Those Russians

I entered this American world during a period of contention between the two primary nations who were arguing about who would be in charge of the post-WW2 western world. The funny that happened on the way to my early childhood was that American leaders were having about argument about who set the course for the rehabilitation and reconstruction of Europe. The Russians, commanded by Josef Stalin, were quite confident that it was their destiny to guide the recovering Europeans to a brave new world of communism. On the other hand, we Americans knew that it was our great post-war task to help the Europeans reconstruct, along paths of democratic and republican leadership. So there was this big worldwide controversy going on between us and the Russians, which was being acted out in the German lands where they were trying to rebuild that hitler and his third reich goons had turned into a disaster zone. Our President, Harry Truman, who had approved the use of the atom bomb in Japan, was doing the truly American thing. . . restoring peace and tranquility, everywhere he could, on both sides of the Atlantic. But on the other side of the Atlantic the Russians were getting all paranoid about us, because they thought we were out to get them. But we could care less about the Russians, because we were Americans, listening to daily news, watching America work itself back to peace an prosperity. But on the other side of the Atlantic, Stalin and his communist goons were trying to convert the ashes of Europe into a communist state, just like Karl Marx had predicted, about a century and half earlier. Conveniently enough, however, dictator Stalin died in 1953. Thank God! Then the Soviet politburo selected Nikita Kruschev to run the USSR. I have a childhood memory of a film clip of him standing at a podium somewhere blathering: “We will bury you!” Looking back on it, it’s like: Dude, what is your problem?! But they never did. Of course not. The Russians had some growing up to do. They had to learn how to evaluate their communist ways that their parents had left behind. It took them a while. They had to go through stages to get through their creepy, alienating ways of doing things. Berlin, the divided city in northeast Germany turned out to be their failed experiment in communist governance. President Kennedy had visited Berlin in the early ’60’s, when he rallied the west Berliners toward some capitalistic/democratic/republican considerations. He spoke to the Berliners; but he was also speaking to the wider world, when he said: “Let them come to Berlin!” thereby challenging the citizens of the world to go to Berlin, where they would see the difference between the Russian way of administering reconstruction and our American way of promoting liberty and justice for all. About 20 years later, President Reagan went to Berlin and launched, like star wars, the controversy to another level. He said: “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.” He was referring to the Berlin wall, but in a broader sense, he was implying: Tear down your communist bullsh**! Well, long story short, eventually the Russians got the message; they saw the writing on the wall; in perestroika, they began working toward a better system. After a while, a master technocrat bully, Vlad the Mad, wrestled control of the post-Soviet state. Under the guise of free market scenario, he opened the door for wise guys who knew how to manipulate to channels of power and wealth to take over and run the country. And he would supervise the evolution of communist bureaucracy to a kind of authoritarian hegemony, where the strong survive and prosper and everybody else learns to sink or swim in the brave new world of post-communist Putinism.

To be fair, I’ll mention that we Americans had a similar transition period, after the civil war. . . there was a time when the so-called robber barons were running the show of recovery from our post-civil war USA. Under Putin, the Russians are having their era of post-Soviet reconstruction and he seems to be opening the door for his robber baron buddies to assist him in running Russia. We shall see how that works. Maybe one day, Vlad the Mad will figure out that he doesn’t need to enslave the Ukrainians, where Russia began! . . . just to keep his fat ’n happy oligarchs running the show in Russia. And as Amos said to Andy, back in the day: “And I told him that!” Somebody needs to tell Vlad to lighten up. Smile, you’re on the world camera.Lighten up! Glass half-Full

Those Germans

I suppose it is my personal history that prompts this exploration of European history.Born Catholic, now Christian (alias protestant). With 75 years behind, I explore histories of what has happened in this world before I arrived in it. So I was pondering the Berlin crisis, a major European conflict. It started when the communist Russians, having secured northern Germany when the Allies defeated the third reich, divided Berlin, and built a wall through the city to keep their subjugated Germans from moving over to the western side of the town, the democratic/capitalist side of town, where they might escape Russian control. Venturing further into this topic, what I discerned was, this occupation of Germany was a very unusual development in history. It only happened because a cultified wildman took hold of the German state. The little dictator with the funny moustache was able to establish the third reich because they had gotten such a raw deal after the Versailles peace conference after the first big war of the 20th century. That raw deal, as far with the French were concerned, was a punishment that the Germans deserved after the near-total destruction of Europe after World War one, after the archduke of Austria had been shot in 1914. But the rest of the story, going back in time, is that those Germans were always a rebelious people, as compared to their European neighbors. I mean their restlessness had begun back in the 1500’s, when they divided Europe. They took it upon themselves to interpret the sacred scriptures for themselves, after Gutenberg invented the printing press and Luther was pointing out that the catholic superstate in Rome had not been getting the full message of the gospel distributed to common folk, because the Catholic church was too entangled in religion, cathedral-building, lifting golden chalices in grand cathedrals. . . instead of truly preaching the whole gospel. There was a lot more, you see, to that message of Jesus, assured by his Word and Resurrection . . . a lot more to it than rituals and cathedrals with awesome architecture that seemed to tower up to the heavens, especially if you were inside looking up. I mean, Luther and the Germans had a good point about religion. So. . . a rich German prince, educated enough to see what was really happening, and having wealth and resources enough to do something about it, protected Luther, defended him, and as the ire of the pope was getting hotter and hotter, the German strong man made a break, a permanant break in more ways than one. Long story short: out came what they called the Holy Roman Empire. So Frederick the Great became the first “Holy Roman Emperor”. Now, looking back on it, I think that newly-forged empire must have been what was later called the first reich. And the second reich must have been the one that the German princes, royals and electors established with German kaisers leading them from age to age. . . until Kaiser Wilhelm violated his sacred oaths in 1941 and started a world war because an Austrian archduke was shot in Sarajevo. And so. . . a few decades later, the the “third reich” was the one that hitler dragged into destruction when he launched his nazis and his luftwaffe and his clueless good germans into a third reich disaster that terminated in 1945. After that, the two strongest victors, Russia and the United States, still standing after world war two, divided Berlin. After that, the paranoid Russian communists, who had not yet figured out the fallacy of communism, divided Berlin, and allowed US Americans to take the western half and occupy it on behalf of the free world.

Thank you, Comrade Stalin, for liberating northern Germany from hitler’s third reich. We didn’t like your communism and your powermongering, but we appreciate it what your Russian soldiers did to stop the nazis and thereby provoked hitler into shooting himself in the head in Berlin. The last thing I remember, doc, we slid into Berlin, and the sound of a shot in Dallas in 1963. . . and President Reagan came in twenty years later and said: “Mister Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” And they did. The rest is history. The next thing I remember hearing about Germany was that the Beatles were singing in Hamburg. Talk about an improving state of affairs! Glass half-Full

Time

From that moment in 1963 when the school principal stepped into our seventh grade classroom. . . informing us of the assassination of President Kennedy, the tragedy of this life has lingered in the back of my mind. . . Our generation was insulated from real danger; we didn’t have to be shipped off to Europe, like many of our fathers did, to rid the world of nazi destruction, death and holocaust. Even so, the paranoia of our leaders re communist aggression provoked an over-reaction. So. . . many of us were shipped off to Vietnam to stop the communist insurgency. Eventually, our leaders decided that the effort was a waste of time, equipment and American lives. Long ago, the Psalmist left this observation: “The nations have fallen into a pit of their making; their feet are caught in the net they have hidden.” Things haven’t really changed much, except for the invention of the nuclear bomb. . . ‘nuff said about that. Be careful, all ye world leaders! Don’t do anything stupid. But I digress. On a brighter note, we know that this American experiment, lit up in 1776. has worked out very well for US for 250 years. Even so, there are tragedies that happen as we traipse through our history. . . lives lost in the Revolutionary war. . .slaves abused and slain before being emancipated by President Lincoln. . . lives lost in a civil war, lives lost as settlers moved westward, making war on native tribes, lives lost in world war one, lives lost in world war two, Korean war, Vietnam war, skirmishes during the cold war, even some Americans caught up in opposing war, desert storm, Afghanistan. . . And then there’s the toll taken by Time itself. We all have but one life to live on this earth. People are dying every day. . . in hospitals, in nursing homes, in accidents and. . . God only knows. . . Some of us know when our time on earth is ending, maybe if we’re laid up in a hospital bed with an advanced age, a mortal disease or injury. For others, the big chill happens when we least expect it, in an accident. . . One way or the other, it will happen to all of us. An ancient wise man wrote, while praying to the Creator, the Lord and Giver of Life. . . “Since his days are determined and the number of his months is with You, (Oh Lord) You have set limits that he cannot exceed” . . .

Like this tree, we sprout up, into a world of sunlight and fresh air, surrounded by other trees and critters, until, after fifty. . . or seventy years, the weak spots become holes in the plans that we made; meanwhile, all around us, the forest prospers. Birds sing, creatures traipse around us, even into us, exploring our inner parts for shelter. All around us the forest prospers, going on and on. We see our ancestors buried in the ground. . . leaves on the forest floor, turning into soil, turning into food for new saplings, and then. . . Time waits for no man. A bright mushroom pops up to add color to the dark forest floor. We won’t live to see it, but the other inhabitants of the forest will. Life goes on, and Time. . . Glass half-Full

Gold

From the earliest days of mankind, people were fascinated with the glint of gold, whenever it would be seen, while fording a stream, or walking along a rocky path. They would pick the gold up, nuggets, or gold dust. We’ve been fascinated by it since ancient times. The ancient literature informs us that the River Pishon flowed out of Eden, and people saw gold sparkling in the water. There was an attractive glow that compelled them to gather the precious metal and make use of it to brighten up precious stuff.

As gold was acquired by people, they would treasure it, gaze at it, wonder at the beautiful golden glow. The ancient people collected gold wherever thay found it. After awhile they figured out that they could heat it and make jewelry. Gold was closely associated with the precious union of man and wife, which produced little men and little women. Wedding rings must have been forged at about that time, and have been ever since. I have had a gold ring on my finger since 1980; I have never taken it off; it represents our marriage of 46 years, and the precious three humans who were created through our union. The ring is smaller than the knuckle that keeps it on my left hand finger. You could say that gold is just about the most precious thing on this earth, except for the love that it represents. Gold was treasured in ancient cultures, and has been ever since. The king of Babylon had a big golden statue of himself that he commanded the people to bow down to. The Egyptian pharoah included it in all kinds of precious places. Later, when the Hebrews had their Ark of the Covenant; the sacred Ark had gold cast onto its top; they also used gold in the tent of meeting, to brighten the holy place up. Later, when they had a temple, there was gold in all the utensils of sacrifice, and on the priests garment, to brighten their worship of the Creator of the Universe. Later in history, and throughout time. . .when things started to fall apart, gold often became booty whenever some people took control of a sacred place or a king’s palace. But gold has its limitations. Even though it is highly valued electrical conductor, it is mostly applied to other precious purposes.

Although gold is easily forged and made into precious objects, there’s only so much you can do with it, and it is so precious that the demand for it renders gold scarce. You don’t see much of it around. . . mostly on wedding rings, but sometimes on jewelry worn by rich folks. Even so, the story is told of an ancient rich guy, a good fellow, who endured a great loss when a lot of precious stuff was taken away form him; he had a terrible ordeal to endure. At the end of his ordeal, Job was really appreciating wisdom; but he said that wisdom could not be purchased, even with gold. Later, when Messiah was born, three kings from the east brought gold as gifts. That was nice; so I guess Mary and Joseph had some valuable assets for their provision while Jesus was growing up. Later, when Jesus sent his apostles out to spread the good news of salvation, he told them not to bother with carrying gold with them. Not necessary. Later after his resurrection and ascent into heaven, it was reported that Peter had told a crippled guy that he didn’t have any gold to give him, but he would give him a healing miracle so that the guy could walk. I’d say that being able to walk is more precious than gold, wouldn’t you? Even so, we discover in the Revelation that gold does have its place in the big picture. When this present world arrangement is blown away, the new heaven and earth will have streets of gold! So now we know the true purpose of gold. . . to pave the streets of the eternal kingdom of the Creator who created gold and all the other elements and all the folks who creep around looking for gold in them thar hills. . Glass half-Full

Ballad of Brett and Blasey

Many thanks to John Phillips and Michelle Philips of the the Mama’s and the Papas. who wrote this tune and recorded it 1991.I borrowed this tune for my song about the nomination of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, July 9, 2018. Lindsey and Mitchie were gettin’ kinda itchy just to leave the Judiciary behind. Chuck and his committee, working for a ditty, trying to get Brett’s nomination on time. On committee fence Jeff Flake sat, ‘cuz victims rantings knocked him flat, Lindsey and Mitchie still a’pushin’ forward in the Senate; you know where that’s at, and no one’s getting tweet ‘cept Blasey Ford. Lindsey said to Grassley, we need to go fastly, just to push this nomination on through. Let’s go fast! But Flake said to Grassley, we just can’t pass it until we surely know what to do.

On committee fence Jeff Flake sat, ‘cuz elevator tirades knocked him flat. Lindsey and Mitchey still a-pushin’ forward in the Senate; you know where that’s at and no one’s getting tweets ‘cept Blasey Ford. When Blasey was in high school accosted by a drunk fool . . . she said it was the nominee. Committee testifying: implied the nominee be lying, and stop his nomination immediately! ‘cuz he was drunk and crazy back in school days; he had accosted in a drunken haze. Lindsey and Mitchey, still a-pushin’ forward in the Senate; you know where that’s at, and no one’s getting tweets ‘cept Blasey Ford. Old school Senate rules, smart fools; America drools; the escalating hype is so strong. Tweet up Face up, everything is hype up, to make drama, and drama prolong. In a last minute surprise; Jeff proposed a compromise. Lindsey and Mitchey, still a-pushin’ forward in the Senate; you know where that’s at, and no one’s getting tweets ‘cept Blazey Ford. Ah, Broke, busted and Blasey can’t be trusted and Mitchie wants to go the floor. Diane can’t take it; she says she’ll have to shake it; We knew shed’d wanta shut that door. Slidin’ on procedures and rules: you know it’s low-ball, but politics is old school! Blasey’s ‘criminations and sad accusations can’t go on indefinitely, and Brett’s nomination is becoming a reality. Listen to the song: https://www.micahrowland.com/carey/Ballad-of-Brett-v-Blasey.mp3 Glass half-Full

BCAC

When I was a young man, young and foolish, founded upon a foundation of the Catholic faith, God was forming my life, personality, talents, potentialities. . . allowing me a taste of life’s pleasures, making out with girlfriend on the sofa, sipping beer with buddies on Friday night, cruising around town, catching tunes on the radio, then expanding my horizon with studies at university, experimenting with pot and hallucigens, philosophy, coitus and temporary love, with no obligation, no responsibility, no children. Then along came stage 2, moving far away, not being watched by old family and friends, wandering far, far away from the religion of my youth. . . sitting at the bar, ogling topless girls. After a season, I settled down with one gal, whose influence was educational, but destructive. She led me to an old lady, said to be wise, who turned us on to some ancient mysteries that had been revealed, or so they said, by a madame blavatsky, as written in some old book, the secret doctrine, which was an occult regurgitation of ancient stuff in Asia, long ago. My relationship with these people evaporated very soon, and I went on to live life in a new way, as if I were born again. Even though the chief occultist had gone down to earth, looking for some some souls to steal, he did not get a hold on me. Strung out between a rock and a hard place, I drove down Texas and had an encounter with the Lord of Universe. . . you know, the One who created us, about the same time that he created the earth. It was a little bit like a stairway to heaven, like the one that Jacob saw, a long time ago, and then Nathanael, Jesus’s disciple, caught a glimpse of, while he was traipsing around with the first apostles.

I was born again—into a new life—it was about 1977. Not long thereafter, I met my true life companion and married her in 1980. Since that time we have lived a prosperous life, fulfilling the destiny that the Lord had set out for us, which including raising a son and two daughters. Praise Go! As the years went by, we were educated and sanctified by the faith that Jesus Moses, the prophets, and Jesus had established. . . including the assurance that when I am resurrected from this life, after 75 years or more, I will be eternally, in a better place. One last, curious detail: There was a period of time when we were traveling in China, because our son had a job there. In one leg of our journey there, near Chung Du, I happened to be in a graveyard. I noticed a gravestone with a swastika carved into the inscription. All that to say. . . that crooked cross, the the one hitler and his gang of nazi thugs had appropriated for their disastrous third reich war, destruction, holocaust, and ultimately demise, like a shot in the head in a Berlin bunker. . . that crooked cross is no more than a meme in time compared to the one on Calvary, where our Lord and Savior demonstrated for all mankind, and for all time, that Life goes on after death, and if you go with Him you will live in eternity with Him, or. . . just be laid in the cold, cold ground somewhere. Just sayin’. You can believe or not; it’s up to you. Glass half-Full

Mast Esso

In 1903, founded the Ford Motor Company. Some brave driver drove acoss the USA from coast to coast, a trip that took 65 days. In 1908, Ford Motor Company introduced the Model T. Becoming aware of the motor car popularity, investors formed General Motors Corp. By 1913, with the demand for motor cars sparking Henry Ford’s productive instincts, he pioneered new assembly line techniques in the Ford factory. Americans got in the habit of driving cars and trucks all over the country. Gas stations were established on strategic roads, street corners and highways. In 1942, Standard Oil of New Jersey constructed an oil refinery in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, on the east bank of the Mississippi River.

After a period of my early youth in Jackson, Mississippi, my parents moved us back to their hometown, Baton Rouge in 1963. As it happened, we occupied an old house that my mother had lived in back in her youth, located two blocks from the Standard Oil refinery. My teen years were spent living in that old house, just a stone’s throw from the Esso refinery. It seemed that the people of north Baton Rouge grew up in the shadow of that gargantuan oil refinery. My dad once told me that, back in the day, there wasn’t a valve wheel turned in the Esso plant unless “Red” Rowland, my grandfather, gave the order to turn it. Louisiana Governor Huey Long turned the wheels of politics to get Louisiana State University built in Baton Rouge, on the east side of the river , a few miles downriver from the Esso refinery. Now, in 2026, fifty-three years after my graduation from LSU, My daughter and I wander, on a Saturday afternoon, through grassy fields and overhanging trees, on the bank of the Watauga River, in the small Appalachian community of Valle Crucis, North Carolina, about a 20 minute drive from where Pat and I live in Boone. Our walk ends at the Mast Country Store, an historic landmark that has been preserved, and is still operated by the present owners, John and Faye Cooper, who purchased it in1979. They have maintained that ole-style country store. They operate it authentically, as it was back in the days of the ole country stores. An ancient US Post Office is inside on the left when you walk in. Just pass that, you can grab a Coca-Cola, ice-cold, from the old cooler. The old wooden f/oors are creaky. But hey, look at this, ma! Can I have one of those? Maybe a BabyRuth bar, or some bubble gum. Maybe you’ll get luck and get a Babe Ruth card! You can get anything you want there, just amble past the local honey, with the comb still in the jars. . . local history books, precious mementos from long ago. You can see pictures of old products on the walls. . . Chesterfield cigarette packets, Lucky Strike. It’s like stepping into the past, like Dorothy waking up in Oz and being told: “You’re not in Kansas anymore!”. . . well maybe a small community store out there on the prairie??

Kim, a tarheel photojournalist trained at the University of North Carolina, snapped this an image on her iphone for me. It represents days of a time long, long ago. . .

. . . when local grocers sold their goods independently of chain stores, operating as a true country store; they offered for purchase just about anything that a rural family might need. . .grits and groceries, dry goods, canned fruits and vegetables, local produce, work-clothes, jeans, and lots of thing that you wouln’t even think of until caught sight of them. . . motor oil. After your visit, maybe Mr. Mast will pump your tank full of Esso gasoline, maybe check you oil stick. You can see here that the gasoline was provided by Esso, the Standard Oil Company, maybe all the way from that Esso plant where my grandfather spun the valves. Seeing that old Esso logo brought to my memory the Esso plant in Baton Rouge. Who knows, maybe the gas that was pumped there, back in the day, had been pumped into a tanker through a valve that my grandfather opened. Who knows how many miles American drivers have driven since Henry Ford sent his Model T’s out of the factory? And who knows how many carbon emissions have ascended into our atmosphere while we drive from coast to coast and everywhere in between? Where’s Al Gore when you need him? Glass half-Full