Changing Names to Protect the Innocent?


I have never considered myself thin-skinned, but I am sensitive to those words that cause distress to others.  Lately, I have focused on the long-simmering dispute about whether the Redskins (That’s a football team out of our nation’s Capitol, which will probably lack your attention until they start winning more games), and whether they should change their name to something that is more politically correct.


America Needs a New Party

While Congress has decided to shut down government and cater to both extremes in the Democrat and Republican parties, I have taken this pause in rational political news to ask you to consider an important question:

“If the Republicans are now considered the conservative party, and  the

Democrats are now the liberal party, who represents the vast majority of

                                                                                      Americans who are stuck in the middle?”

Find Jimmy Hoffa

Find Jimmy Hoffa

When I was a college student in Michigan in the 1970’s, there was a bumper sticker on thousands of American cars tooling down the road in the Detroit area.   “Where is Jimmy Hoffa?”  It was big news back then:  The pugilistic head of the Teamsters had disappeared after a meeting with the Detroit Mafia at a fancy restaurant named the Machus Red Fox, never to be seen again.

The bumper stickers didn’t help.  Jimmy was never found.  This powerful union leader, who had clashed with the Kennedys, done time in prison, and emerged from the experience in a return to the power he had enjoyed in his heyday, never came home for dinner.

Bradbury’s Legacy

Ray Bradbury was the writer who allowed me to escape the realities of childhood and explore uncharted parts of my imagination.  I have read many authors, but he was the only one who challenged me to turn the page.  I would try to predict the next scene, and he would mess with me every time.  It was almost like he wrote his prose to lead the reader into a mental dead end, and when the page was turned, he created a “Wow!”  I would imagine him sitting in the shadows of my bedroom, watching me read.  I would turn the page, and my mind would picture the great author, arms crossed, smiling and smirking, leading me on.