an early age, we strive to get attention. For example, I recall telling this joke in the 6^th grade: I man got on a bus and sat next to a woman who held a large paper sack. As moisture was beginning to seep from the sack, the man put his finger on the moist sack and asked, “Pickles?” The woman responded, “No, puppies.” Although I got a laugh from the class, I also earned a trip to the principal’s office.

This type of deportment…this behavior, has been a curse and a blessing much of my life. I’ve either been applauded for outrageous conduct, or shunned because of it. I’ve run up some mileage writing in this manner, but conversely lost some readership along the way. This brings us to the venue of the internet.

The internet provides us with an unfettered outlet for our shock tactics. The joke that might have been rejected by the DN, gets an easy launch on our website. Newspaper Editors must be protective of their readers. The website publisher can send it out regardless of questionable content. However, we can’t expect to be favorably received by all, so some discretion is advised. I was reminded of this when a reader responded to a recent column favorably…and I had the temerity to respond with remarks verging on the crude, at least in the eyes of the receiver.

In conclusion, discretion is the better part of valor… and one should avoid the blue quip when in doubt.

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Although I am not into hugging, per se,  TIME’s latest findings give me an alternative action. The magazine reports that the University of Wisconsin-Madison’s Child Emotion Lab ran a series of tests to determine the efficacy of a child receiving a personal hug versus achieving solace by phone.  Children were put in stressful positions where they had to give an impromptu speech in front of a room full of strangers. Afterward, some of the girls were allowed to be hugged by their parents…while others talked to their absent parents over the phone. The conclusion? Those hugged and those on the phone achieved equal satisfaction. Therefore, there is some validity to the idea that you can, indeed, phone it in.

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In response to my mention of an early day poet and wondering what had happened to her, A.L.B. Krause writes, “I am acquainted with Mabel E. Montieth through my family. She was a Cavanagh and her brother married my Aunt Esther Ballard Cavanagh Whitaker. Those times in the twenties were very heady, with Emmet Pendleton giving art lessons along with his composing, barefoot dancing on a Berkeley hilltop with Isadora Duncan, inspiring creative thoughts, even poetry. Mable was a quick minded person that I knew as a child. She was married to a well driller and was a voracious reader. I may be the only person in Tehama County with this gem of knowledge but I will share it.”

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If, when all the votes are tallied, Sheriff Parker, perchance, is no longer in office, that would be a shocker. He is a fine fellow and worthy of the position.  Perhaps he is a victim of the trend, sweeping the country, for change.  Tsk, tsk.

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Last week’s quiz asked what country western singer did time in San Quentin, what was Jean Harlow’s last movie…and what were the names of Red Skelton’s seagulls in his comedy sketch. A couple of our regulars responded correctly but thought they should defer to new responders. As none stepped up to the plate, we report that Merle Haggard did the time in Q., “Saratoga” was Harlow’s last film, and Red named Gertrude and Heathcliff as his seagulls.

This week’s quiz: What is the origin of the phrase, “Hip! Hip! Hurrah!”, Who coined the name “Pakistan”…and, in the Bible, I Kings 4: 22, refers to 4.5 cups of what?

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Long time no hear from our second favorite columnist, C. Larimer. The last message, from his faithful spouse Becky, was they were headed for the sunny plains of Texas. He is an exceptional fellow, full of contradictions and devils, some of his own makings, and deserves more than he lately has received. If still writing for the DN, he would have made much havoc with the recent “hemp festival” staged near Gerber, home of the famous Nielsen trailer. The DN is not as colorful in his absence…or mine.

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“I feel about airplanes the same way I feel about diets. It seems to me they are wonderful things for other people to go on.” Jean Kerr

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

We have had many horses over the years on our ranch…20 or more, as I recall. Whereas most are buried down in the grove, 7 currently are on hand to spread joy to all and to provide an honest hour of work daily via stall cleaning.

Sister L. Smith of Redding, forwarded this bit of wisdom titled, “All I need to know in life, I’ve learned from my horse”. Although written from a woman’s point of view, much of it applies to men folk as well.

“When in doubt, run far, far away.

You can never have too many treats.

Passing gas in public is nothing to be ashamed of.

New shoes are an absolute necessity every 6 weeks.

Ignore ‘cues’. They are just a prompt to do more work.

Everyone loves a good slobbery kiss.

Heaven is eating for 10 hours and then sleeping the rest.

Great legs and a nice rear end will get you anywhere. Big brown eyes help also.

When you want your way, stomp hard on the nearest foot.

Act dumb when faced with a task you don’t want to do.

A swift kick in the butt will get anyone’s attention.

Love those who love you back, especially if they have something good to eat.”

Perhaps this creed applies mostly to women and horses, but it’s a pretty good code to live by, for any gender.

In the Purity Store last week, I met English teacher Bob Pepper who stated he was solidly behind my project for a new community theatre. Well, there is no project actually…just a lot of talk between the Editor and myself about the town’s need for some such venture.

A practical, reasonable, Chamber of Commerce concept would be a civic auditorium for conventions, meetings, square dancing and perhaps, as an afterthought, music and drama. My wild, implausible and far out suggestion would be this: We get some money…any money will do as long as there is lots of it, and we buy the old three story Victorian at 1111 Washington. It was built by Leo McCoy in 1901 and very well built, I might add. Anyway, we get this great mansion and we alter the interior into a theatre- in- the- round with slope tiered seating! It could be used for the art and foreign movie set, community concerts, local Little Theatre groups, John Birch Society meetings, ghost story telling and other eccentric gatherings. Or, it could be an awful flop and run up a monstrous deficit. So, let’s forget the whole thing…or shall we?

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A clipping from the Ess Eff Chronicle states that one Dr. Stanke of Phoenix has decided that the old remedy of booze for snake bite may be all right after all. In the interest of good journalism, I must report that Dr. Stanke is, in real life, the father-in-law of our own Dr. William Martin, famed tennis buff and staunch teetotaler.

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Oh, what an error last week! I reported that our local young man, Paul Rutala, was a straight A student at Stanford…when actually he is only straight A this semester. Total up his 3 years there so far, and he is only an A minus student. Hardly worth mentioning.

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I guess the reason that Mr. Larimer, Sports Editor of the Daily News, and I have never met, is that we shop in different sections of the Super Market. I buy the packaged products and he goes for the bottled.

Robert Minch