Campanastan

Time 2020-09-10 16:04:36

Web Name: Campanastan

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That's "Campana-stan" or ''Land of Campana." It reflects the Weltanschauung of Michael E. Campana, President-for-Life of the Republic of Campanastan. Welcome to Campanastan - no passports or visas required! Authentically WiredWater and a lot more from Paul F. Miller. AWRAThe water resources blog of the American Water Resources Association. Blue Marble EarthAn articulate Earth scientist with an MS in Geography from Oregon State University, Courtney van Stolk explores the 'whys' of this fantastic planet. California Water BlogA biologist, economist, engineer and geologist walk onto a bar…From the Center for Watershed Sciences at UC-Davis. CampanastanThat's 'Campana-stan', or 'Place of Campana', formerly 'Aquablog'. Michael Campana's personal blog, promulgating his Weltanschauung. Chance of RainJournalist Emily Green's take on water and related issues. Dr. Anne Jefferson's Watershed Hydrology LabAnne blogs from Kent State University on a variety of earth science topics. Great Lakes LawNoah Hall's blog about - what else - all things wet and legal in the Great Lakes region! International Water Law ProjectGabriel Eckstein, Professor of Law at Texas A&M University School of Law, comments on international and transboundary water law and policy. John FleckFormer science writer @ Albuquerque Journal and current director of the Water Resources Program at U of NM. Topics: Colorado River basin, Western USA water, more! Legal Planet: Environmental Law and PolicyFrom the UC-Berkeley and UCLA law schools, it highlights the latest legal and policy initiatives and examines their implications. Maven's NotebookA water, science, and environmental policy blog by Chris Austin, aka 'Maven'. Focus is on California. On The Public RecordA 'low level civil servant who reads a lot of government reports writes about California water and related topics. Wettit - the water redditWater blog with tons of news items, other blogs, etc. Texas Agriculture Law BlogDon't let the name fool you - there are lots of water issues in agriculture and Tiffany Dowell of Texas A&M University does a fabulous job with this important Internet resource. Give it a read - I do every day! The Water BlogFrom the Portland, OR, Water Bureau. The Way of WaterDr. Jennifer Veilleux records her fieldwork, research, and thoughts about water resources development and management, indigenous rights, ethics, and a host of other issues. Thirsty in SuburbiaGayle Leonard documents things from the world of water that make us smile: particularly funny, amusing and weird items on bottled water, water towers, water marketing, recycling, the art-water nexus and working. July 14th - Bastille Day, a French national holiday formally known in France as La Fête nationale or more commonly, Le quatorze juillet - was always celebrated in my childhood home. But we were not French, although since my mother was of English and Scots-Irish descent, I suspect there was some French (Norman?) blood coursing through her veins. July 14th was the day my parents celebrated their first meeting and date in 1941. That landmark occurred in the hamlet of Bethlehem, NH, at the Maplewood Hotel and Golf Course, which at the time was a semi-fashionable resort in the White Mountains. My father John was an assistant golf pro at the Maplewood course, and Ruth Emerson a waitress at the hotel. He was 25 and from Boston; she was only 21 and from North Carolina. Their meeting resulted in a soda date at Parker s Drug Store on Main Street. Hey, Earth girls are easy! Courtship followed, culminating in marriage on 29 May 1943. They were happily married for 41 years, till my father s death in 1984.Great role models, and I finally got it right, Mom and Dad. My first date with Mary Frances was 18 December 1987: dinner (Marie Callender s in Reno) and a movie (The Princess Bride). Good things happen to those who wait. This is true love - you think this happens every day? - Westley, The Princess Bride In between the fireworks, auto and furniture sales, and barbecues, take a few minutes today to read the Declaration of Independence and the remarkable Bill of Rights, the first ten amendments to the Constitution, which came along 11 years later:Download ConstDownload UsdeclarMary Frances and I do so each July 4th.If you are an American citizen, thank your lucky stars for those 56 guys who signed the Declaration in Philadelphia in 1776 and started this thing rolling.While you are at it, give extra thanks for the First Amendment, which guarantees five fundamental rights, which you can remember with the mnemonic RAPPS: religion, assembly, press, petition, and speech.Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, two giants in American history - friends, then opponents, and finally friends again - both died on this day in 1826. As I get older, I think less of Jefferson and more of Adams. Both were great men, but the former talked the talk but didn t always walk the walk (e.g., slavery) whereas the latter tried to do both.Enjoy the day, and enjoy RAPPS! We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. -- Declaration of Independence ...a Republic, if you can keep it. -- Benjamin Franklin, at the end of the Constitutional Convention, when asked, What have you wrought? Like many others, today I am honoring those who served and those who died 76 years ago on D-Day and the entire Normandy Invasion. Special thanks to the Allied troops - American, Canadian, British, Australian, New Zealand, Free French, Free Dutch, et al. - who made it happen and rescued Europe and the world. My father s brother - my Uncle Vic - was one of those young men who was there that fateful day. He was a paratrooper - 82nd Airborne - who made a nighttime jump into France. He survived that one, and 48 other jumps over Europe. Thank you! And a special thanks to the French people, still so welcoming and appreciative lo these many years!*********************************************************** Giovanni Pellegrino Campana would have been 106 today. That name is on his birth certificate, but we knew my father as John Pilgrim Campana. Born on 6 June 1914, he was the son of Italian immigrants Consiglia and Domenico Campana, who arrived on these shores from Naples, Italy, in the late 1890s. The family settled in Boston, where my father grew up working, playing baseball, ice hockey, but most of all, studying. He vaguely recalled the Great Molasses Flood of 1919. He attended Boston Latin School, the oldest and arguably still the best high school in the USA.After that, it was off to the oldest college in the USA, Harvard, where he graduated magna cum laude with a degree in history in 1936. In those days, Harvard was not a hospitable place for Italian-Americans, Irish-Americans, or Jews; forget about Latinos, Asian-Americans, Native Americans, or African-Americans! It was the bastion of WASPs - White (or Wealthy) Anglo-Saxon Protestants. He loved playing hockey - he was a right winger - but didn t play for Harvard after his freshman year. He told me that the rich kids on the team would rent one of the indoor arenas for practices that were restricted to themselves and their friends. So while he worked, they practiced and his skills fell behind. When he told me this, there was nary a trace of bitterness in his voice. That s just the way it was.But his true sports love was baseball. He played shortstop athlete (traditionally the position reserved for the bast athlete) and pitched on the Harvard team till he graduated in 1936. Here is the team ball signed by all the players on the 1936 team, with the cherished inscription: Harvard - 3, Yale - 0.He married Southern belle (North Carolina) Ruth Ellen Emerson in 1943 and they had three children. They first lived in Manhattan, then moved out to Queens, and finally, headed to the Long Island suburbs in December 1951, where they remained until 1978, retiring to Mooresville, North Carolina.He started teaching in the New York City school system in 1938, a career that spanned 36 years, 26 of which were spent at Brooklyn s Erasmus Hall High School, the nation s second-oldest high school. He taught history and political science. He recalls EHHS students Barbra Streisand, chess champion Bobby Fischer, Neil Diamond, Billy Cunningham, and Lainie Kazan. Don t ask him about the first two. In those days, EHHS was one of the nation s best. Its top students won scholarships to the USA s finest universities. Even the top Jewish students, who for years could not get into the Ivy League schools, routinely made Princeton, Yale, and Harvard starting in the mid-1950s; African-Americans (few in number at EHHS in those days) and others soon followed. As I grew up, I remember many visits from former students who would drop by to thank him for all he had done. They told me what a remarkable teacher and man he was and how much he had helped them.He left EHHS in 1964 to help open Canarsie High School in Brooklyn. He was the Assistant Principal, a position that earned him more money but meant no more teaching. That was a tough call for him. His time at CHS was difficult - an unreasonable boss and trouble from the start. In those days, the races and ethnicities mixed far worse than they do today. On some days scores of NYPD officers patrolled the halls and grounds. When a chair whizzed by his ear during a cafeteria free-for-all, he knew it was time to retire. That was 1974. This photo was taken a few years before he left CHS.My father was an inveterate and prolific letter-writer. He would write letters to all kinds of people: political leaders, heads of state, CEOs, editors, sports figures, et al. At the time of his death he was working on a book titled, One Small Voice, a collection of his letters. His favorite target was Tom Yawkey, then the owner of his beloved but then-incompetent Boston Red Sox. He would instruct Yawkey on whom to trade, whom to release, etc. It was a futile exercise, of course, but he enjoyed it. One of my big regrets in life was seeing him die in 1984, before the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004, 2007, 2013, and 2018. But at least he did not witness the 1986 debacle. That surely would have killed him. My father s devotion to the Sox and their history still have an impression on me: although I am a Yankees fan, there is a soft spot in my heart for the Red Sox.I often wonder how the Internet would have appeared to him. Given his love for writing and commentary, would he have become a blogger? Somehow I doubt it. He was committed to letters. He was a student of history, languages (five), politics, sports, chess, and more. He was small in stature and an unlikely athlete. Baseball, hockey, golf, bowling, and tennis were his games. He was a Democrat who was not overly fond of John F. Kennedy and the Kennedy clan. He remembered too much from his early days in Boston and also never forgave patriarch Joe for being an early Hitler supporter. But he voted for JFK over Richard Nixon in 1960; that was a no-brainer. My late younger sister Ann and he would have some epic confrontations; they were too much alike. One of his unbreakable rules was, Never drive the car into Manhattan. I recall an incident where Ann was to drive his precious Mustang into Queens to catch the subway into Manhattan. Well, she sort of forgot about the rule, and drove into the city. Next morning as he got up to go to work, he saw a note from Ann that said, Sorry - it was the g-d [god-damned] bus! He did not understand the note till he went out for his morning drive into Brooklyn. That s when he noticed a huge crease running the length of the driver s side of the Mustang. Seems that Ann had had an encounter with a city bus. She left the note and was spending the day at the beach. Lucky for that, too - she had been partying with friends in Manhattan and was in no shape to face my father.I am glad he did not have to witness her death at the hands of terrorists. I loved listening to him discuss history, especially American history, his forte. He actually rescued my interest in history, because my high-school history teachers were generally pretty pathetic. They often emphasized rote memorization with little dicussion of what the events meant. That s where my father came in. He provided the big picture.I shudder to think of his assessment of our national leadership these days - not just the President but the others as well. He would be dismayed to see that we could do no better. He would be appalled at the neo-Nazi patriots who have become the darlings of some politicians. Have the latter forgotten the monster named Hitler? No way - not in JPC s country!Although he suffered the stings of discrimination - even as an adult - he would never equate his experiences with those visited upon African-Americans and other people of color. I am glad he did not have to witness the horror of I can t breathe! . Whatever my skills are in teaching and education, I owe to him. He was so proud when I received my PhD. He had an ABD ( all but dissertation - half done, on Stephen Decatur and the Barbary Pirates) from Fordham - marriage and a family intervened - and he never finished. He would have made quite a professor!His beloved Red Sox will not win this year, if MLB can figure out how to play. The Bruins might win the Stanley Cup if the NHL decides upon a schedule. Oh, how he loved watching Bobby Orr! Some of my fondest memories of our time together are of watching the then-inept New York Rangers play at Madison Square Garden in Manhattan. They usually lost, as did the Bruins, who were equally inept. Those were the days of a six-team ( original 6 ) NHL: Chicago, Detroit, Toronto, Montreal, Boston and New York.I miss you, Dad; I think of you each day. You re my role model. And I m wearing a mask. “The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” ― G.K. Chesterton Democracy is like a raft; you re safe, but your feet get wet. -- John P. Campana Real ice cream she loved; butter pecan was by far her favorite. Today s penchant for frozen yogurt would be a non-starter. Strong coffee? You d better believe it! Don t ever serve her a cup if she could see the bottom; it would go right down the drain. Kids? No, a kid is a baby goat; the word is children . Four-letter words from a Southern lady? Numerology? Well, you ll have to read this entire post. My mother, Ruth Ellen Emerson Campana, is shown below (c. Easter 1953 or 1954) with the family. Note the scowl on Ann s face - not the angelic smiles of older sister Ellen and me. Did that facial expression ever portend the shape of things to come!Mom died on 8 May 2003 at the age of 83. Hard to believe that was almost exactly 17 years ago. Although she lived for almost two years beyond 9/11, that event killed her just as sure as those five Saudi Arabian terrorists killed her youngest child, Ann Campana Judge, on American Airlines flight 77. My mother was a remarkable woman. Born in Cabarrus County, North Carolina, in 1920, she was an archetypical Southern lady. No profane language, kind, compassionate, soft spoken, a beautiful drawl, proud of her Southern Scots-Irish roots but no apologist for the Confederacy and slavery although her great-grandfather fought for the South. At age 23, she married my father, John Pilgrim Campana, an Italian-American from Boston, and the two of them settled in New York City, where my father taught high school in Brooklyn.Although my Harvard-educated father was the family scholar (BA summa cum laude and Fordham ABD), my mother was no slouch. She majored in history and English at Flora Macdonald College (now part of St. Andrew s Presbyterian College) in Red Springs, NC, and graduated at 20. She acquired her love of learning from her mother Julia Johnston Emerson, who was a college graduate in a time when that was almost unheard of for a woman. What stubbornness she had no doubt came from her father Harris Emerson, a farmer and an avowed Republican in a time when the South was the Solid South , always voting for Democrats (hard to believe, I know). My mother said he was a Republican because everyone else was a Democrat.I owe many of my semi-decent English skills to her. Each Sunday night she would would write five words and their definitions on my blackboard. Those were the Weekly Words. I relied on her to correct my writing more than I did my teachers. Why? Because she was far better than they!My friends loved her. How come your mother s so nice? was a common question. But she was no pushover. My father s hot-blooded Italian nature often manifested itself when one of us overstepped our bounds, but my mother would generally raise her voice only slightly, or just glare at us. The message got through.While still raising three children, she returned to teaching in 1960 and taught fourth grade. Her students idolized her. Here is a beautiful tribute from one of her fourth-grade students, Fred Avolio. Fred also remembers the Weekly Words. And yes, Fred, I remember bringing my pet iguana Leroy into her class.My mother was also somewhat (!!) naive. One story, somewhat risqué, stands out. I must have been 16, Ann 13, and older sister Ellen was away at college. We were chatting at the dinner table, something we did every evening. My mother related a discussion that occurred in the teachers lounge at her school. Seems she came in during a conversation, and a few of the teachers were laughing about something called 69 . She was puzzled so she asked one of her colleagues what it was (she had concluded that it had nothing to do with math). He told her that she had better ask someone in her family. So she did. Ann and I could hardly contain our laughter, and my father s jaw dropped like I had never seen (he taught high school in Brooklyn so I knew he knew). It was Ann who matter-of-factly told her what it was. Then my mother s jaw dropped. I think what surprised her and my father more than anything was that their 13-year old daughter knew exactly what it was. Yes, that faclal expression above was coming home to roost.On another occasion at the dinner table, she told us that one of her fourth-graders had made a gesture to a classmate and she was unsure what it meant. We children knew what was coming. When my father asked what it was, she extended her right arm and raised her right middle finger. Before my father could recover, Ann, all of 12 or 13 at the time, exclaimed, Fuck you! It means Fuck you! I thought the Big One was going to strike my father. I chimed in and said that it didn t mean that literally but more like Fuck off! At that point my mother said she got the message and did not need to know any more. In all our years chatting at the dinner table that was the only time I recall the word fuck being spoken - not once, but thrice. Needless to say, I did not mention either of these instances in the eulogy at her funeral service, although I was tempted to. It would have sent those North Carolina Presbyterians over the edge.Despite the fact that she lived in the North for 35 years, she never lost her Southern grace and charm.In 1978 she finally returned to her beloved Tar Heel State. She and my father settled in Mooresville, just north up I-77 from Charlotte. She and I shared one dislike: that of including NC after Charlotte in lists of US cities weather or some other characteristic. Every other city stood alone, but there was Charlotte, NC . She viewed it as very disrespectful for NC s beloved Queen City. Check it out - some newspapers still do that. I know how she would would have dealt with the current pandemic and sheltering in place , etc. She would have calmly explained that the good of society was pre-eminent and that we would need to do these things and not complain. My father, ever the history scholar, would have said the same but with more detail about the Spanish flu and WWI. When my sister Ann was murdered, my mother was living with her and husband Geoff Judge in Great Falls, VA. After Ann was killed she continued to live with Geoff (an amazing man who treated her as he did his own mother) but soon after that she began to shut down. When Ann s beloved black Lab Bubba died, that was it. First she decided she couldn t walk on her own. Then, she stopped talking. Finally, she stopped eating. The end came soon after that, peacefully, while she slept. I believe the death certificate read heart attack but I knew better. It should have read broken heart - burying her baby killed her. The irony is that today s saying is something she would say whenever she heard of a parent burying a child. I doubt she ever expected she d have to do the same.Especially her youngest.Happy Mother s Day, Mom!I turn 72 in three days, and the older I get, the wiser I ve become. You were right about so much stuff, Mom. I do forgive you for trying to transform me into a Southern gentleman. Some things aren t just meant to be! Probably one of the few times you failed. But I still won t apologize for not going to law school.Boy, do I miss you! I finally visited your ancestral homeland - Scotland. I thought of you a lot.And it s funny, but each time this year I get a strange hankering for some butter pecan ice cream. And none of that low-fat or frozen yogurt stuff - the real deal. I love you, Mom! The hardest thing any parent has to do is bury a child. -- Ruth Emerson Campana Remember those who suffered four years ago today in Boston.Another memorable event of a different type occurred on this day in 1947. Seventy years ago today, on a cold Tuesday in Brooklyn, Jack Roosevelt Jackie Robinson took the field in a game against the Boston Braves at Ebbets Field. He was to face Johnny Sain, one-half of the legendary Spahn and Sain and pray for rain pitching duo of the Braves. Robinson didn t do too well that day: grounded out, flied out, hit into a double play,reached on an error. But his feat went far beyond what he did at the plate or in the field. He became the first African-American since the 1880s to play in a major league baseball game, and entered the history books. We didn t know it at the time but the USA s civil rights era began that day.Jackie Robinson was a great athlete, but he proved to be an even greater man. Robinson endured a lot of crap (a euphemism) from other ballplayers, the public, sportswriters, and fans. He was a proud man, but had promised Dodgers owner Branch Rickey that he would hold his tongue and his fists for two years. Rickey feared that if Robinson proved to be too combative right off the bat, naysayers would proclaim I told you so! and the cause of major league baseball integration would be damaged. I like this 1997 passage by Ira Berkow, in which he talked about Robinson and Dodger teammate and fellow Hall of Famer Pee Wee Reese, a Southern boy from Kentucky who was the Dodgers captain at the time Robinson came to the big leagues.The first of the two incidents occurred at the beginning of spring training in 1947, when Robinson had been called up to the Dodgers from Montreal, Brooklyn s top minor league team, on which Robinson had starred during the 1946 season. A petition was drawn up by a group of mostly Southern Dodgers players that stated they would not take the field with a black man. I m not signing that, Reese told the ringleaders, who included Dixie Walker, Kirby Higbe and Bobby Bragan. No way. Reese, the soft-spoken but respected team captain, with a Southern upbringing, perhaps surprised the petition-carriers. I wasn t thinking of myself as the Great White Father, Reese says now. I just wanted to play baseball. I d just come back from serving in the South Pacific with the Navy during the Second World War, and I had a wife and daughter to support. I needed the money. I just wanted to get on with it. But there was more to it than the money.And Reese s refusal to sign the petition, many believe, meant the end of the matter.Robinson played, and endured vicious abuse from opposing teams, from beanballs and spikings to racial epithets and spitting. Robinson had promised Branch Rickey, the owner and general manager of the Dodgers, that for at least his first two years in the major leagues, he would hold his tongue and his fists, no matter the provocation. And one day -- it was probably in Cincinnati, Reese recalled, in 1947 or 1948 -- the attack was so nasty that Reese walked over to Robinson and put his hand on the black man s shoulder. Pee Wee kind of sensed the sort of hopeless, dead feeling in me and came over and stood beside me for a while, Robinson recalled, as quoted in the forthcoming biography Jackie Robinson, by Arnold Rampersad (Alfred A. Knopf). He didn t say a word but he looked over at the chaps who were yelling at me through him and just stared. He was standing by me, I could tell you that. The hecklers ceased their attack. I will never forget it, Robinson said.After reading that pssage I gained a huge amount of respect for Pee Wee Reese. He could have easily gone the other way, but he did the right thing. Not easy for a white guy from Kentucky in the late 1940s.Jackie left us at the all-too-early age of 53. What he endured no doubt contributed to his untimely death. Robinson was a truly remarkable man who rose to a challenge few of us could ever imagine, much less face with such grace, strength, and courage.At the tender age of 8, in 1956, I saw him play against the St. Louis Cardinals and Stan The Man Musial at Ebbets Field. He was nearing the end of his Hall of Fame career, but still went 2-for-4. My father attempted to explain to me the significance of what he had done, but I was too consumed with hot dogs and cotton candy to comprehend. Later, I understood, and realized that what Robinson had done helped free us all. He is now one of my all-time heroes, right up there with Nelson Mandela and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Arnold Rampersad wrote an excellent biography, Jackie Robinson. Read it. Never mind that you re not a sports fan. It is not a sports book; it s about a courageous man, a hero for all, who just happened to play baseball.And don t forget the movie, 42. It s well worth your time. To honor Robinson, all major league baseball players will wear number 42 in today s games. With the retirement of Mariano Rivera, no player permanently wears 42. Some numbers will always be associated with an athlete; 42 will forever be associated with a movement. - John Saunders, ESPN Today we honor Dr. Martin Luther King,Jr,who would have turned 88 yesterday. I am sure that Dr. King is looking down favorably upon President Barack Obama, soon to leave office after two terms. But I suspect he would be deeply troubled by the current political climate which has given license to bigots and their ilk to spew their vitriol, exacerbated and enhanced by the use of social media. He would be saddened by the seeming desire to return America to greatness, which to some is code for a time when America was segregated and people of color were invisible and marginalized. It s clear that we have much work to do. But back to honoring Dr. King. I have come to appreciate and admire him (and all the civil rights workers) by reading Taylor Branch s brilliant trilogy of the civil rights era: Parting the Waters: America in the King Years, 1954-63; Pillar of Fire: America in the King Years 1963-65; and At Canaan s Edge: America in the King Years 1965-68.What thoroughly amazes me were the toughness, resiliency, and resolve of the civil rights workers, and how they honored King s insistence upon nonviolent resistance. Along with King, the names of heroes such as John Lewis (now a Georgia Congressman; listen to him on the Diane Rehm Show), Ralph Abernathy, Hosea Williams, Rosa Parks, Coretta King, Septima Clark, James Meredith, Andrew Young, Marian Wright, Diane Nash, Fannie Lou Hamer, James Bevel, Bob Moses, et al., are forever burned in my mind. Similarly, I shall not soon forget place names like Selma and Montgomery, or people like Lester Maddox, George Wallace, Bull Connor, Orval Faubus, Strom Thurmond, and their ilk.As I read the aforementioned books, cringing at what humans can do to each other, one thought haunted me: what would I have done had I been a Southern white person during that time (I am actually half-North Carolina Scots-Irish WASP)? I ve concluded that I probably would not have been one of the segregationist ringleaders, but certainly would not have risen to the defense of the oppressed. I probably would have (very quietly) supported their cause, but not done anything to jeopardize my comfortable middle-class lifestyle (see the quote below). Certainly Northerners were no better than Southerners when it came to desegregation; recall the Boston busing incidents of the 1970s.Another thing also amazes me: how much the Southern poor whites ( poor white trash ) and blacks had in common. Both were horribly oppressed, but skillful politicians kept the poor whites riled about the uppity Negroes . If the two groups had united, there would have been hell to pay.I do have a few interesting memories about that period, as I was a student in Virginia (College of William and Mary) from 1966-1970. One stands out. Just after I arrived in Virginia, Sen. Harry F. Byrd died - he was the scion of the infamous Byrd (members of the FFV) political dynasty in Virginia, and the whole state mourned his death. What I remember most about that time is the characterization of Byrd by a local columnist: Never was there a man who so dragged his feet through the sands of time. Here is a humorous memory. I played alto saxophone in the W M marching band, and we had been engaged to provide entertainment at the Southern Governors Conference (in Williamsburg or Jamestown). While we stood in formation, who should start darting among the band members, fiddling with the music and instruments and being a nuisance? It was none other than Lester Maddox, newly-elected segregationist governor of Georgia. He finally asked our band director, Charles Chuck Varner, if we knew Dixie, and if so, could we play it? Varner, annoyed by all of Maddox s antics, calmly but firmly said, No, Governor, we don t have the music for it but we would gladly play Marching Through Georgia for you. Maddox stopped, scowled fiercely, and then darted off whence he came. Way to go, Chuck! I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character. ~ Martin Luther King, Jr., 28 August 1963 That s part of American greatness, is discrimination. Yes, sir. Inequality, I think, breeds freedom and gives a man opportunity. - Lester Maddox Tags: civil rights, Dr. Martin Luther King, integration, Jr. Day, Lester Maddox, Taylor Branch, Virginia Great start to 2017. My neighbor has this sign on her front lawn. She obtained it from a friend who got it in Seattle. There is a URL on the sign but I can t find the sign on the site. In any case, I love the sentiments it expresses. The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. - Edmund Burke Hard to imagine that my baby sister should be turning 65 today. Yes, today would have been my younger sister Ann Campana Judge s 65th birthday had not five Saudi Arabians - not Iraqis, not Iranians, not Afghans - murdered her on 11 September 2001.She and colleague Joe Ferguson were on American Airlines Flight 77 escorting three middle-school students and their teachers to Los Angeles for a field trip sponsored by their employer, the National Geographic Society. They were to meet up with a number of other students and teachers to visit the Channel Islands.It s not hard for me to imagine what she might have looked like today: not much different than she did in the above photo (she s on the left; my older sister Ellen is on the right). She was one of those people who would never look her age. The photo was taken in Spring 2000. Read more here.I miss you, Annie! We all do. Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. -- William Shakespeare (from Julius Caesar) Last year I traveled to Vermont and New Hampshire visiting friends and will be attended a reunion in Bethlehem, NH, on the 9/11 weekend. This year I will be flying on 9/11, taking a flight to Newark and thence to Orlando for a meeting. I can t recall flying on 9/11 since Ann was murdered. I have not consciously avoided it; that s just the way it turned out.I wrote the following five years ago, on the tenth anniversary of 9/11. Can t improve on it, so here it is again. Hard to believe the 15th anniversary is upon us.*********************************************************************************I have not had time to read much email and this is the first time I have turned on my computer since the morning of 10 September, so I am not plugged in very well. Perhaps that is good.I will be avoiding all the specials on the tenth anniversary of 9/11. Not interested in all the contrived linkages between 9/11 and the guy who collects trash in Toledo who found an image of the burning Pentagon in some dumpster or the football player who has the Twin Towers tattooed on his biceps. Sorry.My desk is littered with magazines whose covers shout features like Where Have We Been? , What Went Wrong? , Are We Safer? , Why Do They Hate Us? , blah, blah, blah, I can t read any of them. I should say I can t finish any of them.Actually, I did read one excellent article: What 9/11 Wrought by Joseph Lelyveld in the current issue of Smithsonian magazine. Read it. As much as I despise those who rained death upon us, I don t like what we have become. Xenophobes. Jingoes. Torturers. What moral authority the USA had, it s been greatly diminished.I m driving to Seattle today for a meeting tomorrow and Tuesday. When I had planned to drive it did not dawn on me that it would be on 9/11. Flying today wouldn t bother me, but it will be nice to be on the road for about five hours. No media folks trying to get a sound bite.But let me give a shout-out to the first responders, many of whom made the ultimate sacrifice to save others. And Pat Tillman.****** Ten years ago today my younger sister Ann Campana Judge was murdered by the five men you see here. She was on American Airlines Flight #77 - the one that was crashed into the Pentagon.I will always remember that these men, as well as 10 of the other 14 murderers, were Saudi Arabians. The other four were nationals of the UAE (2), Lebanon, and Egypt. When we buy Saudi oil, some of our money goes to organizations that support these kinds of people. We should never forget that.A few days after 9/11/2001, a field outside the Pentagon was appropriated by loved ones of the victims. We left mementos of those we lost.Below you can see what what my niece Becky and I left in Ann s memory. The Marlboro Lights and Diet Coke should have been accompanied by a fifth (or more) of Dewar s Scotch but we exercised some good judgment - we left a Dewar s ad from a magazine. Besides, Ann would have wanted us to consume it. In 2008 they dedicated the Pentagon Memorial. The Washington Post had a special section on it.I ve been to the memorial thrice and it is a remarkable place. It s open 24/7.Below are some pictures, including Ann s bench and her name carved in stone at the entrance.In August 2009 I had a nice long visit. I sat on her bench and said God bless! to the other 183 murdered heroes who are memorialized, including the three middle-school students and their teachers Ann and NGS colleague Joe Ferguson were escorting to Los Angeles to join others for a field trip to the Channel Islands. It was the students first airplane trip. Here are more pictures.Next time I vist I ll bring some Diet Coke, a pack of Marlboro Lights, and maybe a bottle of Dewar s. Those were three of Annie s favorite things.One thing gnaws at me: what were Ann s last moments like? Was she aware that they were going to crash? She must have - she was an experienced flyer who d flown out of DC airports many times. She knew they were flying too fast and too low. And they were going in the wrong direction to be landing at DCA. Did she die on impact or suffer? Was she comforting the children? Probably.Somewhat morbid, I know. I have her effects in a box (Mary Frances had this custom-built for me) in our library - her driver s license, some business cards, etc. It s amazing how well they survived the conflagration. She was incinerated but her business cards survived.Here is an article about the foundation I created to honor Ann. The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. -- attributed to Edmund Burke A little bit of irreverence is good. A lot is better. -- Ann Campana Judge Thought I would celebrate the seventh anniversary of the arrival of our SUSIE students, twenty-three young women and men from Central America (Panama, Honduras, Costa Rica, and Nicaragua) and the Caribbean (Jamaica, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and Trinidad and Tobago). Most arrived on Sunday, 28 June 2009. We were all excited.I like to think of them as future Western Hemisphere leaders.SUSIE is an acronym for Study of the U.S. Institute for the Environment, and was funded and sponsored by the Study of the U.S. Branch in the U.S. Department of State’s Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs. It was a five-week summer program that dealt with water supply, water quality, water and wastewater treatment, land and coastal development issues.Ana Maria Peralta, one of three Dominicanas, who later pursued an MBA in Spain, assembled this photograph: The instructors are arranged along the left side and top. The picture of Mt. Hood is signifcant because on the day before we all went to Washington, DC, we took them up to a few patches of snow where they all experienced snow for the first time.Here is a larger picture of all of us in Washington, DC, where we spent a week after five weeks in Oregon: Here is a story about the program and the students; view their project presentations.Each student was different, but all shared great intelligence and a desire to learn. I told them that they were going to spoil me for my fall Geology 101 class. They did!Four years ago at this time I was traveling through Honduras and Nicaragua and saw three of the SUSIE students. I saw Julio Eguigurems (above) on 27 June 2012 in Honduras. He was working at the national forestry school in Comayagua. I then traveled to Nicaragua to see Laura Espinoza García and Natalia Raudez. Laura has since completed her Master s degree in Belgium (with a scholarship) and Natalia is married and a mommy. I unfortunately missed Lucia Paiz Medina, who had completed her Master s degree in Brussels.Julio may be applying for a Master s degree at OSU, and Dara-Marie Raggay of Trinidad and Tobago was accepted at OSU for a Master s in Environmental Science but did not matriculate.Amazing people!You don t know how much I miss you and how much you enriched my life! Sometimes the only difference we can make is passing our wisdom to someone else who will make the bigger difference. -- Linda B. Gray Tags: Caribbean, Central America, Oregon State University, State Department, students, SUSIE Like many others, today I am honoring those who served and those who died 72 years ago on D-Day and the entire Normandy Invasion. Special thanks to the Allied troops - American, Canadian, British, Australian, New Zealand, Free French, Free Dutch, et al. - who made it happen and rescued Europe and the world. My father s brother - my Uncle Vic - was one of those young men who was there that fateful day. He was a paratrooper - 82nd Airborne - who made a nighttime jump into France. He survived that one, and 48 other jumps over Europe. Thank you! And a special thanks to the French people, still so welcoming and appreciative lo these many years!*********************************************************** Giovanni Pellegrino Campana would have been 102 today. That name is on his birth certificate, but we knew my father as John Pilgrim Campana. Born on 6 June 1914, he was the son of Italian immigrants Consiglia and Domenico Campana, who arrived on these shores from Naples, Italy, in the late 1890s. The family settled in Boston, where my father grew up working, playing baseball, ice hockey, but most of all, studying. He vaguely recalled the Great Molasses Flood of 1919. He attended Boston Latin School, the oldest and arguably still the best high school in the USA.After that, it was off to the oldest college in the USA, Harvard, where he graduated magna cum laude with a degree in history in 1936. In those days, Harvard was not a hospitable place for Italian-Americans, Irish-Americans, or Jews; forget about Latinos, Asian-Americans, Native Americans, or African-Americans! It was the bastion of WASPs - White (or Wealthy) Anglo-Saxon Protestants. He loved playing hockey - he was a right winger - but didn t play for Harvard after his freshman year. He told me that the rich kids on the team would rent one of the indoor arenas for practices that were restricted to themselves and their friends. So while he worked, they practiced and his skills fell behind. When he told me this, there was nary a trace of bitterness in his voice. That s just the way it was.But his true sports love was baseball. He played shortstop athlete (traditionally the position reserved for the bast athlete) and pitched on the Harvard team till he graduated in 1936. Here is the team ball signed by all the players on the 1936 team, with the cherished inscription: Harvard - 3, Yale - 0.He married Southern belle (North Carolina) Ruth Ellen Emerson in 1943 and they had three children. They first lived in Manhattan, then moved out to Queens, and finally, headed to the Long Island suburbs in December 1951, where they remained until 1978, retiring to Mooresville, North Carolina.He started teaching in the New York City school system in 1938, a career that spanned 36 years, 26 of which were spent at Brooklyn s Erasmus Hall High School, the nation s second-oldest high school. He taught history and political science. He recalls EHHS students Barbra Streisand, chess champion Bobby Fischer, Neil Diamond, Billy Cunningham, and Lainie Kazan. Don t ask him about the first two. In those days, EHHS was one of the nation s best. Its top students won scholarships to the USA s finest universities. Even the top Jewish students, who for years could not get into the Ivy League schools, routinely made Princeton, Yale, and Harvard starting in the mid-1950s; African-Americans (few in number at EHHS in those days) and others soon followed. As I grew up, I remember many visits from former students who would drop by to thank him for all he had done. They told me what a remarkable teacher and man he was and how much he had helped them.He left EHHS in 1964 to help open Canarsie High School in Brooklyn. He was the Assistant Principal, a position that earned him more money but meant no more teaching. That was a tough call for him. His time at CHS was difficult - an unreasonable boss and trouble from the start. In those days, the races and ethnicities mixed far worse than they do today. On some days scores of NYPD officers patrolled the halls and grounds. When a chair whizzed by his ear during a cafeteria free-for-all, he knew it was time to retire. That was 1974. This photo was taken a few years before he left CHS.My father was an inveterate and prolific letter-writer. He would write letters to all kinds of people: political leaders, heads of state, CEOs, editors, sports figures, et al. At the time of his death he was working on a book titled, One Small Voice, a collection of his letters. His favorite target was Tom Yawkey, then the owner of his beloved but then-incompetent Boston Red Sox. He would instruct Yawkey on whom to trade, whom to release, etc. It was a futile exercise, of course, but he enjoyed it. One of my big regrets in life was seeing him die in 1984, before the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004, 2007, and 2013. But at least he did not witness the 1986 debacle. That surely would have killed him. My father s devotion to the Sox and their history still have an impression on me: although I am a Yankees fan, there is a soft spot in my heart for the Red Sox.I often wonder how the Internet would have appeared to him. Given his love for writing and commentary, would he have become a blogger? Somehow I doubt it. He was committed to letters. He was a student of history, languages (five), politics, sports, chess, and more. He was small in stature and an unlikely athlete. Baseball, hockey, golf, bowling, and tennis were his games. He was a Democrat who was not overly fond of John F. Kennedy and the Kennedy clan. He remembered too much from his early days in Boston and also never forgave patriarch Joe for being an early Hitler supporter. But he voted for JFK over Richard Nixon in 1960; that was a no-brainer. My late younger sister Ann and he would have some epic confrontations; they were too much alike. One of his unbreakable rules was, Never drive the car into Manhattan. I recall an incident where Ann was to drive his precious Mustang into Queens to catch the subway into Manhattan. Well, she sort of forgot about the rule, and drove into the city. Next morning as he got up to go to work, he saw a note from Ann that said, Sorry - it was the g-d [god-damned] bus! He did not understand the note till he went out for his morning drive into Brooklyn. That s when he noticed a huge crease running the length of the driver s side of the Mustang. Seems that Ann had had an encounter with a city bus. She left the note and was spending the day at the beach. Lucky for that, too - she had been partying with friends in Manhattan and was in no shape to face my father. I loved listening to him discuss history, especially American history. He actually rescued my interest in history, because my high-school history teachers were pretty pathetic. They often emphasized rote memorization with little dicussion of what the events meant. That s where my father came in. He provided the big picture. Whatever my skills are in teaching and education, I owe to him. He was so proud when I received my PhD. He had an ABD ( all but dissertation - half done, on Stephen Decatur and the Barbary Pirates) from Fordham - marriage and a family intevened - and he never finished. He would have made quite a professor!I doubt his beloved Red Sox will win this year. And the Bruins are not en route to the Stanley Cup as they were a few years ago. Oh, how he loved watching Bobby Orr!I miss you, Dad; I think of you each day. You re my role model. “The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” ― G.K. Chesterton Democracy is like a raft; you re safe, but your feet get wet. -- John P. Campana Real ice cream she loved; butter pecan was by far her favorite. Today s penchant for frozen yogurt would be a non-starter. Strong coffee? You d better believe it! Don t ever serve her a cup if she could see the bottom; it would go right down the drain. Kids? No, a kid is a baby goat; the word is children . Four-letter words from a Southern lady? Numerology? Well, you ll have to read this entire post. My mother, Ruth Ellen Emerson Campana, is shown below (c. Easter 1953 or 1954) with the family. Note the scowl on Ann s face - not the angelic smiles of older sister Ellen and me. Did that facial expression ever portend the shape of things to come!Mom died on 8 May 2003 at the age of 83. Hard to believe that was 13 years ago. Although she lived for almost two years beyond 9/11, that event killed her just as sure as those five Saudi Arabian terrorists killed her youngest child, Ann Campana Judge, on American Airlines flight 77. My mother was a remarkable woman. Born in Cabarrus County, North Carolina, in 1920, she was an archetypical Southern lady. No profane language, kind, compassionate, soft spoken, a beautiful drawl, proud of her Southern Scots-Irish roots but no apologist for the Confederacy and slavery although her great-grandfather fought for the South. At age 23, she married my father, John Pilgrim Campana, an Italian-American from Boston, and the two of them settled in New York City, where my father taught high school in Brooklyn.Although my Harvard-educated father was the family scholar (American history ABD) , my mother was no slouch. She majored in history and English at Flora Macdonald College (now part of St. Andrew s Presbyterian College) in Red Springs, NC, and graduated at 20. She acquired her love of learning from her mother Julia Johnston Emerson, who was a college graduate in a time when that was almost unheard of for a woman. What stubbornness she had no doubt came from her father Harris Emerson, a farmer and an avowed Republican in a time when the South was the Solid South , always voting for Democrats (hard to believe, I know). My mother said he was a Republican because everyone else was a Democrat.I owe many of my semi-decent English skills to her. Each Sunday night she would would write five words and their definitions on my blackboard. Those were the Weekly Words. I relied on her to correct my writing more than I did my teachers. Why? Because she was far better than they!My friends loved her. How come your mother s so nice? was a common question. But she was no pushover. My father s hot-blooded Italian nature often manifested itself when one of us overstepped our bounds, but my mother would generally raise her voice only slightly, or just glare at us. The message got through.While still raising three children, she returned to teaching in 1960 and taught fourth grade. Her students idolized her. Here is a beautiful tribute from one of her fourth-grade students, Fred Avolio. Fred also remembers the Weekly Words. And yes, Fred, I remember bringing my pet iguana Leroy into class.My mother was also somewhat naive. One story, somewhat risqué, stands out. I must have been 16, Ann 13, and older sister Ellen was away at college. We were chatting at the dinner table, something we did every evening. My mother related a discussion that occurred in the teachers lounge at her school. Seems she came in during a conversation, and a few of the teachers were laughing about something called 69 . She was puzzled so she asked one of her colleagues what it was (she had concluded that it had nothing to do with math). He told her that she had better ask someone in her family. So she did. Ann and I could hardly contain our laughter, and my father s jaw dropped like I had never seen (he taught high-school in Brooklyn so I knew he knew). I believe it was Ann who matter-of-factly told her what it was. Then my mother s jaw dropped. I think what surprised her and my father more than anything was that their 13-year old daughter knew exactly what it was. Yes, that faclal expression above was coming home to roost.On another occasion at the dinner table, she told us that one of her fourth-graders had made a gesture to a classmate and she was unsure what it meant. We children knew what was coming. When my father asked what it was, she extended her right arm and raised her right middle finger. Before my father could recover, Ann, all of 12 or 13 at the time, exclaimed, Fuck you! It means Fuck you! I thought the Big One was going to strike my father. I chimed in and said that it didn t mean that literally but more like Fuck off! At that point my mother said she got the message and did not need to know any more. In all our years chatting at the dinner table that was the only time I recall the word fuck being spoken - not once, but thrice. Needless to say, I did not mention either of these instances in the eulogy at her funeral service, although I was tempted to. It would have sent those North Carolina Presbyterians over the edge.Despite the fact that she lived in the North for 35 years, she never lost her Southern grace and charm.In 1978 she finally returned to her beloved Tar Heel State. She and my father settled in Mooresville, just north up I-77 from Charlotte. She and I shared one dislike: that of including NC after Charlotte in lists of US cities weather or some other characteristic. Every other city stood alone, but there was Charlotte, NC . She viewed it as very disrespectful for NC s beloved Queen City. Check it out - some newspapers still do that. When my sister Ann was murdered, my mother was living with her and husband Geoff Judge in Great Falls, VA. After Ann was killed she continued to live with Geoff (an amazing man who treated her as he did his own mother) but soon after that she began to shut down. When Ann s beloved black Lab Bubba died, that was it. First she decided she couldn t walk on her own. Then, she stopped talking. Finally, she stopped eating. The end came soon after that, peacefully, while she slept. I believe the death certificate read heart attack but I knew better. It should have read broken heart - burying her baby killed her. The irony is that today s saying is something she would say whenever she heard of a parent burying a child. I doubt she ever expected she d have to do the same.Especially her youngest.Happy Mother s Day, Mom!I turn 68 in five days, and the older I get, the wiser I ve become. You were right about so much stuff, Mom. I do forgive you for trying to transform me into a Southern gentleman. Some things aren t just meant to be. Probably one of the few times you failed. But I still won t apologize for not going to law school.Boy, do I miss you! Last year I visited your ancestral homeland - Scotland. I thought of you a lot.And it s funny, but each time this year I get a strange hankering for some butter pecan ice cream. And none of that low-fat or frozen yogurt stuff - the real deal. The hardest thing any parent has to do is bury a child. -- Ruth Emerson CampanaFormer Minister of Humor Marty Ennis provided these decadent Halloween costumes to demonstrate the utter depravity of Western culture. Such dress would never be tolerated in Campanastan! No words are necessary. Note that all of the offenders are men.Happy Halloween! And the most egregious offenders:And while you re trick-or-treating, have something to eat! Oh yeah - happy birthday, Nevada! Remember Chic Hecht today!And for those of you in the US, we change to standard time on 1 November 2015 at 2 AM, so set your clocks BACK one hour before retiring tonight. From ghoulies and ghosties and long leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night, good Lord, deliver us! -- Scottish proverb Get your own Donald Trump sex doll - it s far more useful than the real thing. Proceeds will help Syrian refugees, according to Syrian artist Saint Hoax. Keep those Syrian refugees out of those damn Trojan horses!Check out this article. You know, it really doesn`t matter what [the media] write as long as you`ve got a young and beautiful piece of ass. –Donald Trump Twenty-two years ago this day on the shores of Lake Tahoe I was lucky enough to marry Mary Frances, shown here in Edinburgh, Scotland. This T-shirt says it all, and no, she did not buy it for me. I love you! Love doesn t make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile. - Franklin Jones It s finally over for Lawrence Peter Yogi Berra, who died today at age 90.Berra was best known for his malapropisms, many of which made sense when you thought about them - Berra just had a special way with words. People who knew of his quotes were often unaware of his great baseball career, in which he played 18 years for the New York Yankees, appeared in 14 World Series, won 10 World Series and 3 Most Valuable Player awards. He s been in more World Series games than any other player. There is no doubt that he was one of the greatest catchers in baseball history.But he was also a regular guy . As a teenager he found himself on a Navy gunboat during D-Day and received a Purple Heart. After the war he joined the Yankees at age 21 and became one of its best and most beloved players. He deftly navigated the path among personalities as diverse as Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, and Whitey Ford, all of whom are his compatriots in baseball s Hall of Fame. Despite all the adulation, he never forgot his roots and remained a regular guy . He was humble and kind. Like Stan Musial, he countered Leo Durocher s claim, Nice guys finish last. I recall one game I attended at Yankee Stadium in 1961. I went down close to the field to see if I could get a better view of one of my heroes (Mickey Mantle, actually). Yogi walked by on his way to the batting cage, looked at me (although I was in the midst of perhaps 25 other boys), waved, and said Hi, kid. Wow!Here are some of his best quotes, not all of which may have actually been said by him. “If you don’t know where you are going, you might wind up someplace else.”“Why buy good luggage, you only use it when you travel.”“The towels were so thick there I could hardly close my suitcase.”“When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” Nobody goes there anymore, it s too crowded. “It gets late early out here.”“I don’t know (if they were male or female) fans running naked across the field). They had bags over their heads.”“Take it with a grin of salt.”“It ain’t the heat, it’s the humility.” In baseball, you don’t know nothing.”“We made too many wrong mistakes.”“So I’m ugly. I never saw anyone hit with his face.”“If the people don’t want to come out to the ballpark, nobody’s going to stop them.”“Baseball is 90 percent mental. The other half is physical.” He hits from both sides of the plate. He’s amphibious.”“I always thought that record would stand until it was broken.” It ain t over till it s over. “You should always go to other people’s funerals, otherwise, they won’t come to yours.” “It’s déjà vu all over again.”We love you, Yogi. You ve left two great legacies!He was Everyman, and he will be missed by many, whether they loved baseball or not. My favorite quote? It would have to be this one: I can t believe how many memories I ve forgotten. -- Yogi Berra, upon returning to his St. Louis childhood home. President Obama has decided to restore Mt. McKinley to its native name, Denali. The Alaska mountain is the USA s highest at about 20,237 feet (6,170 meters) above mean sea level. The State of Alaska requested this name change about 40 years ago and a dispute has existed since then.The name change has caused consternation among some, especially Ohio natives and the Ohio Congressional delegation in particular. President William McKinley, in whose honor the mountain was officially renamed in 1917 (unofficially in 1896), is a native son of Ohio. The original unofficial naming was apparently somewhat of a joke. So what s the solution? If Ohio thinks so much of President William McKinley, why not name its highest peak after him, not Alaska s? And what is Ohio s highest peak ? It s Campbell Hill, which towers 1,549 feet (472 meters) above mean sea level in north-central Ohio, north of Columbus in Bellefontaine. So is this a big letdown after Mt. McKinley in Alaska? Just look at some views of the new Mt. McKinley in Ohio: View more here. Awesome!Turns out the summit of the new Mt. McKinley os on private property. But Ohio would not be claiming the property itself - just the naming rights. If the Campbells complain, I m sure some accommodation can be reached. The new Mt. McKinley may not be as impressive as the Alaska mountain, but it will be a true people s mountain since so many will be able to access it. Think of the tourism aspect! And it s only a few hours from Indiana s highest point.Problem solved! You love to bash your city or state — but get really defensive when other people do it. Ohio might be like a drunk uncle, but it’s your drunk uncle, goddamn it. - Ohio saying Never thought I d give a shout-out to the New York Daily News but here is the NYDN s editorial about the Virginia journalists shootings and its front page, plus a cartoon from Bill Bramhall.You go, folks! How many Alisons is this going to happen to before we stop it? - Andy Parker, father. Glad to see that one of my hometown newspapers, the New York Post, is maintaining its journalistic standards. There can be no higher law in journalism than to tell the truth and to shame the devil. - Walter Lippmann The North Bennet Street School s Caddy Camps Reunion/Summit is fewer than four weeks away: 11 - 13 September 2015. It is open to all those who attended any of the NBSS caddy camps, not just those in New Hampshire. It will be held in the neighborhood of Bethlehem, NH, at the Maplewood Golf Course and Inn and Maplewood in the gorgeous White Mountains.Download NBSS_Caddy_Reunion_Newsletter_11-13_Sept2015 Note: The NBSS used to be known as the North Bennet Street Industrial School or NBSIS .There is a website - CaddyCamps.com - and Facebook page. Check each for timely information.A new wrinkle - an Ad Book will be distributed to all attendees and former campers who have paid their dues. Put an ad in the book honoring friends, relatives, or whatever! A full-page ad is $100 and a half-page ad is $60. All copy and payments are due by 1 September. Contact John Daly (john@dalyprinting.com). See the following forms for complete information: Download Ad Book Information Download Ad Book Application FormHere is some information recently posted on the Facebook page:Want to buy a brick?See you there! If you are caught on a golf course during a storm and are afraid of lightning, hold up a 1-iron. Not even God can hit a 1-iron. - Lee Trevino Tags: caddy camp, Maplewood Caddy Camp, New Hampshire, North Bennet Street School, reunion, shrine Great cartoon by Mike Luckovich at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.Regardless of your opinion of his presidency, you ll have to admit that since he left office, Jimmy Carter has entered the realm of a national treasure. He s bypassed golf courses and gazillion-dollar speaking fees before hedge fund managers to make the world a better place. We must adjust to changing times and still hold to unchanging principles. - Jimmy Carter On 4 April 2015 I posted on the planned North Bennet Street School s Caddy Camps Reunion/Summit, 11 - 13 September 2015. It is open to all those who attended any of the NBSS caddy camps, not just those in New Hampshire. It will be held in the neighborhood of Bethlehem, NH, at the Maplewood Golf Course and Inn and Maplewood in the gorgeous White Mountains.Download NBSS_Caddy_Reunion_Newsletter_11-13_Sept2015 Note: The NBSS used to be known as the North Bennet Street Industrial School or NBSIS .There is a website - CaddyCamps.com - and Facebook page. Check each for timely information.Here is some information recently posted on the Facebook page: Want to buy a brick? Hope to see you there! Now I think I m going down to the well tonight and I m going to drink till I get my fill And I hope when I get old I don t sit around thinking about it but I probably will Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture a little of the glory of, well time slips away and leaves you with nothing mister but boring stories of glory daysGlory days well they ll pass you by Glory days in the wink of a young girl s eye Glory days, glory days-- Glory Days, by Bruce Sprinsgteen These new ATMs should provide some relief to the beleaguered Greeks....Who is Katie Hopkins, you ask? Check for yourself. Looks like our plan to eat more Greek yogurt has not helped much. Η φτήνια τρώει τον παρά. - Greek proverb [English equivalent: If you buy cheaply, you pay dearly. ] University of Wyoming basketball player Larry Nance, Jr., tweeted this about Kobe Bryant and his rape accusation in 2012: In yesterday s NBA draft, guess which team selected Nance? Yes, Kobe Bryant s team, the Los Angeles Lakers. The Tweet has since been deleted, but not before attention was brought to its existence. The first practice could be interesting.Read about Twitter faux pas made by other NBA draftees. This is a lesson for all of us. When you are dead, you don t know you are dead; it is difficult only for others. It is the same when you are stupid. - Unknown From the pen of Chan Lowe.I like this idea. I must confess - my great-great grandfather M.A. Emerson was a member of the North Carolina Company K and fought for the Confederacy. You can’t claim to be a proud, patriotic American while you honor the flag of the largest treasonous uprising against this country in our history. - Allen Clifton Alex Rodriguez, arguably (?) the most vilified man in US professional sports (certainly in major league baseball) achieved another milestone in grand style yesterday - his 3,000th hit was a home run, just like Yankee hero Derek Jeter s a few years ago. Earlier in the week he knocked in his 2,000th run. Bud Selig, the recently-retired MLB commissioner, would be turning over in his grave were he dead. A-Rod is having a good year for a guy who turns 40 next month and missed all of last season under suspension: 14 home runs, 40 RBIs and a .283 batting average after today s game. He s no longer playing the field but serving as the Yankees DH. During spring training pundits were predicting a terrible year for Alex. He could no longer get around on the fastball and could not handle a major-league curve. Granted, he will slow down as the season progresses but I don t think many thought he d been hitting the way he is in mid-June. I know I didn t.The Yankee management must be (somewhat) pleasantly surprised. They did not think he could hit and wanted desperately for him to take the graceful way out and not come back for the 2015 season.Although I m not a big fan of A-Rod I m happy for him. The guy knows a bunch of people hate him and did so even before all the PED stuff - his reputation as a prima donna is legendary. Yet he s seemingly unfazed and in there swinging away and making contact. More power to the guy, and shame on the Yankee management for treating him like crap. It s so sad that he screwed things up and then lied about PEDs to boot. He was on his way to a Hall of Fame career even without the drugs. What a waste. I just don t see the light. Where is the light? What am I in this for? - Alex Rodriguez Few people know it but Oregon and New Jersey are the only two states in our union that forbid people from pumping their own gas. In all fairness, each has exceptions. Oregon has limited exceptions for commercial drivers and motorcyclists. In New Jersey, you can pump your own gas if you are a politician, know Governor Chris Christie, or are a member of the Mafia. That may soon change, folks. Oregon s moving into the latter quarter of the 20th centuryToday s Oregonian reports that our legislature passed a bill allowing us to pump our own gas in counties with fewer than 40,000 residents (half of our 36 counties) between the hours of 6 PM and 6 AM. The bill now goes to Governor Kate Brown for her (presumed) signature.One concern: in a state that just legalized marijuana, perhaps this is not a good idea. Today I voted for limited self-service gas in extremely rural areas late at night. Am I still a real Oregonian? - Sen. Sara Gelser, D-Corvallis Great humor from friend and colleague Ari Michelsen, who is a long way from doing this task.LIVING WILL FORM I, ____________, being of sound mind and body, do notwish to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means. Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands ofpinhead partisan politicians who couldn t passninth-grade biology if their lives depended on it,or lawyers/doctors/hospitals interested in simply running upthe bills.If a reasonable amount of time passes, and I fail toask for at least one of the following:______a Beer______a Margarita______a Bourbon and Water______a Bloody Mary______a Gin and Tonic / Vodka Tonic______a Glass of Chardonnay______a Steak______Lobster or crab legs______The remote control______ a bowl of ice cream ______The sports page______Sex______or Chocolate.It should be presumed that I won t ever get any better. When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct myappointed person and attending physicians to pull the plug,reel in the tubes, and call it a day. At this point, it is time to call the New Orleans Jazz FuneralBand to come do their thing at my funeral, and ask all of myfriends to raise their glasses to toast the good times wehave had. Signature: ________________________Date: _____________________ NOTE: I also hear that in Ireland they have a Nursing Home with aPub. The patients are happier, and they have a lot morevisitors. Some of them don t even need embalming when their timecomes. If anyone knows the name of this happy place, PLEASE pass it onto me! Bedre med en fugl i hånden enn ti på taket. - Norwegian proverb (Translation: Better to have one bird in hand than ten on the roof. ) When I finish as the host of Jeopardy! I m going to go up to Taft in central California. They have a small college there that teaches you about oil drilling. - Alex TrebekSome of you know that I have fond memories of my days as a caddy in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and on Cape Cod during the period 1958-1967.Here is a photo from a little reunion on Cape Cod two years ago. Here is notice of an impeding reunion in New Hampshire 13-15 September 2015. The wonderful reminiscence below is by Nicholas Nicky DiMasi, whom I remember from my early days as a caddy in NH. Nicky was a few years older than I, and I hope to see him in NH this September. I did not know The Sandbagger but I knew some golfers like him, like The Inventor . The SandbaggerbyNicholas DiMasi Some of you may know the meaning of the title of this piece, but if you have never played the sport of golf, you will not know the meaning. I want to share with you a story of how I came to learn the meaning of this word. From one of my past essays, you may recall that when I was thirteen years old, I left my home in the city to spend my summer at a caddy camp in New Hampshire. This caddy camp was affiliated with a rather large hotel called “The Maplewood” hotel, and it was located right in the middle of the White Mountains of New Hampshire, not far from the famous Mount Washington. This story takes place in the 1950s. It was the time when wealthy people from the New York City area used to take their whole family up to the mountains for summer vacation. The hotels were great resorts. They provided all your meals, all sorts of activities and sports to play, and had entertainment every night in the hotel theater. Every day, I would arrive at the golf links, and be assigned to caddy for one of the guests, or for one of the senior managers at the hotel. Now, in the first few weeks caddying, I wound up caddying a lot for the fellow who was the singer in the nightly show at the hotel. I did not like caddying for him, mainly because he was cheap. He never gave me a good tip, and often treated me in a rather condescending way. However, there was one thing that I admired about him, and that was that he was a really skilled golfer. He was great at driving the ball, and even better around the green. He rarely made a mistake in his game. Now comes the part of the story when I learned the meaning of “sandbagging”. You see, after weeks of caddying, I realized that the game of golf, even among amateurs, was not always played for the fun of it. It was often played for money. Many times, while I was being paid for caddying, I witnessed large piles of money being exchanged between the losers of the round and the winners of the round. The amount of money exchanging hands was eye-opening to a young boy like me. Often times, I would be one of the caddies in a foursome that included the singer that I mentioned earlier. He was playing in a round of golf with some of the wealthiest guests at the hotel. I knew this from the fact that they often gave me a big tip. Well, I was somewhat shocked to see this singer guy hit some awful shots in the early stages of the round. He would laugh it off, as he said he was having a bad day, but after the betting on the round got more expensive, since players were doubling- down on each hole, suddenly his game would improve tremendously. I quickly figured out what he was doing. He was purposely losing the beginning holes in order to make the guests think that he was just an average golfer, or even a hacker. Then he would take all their money in the back nine holes, while he laughed it off by saying he was lucky. He wasn’t lucky. He was setting them up for the kill, luring them in so to speak. What a scam he had. He was, as it is referred to in golf, a “sandbagger”. So, in conclusion, I want to let you know that I learned more than how to play golf as a caddy. I also learned, at this really young age, to be very careful in my dealings as I grew to adulthood. There are people in this world that will lure you into real danger, and to use a Yiddish word that my good friend Mike might enjoy, I learned not to be a “schlemiel”, as some of those guests were. Why don t I just say I m 67 today? Just wanted to express it the way my dear, departed Aunt Angela would ve done. In addition to a vintage CD of Bobby Goldsboro s Greatest Hits my wonderful older (by three years) sister Ellen sent me the hilarious card below. But instead of B.G. I ll take this tune any day. Mary Frances got me three novels - World Gone By by Dennis Lehane, Jazz Palace by Mary Morris, and The Volcano That Changed the World by James W. Mercer.She knows I love novels but always forget to get them. And I will even be able to read them because of a special gift...Such an auspicious day, too - got the regular Avastin injection in my right eye so the vision s okay for another 5-6 weeks. And I am so thankful for that! After all, it earned me a free espresso drink at Starbucks! My dear, congratulations upon entering your 40th year. - My late Aunt Angela, to my mother on the occasion of her 39th birthday I took this cartoon from Jerry Coyne s blog.Kudos to Garry Trudeau. If you have some time on your hands and want to see some comments by people with far too much time on their hands, read the comments to Jerry s post. I m incredulous. 1387 - two years before the Battle of Kosovo. “In taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy; but in passing it over, he is superior.” – Francis Bacon Found on a car at a UK store. Looks like the fashionistas have struck again.Read more here. We hear a great deal about the rudeness of the rising generation. I am an oldster myself and might be expected to take the oldsters side, but in fact I have been far more impressed by the bad manners of parents to children than by those of children to parents. - C.S. Lewis So what do you see when you go to carlyfiorina.org? Try this: You then scroll down past row after row of frowny faces till you reach the end: I doubt Ms. Fiorina does her own domain-name registration so I can t really call her out for failing to do so. But it does not reflect well upon her campaign, especially for someone who touts her business acumen. And here is what you get when you visit TedCruz.com: If you re not humble, life will visit humbleness upon you. - Mike Tyson, in the New York Observer, via The Week. No comment is necessary, except for How could they be so stupid and thoughtless? Read more here. Bud Light....the perfect beer for marketers about to lose their job. - Jeff Barrett Agua Para La Vida Alltop WaterAll the top water news in this 'online magazine rack' - yeah, WaterWired is listed. American Water Resources Association (AWRA) Ann Campana Judge Foundation Carpe Diem - Western Water and Climate Change Project Circle of BlueCircle of Blue uses journalism, scientific research, and conversations from around the world to bring the story of the global freshwater crisis to life. Here you’ll find new water reports, news headlines, and hear from leading scientists. Drink Water For LifeThe idea is simple. Drink water or other cheap beverages instead of expensive lattes, sodas, and bottled water for a set period of time. A day, a week, a month, Lent, Ramadan, Passover, or some other holiday period. eFlowNet NewsletterFrom the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) this newsletter has lots of information about environmental flows and related issues. El Porvenir FactCheck.org Flowing Streams Ministries Geological Society of America Geology Online: 105 Websites That Rock!The title says it all! WaterWired checks in at #68. Get Hydrology JobsGreat resource for job seekers. Give it a view! Global Science Gateway Global Voices OnlineAggregates, curates, and amplifies the global conversation online, highlighting people and places the media often ignore. H2OX2Safe and stylish alternatives to disposable water bottles. High Country News Institute for Water and Watersheds, Oregon State University International Association of Hydrogeologists (IAH) JAWRAThe Journal of the American Water Resources Association Lifewater International Living Water International Millennium Water Alliance National Drought Mitigation Center National Ground Water Association (NGWA) NPR - National Public Radio PBS - Public Broadcasting Service Safe Drinking Water Is Essential Save Darfur Southwest Hydrology Sustainable Water Resources RoundtableSince 2002, the Sustainable Water Resources Roundtable (SWRR) has brought together federal, state, corporate, non-profit and academic sectors to advance our understanding of the nation’s water resources and to develop tools for their sustainable management.

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