Don't We Look Different Today!

Jack’s Potpourri looks a little different today, doesn’t it?  I think the bookshelf background looks kind of neat.  Anyway, an explanation of sorts is in order.  

I came across another blog the other day which, like Jack’s Potpourri, was developed using Google’s Blogspot technology.  It appeared that this other blog, which centered on voicing a liberal Democratic political outlook, has been in existence about five months, but most significantly, it uses the same Blogspot template as Jack’s Potpourri has been using since 2009, and is maintained by a resident of the same community in which I reside.  Blogspot offers 33 different “appearance” options for blogs using its technology, but the author of that particular blog chose to look exactly like Jack’s Potpourri. It may be just a coincidence, but I take it as a compliment.  Oddly enough, that blog’s author used to be on Jack’s Potpourri’s “Blog Alert Update Email” list, but is one of the few recipients who has requested to be removed from that list.  So, I decided to change the appearance of Jack’s Potpourri.  The old look was getting a little stale. Hope you like it.

By the way, the alligator pictured above is the blog's new mascot. This picture of him taken in the canal behind my house is from a few years ago, but he's still around.  Critics of this blog should be aware that our mascot stands ready to rise (or crawl) to the defense of whatever is published in it.  I have figured out how to change the picture up top on the blog and will be doing so periodically, but fear not, the alligator will still be on guard against critics.

One last reminder.  When you have a chance, take a look at our sister site, www.politicaldrek.com.
JL
                                          
                                   

Report From The Crusader:

A few months ago, I described my role as a “crusader.”  At this time, I’d like to report on the progress of the four “crusades” in which I have found myself involved during the past year.

                              

Three of them concerned the homeowners’ community in which I reside, and if you don’t care about that, go ahead and jump two paragraphs down.  But those of you who don’t live in such a community or in a condominium are missing out on one of the great experiences of modern day living.  It isn’t enough that we have federal, state, county, municipal and perhaps other levels of real government to deal with.  Homeowners’ communities insert another layer, one closer to the individual than any of the aforementioned ones.  They tax (or assess), in order to maintain the community, and promulgate rules, and rules, and more rules.

These three areas that my crusades have involved concerned more frequent cleaning of the sidewalks, unfair event ticketing procedures relating to single, widowed and divorced residents and finally, the purchase of new furniture for the community’s pool area.  All of my crusades involved the extensive use of Email and web site message boards.  I succeeded in moving up the sidewalk cleaning schedule and was instrumental in enabling single residents to bring a guest without a charge to free events where that was supposedly not possible, although married residents paying the same monthly “maintenance” charges faced no such impediment.  Unfortunately, I didn’t succeed in regard to the pool furniture because the dollar amount involved was significant and a recalcitrant vendor was involved.  That crusade was over my head.

                                         

I am continuing my crusade against Classical South Florida, however, which purchased local public radio station WXEL last year, converted it to a 100% classical music station and in effect got rid of National Public Radio non-musical programming, and locally oriented programs for most Palm Beach County residents.  Their new designation, WPBI, is now up for license renewal and I have a solid complaint pending with the Federal Communications Commission.  It may take years to come to fruition, but I suspect this crusade will succeed.  At a minimum, WPBI should be fined based on my complaint, and maybe even be moved to bring All Things Considered and Morning Edition back to Palm Beach County on a listenable-at-home local frequency.  And that’s the latest news from the Crusader!
Jack Lippman

                                    

Political Drek:

The other day I was paying the check by credit card at the cash register of a local restaurant.  I asked the clerk, a young man in his early twenties, what the tax was so that I could figure how much to add for a tip.  (I usually triple the tax, resulting in an 18% tip.)  Smiling at me, he said, “Sure, the amount going to President Obama is $1.68.”  I immediately corrected him, pointing out that the sales tax is a state, and not a federal tax, and if he wanted to label it as going to a politician, Florida Governor Rick Scott was someone more appropriate to name. 

“Gee,” he said. “Everyone seems to dislike Governor Scott, but isn’t it funny that, despite this, he was elected Governor!” "Won't happen again," I retorted.  I then asked the young man whom he liked for the Presidency and he indicated that while his mind was still open, he liked Ron Paul a lot.  Not being able to recognize that sales taxes are state, and not federal, taxes is typical of the level of intelligence of many of Paul’s young supporters.

                           

President Obama, to whom your local sales taxes don't go, Rick Scott, where your local sales taxes do go ... or at least to the State he governs, and Ron Paul, the choice of those who don't know the difference about this and almost anything else.

Note that this position, attacking Ron Paul's supporters, is not in sync with Democratic Party strategy, which would prefer anyone but Romney as their opponent in the Presidential election.  Hence, their barbs are directed at Mitt, and at no one else.  But I personally feel that any G.O.P. candidate other than Romney would be a very risky bet for the country to make.  I still support Barack Obama, but should he lose, Mitt Romney is a far better choice than any of the others.  I call 'em like I see 'em. 

And while on this subject, let me quote from a very recent column by Charles Krauthammer, a conservative columnist, concerning those in the G.O.P. race in New Hampshire.

   "Mr. Gingrich speaks of aligning himself with Mr. Santorum against Mr. Romney.  For Newt's campaign, this makes absolutely no strategic sense.  Except that Mr. Gingrich is after vengeance, not victory.  Ahab is loose in New Hampshire, stalking his great white Mitt.

      What a lineup.  Messrs. Santorum and Gingrich go after Mr. Romney, whose unspoken ally is Rep. Paul, who needs to fight off Mr. Santorum in order to emerge as both No. 1 challenger and Republican kingmaker, leader of a movement demanding respect, attention and concessions.  And John Huntsman goes after everybody."

Wow!   Ya can't tell the players without a scorecard! (If you're interested, Krauthammer actually seems to prefer Santorum to the rest ... but that is this week.)

JL

    
                                                       

                                                                  

                    

Most readers of this blog are alerted by Email every time a new posting appears.  If you wish to be added to that Email list, just let me know by contacting me at Riart1@aol.com.  Also, be aware that www.Jackspotpourri.com is now available on your mobile devices in a modified, easy-to-read, format.

 

                                                        

To send this posting to a friend, or enemy for that matter, whom you think might be interested in it, just click on the envelope with the arrow on the "Comments" line directly below.

 

Iowa Caucus and a Scary (?) Short Story

During the past seven days, 114 viewers looked in on Jack’s Potpourri.  The breakdown by country of these viewers included 60 from the United States, 29 from Russia, 15 from Germany, 3 from Japan, 2 from Canada and one each from China, Denmark, France, Latvia and Vietnam.  Don’t ask me why we are getting so many foreign hits.  They usually result from someone doing a Google Search and finding something having to do with their search on this site.   

Today’s postings feature a short piece which appeared on www.politicaldrek.com yesterday and a 2004 short story I have dug out of my archives.  Let me know if you enjoy it.

                                                        

                                              * * * * * *

January 4, 2012:  A Day After Iowa - By the narrowest of margins, Mitt Romney edged out Rick Santorum in the Iowa Republican caucus, with Ron Paul rounding out the top three finishers.  The problem for the likely Republican nominee, Mitt Romney, is that over 70% of Republican voters, in poll after poll, prefer someone else, someone more conservative, someone less likely to compromise “conservative” values.  Thus far, this 70% has been divided among several candidates.  One, Michelle Bachmann, dropped out today.  Expect Rick Perry to follow by the end of the month as well as Jon Huntsman.  This will leave those Republicans who just don’t like Romney with the choice, when the pollster calls, of either Ron Paul, Rick Santorum or Newt Gingrich.  

A thinking Republican conservative, and there are some, knows that Paul, Gingrich and possibly Santorum are unelectable in a general election.  Paul’s ideology is anathema to most Americans and Newt Gingrich doesn’t have their trust.  Eventually, Gingrich will drop out.  Paul will not, however, and it is not inconceivable that he will run a third party libertarian campaign.  Santorum’s ideological fixation on family values and his extreme anti-abortion posture hurt him, but his ideas are not written in stone as are Paul’s.  

The first primary, or national poll, where Mitt Romney must run against only one other candidate would prove whether more than 30% of the G.O.P will support him.  Unfortunately we may not get that opportunity, even after Perry and Gingrich throw in the towel, leaving only Romney, Santorum and Paul in the race, because the latter two are in it for the long haul.   

Comparing them in a three-way contest, via polls or primaries, however, it is likely that Paul will get his solid 25% approval by Republicans and Romney his 30%, leaving the rest of the conservatives supporting Rick Santorum with 45%.  If, despite these numbers, the convention still gives the nomination to Mitt Romney as the only electable candidate, this will still leave 70% of the G,O.P. unhappy, susceptible to a third party run by Ron Paul or perhaps just staying home on Election Day.

The Republicans can solve this problem in one of three ways.  First, Mitt Romney can suddenly become more conservative.  This will not help him in the general election but it will bolster his support in his own party.  This won’t happen.  A more likely alternative would be for Romney to choose a solidly conservative Vice-Presidential candidate such as Santorum or even Michelle Bachmann to keep the conservatives from straying.  A third possibility would be a new candidate coming up at the last minute.  I doubt this will happen since the likes of Chris Christie or Mike Bloomberg lack adequate conservative credentials.  I predict the G.O.P. will nominate Romney who will select Santorum as his running mate.  Remember this.  You read it here on January 4.

                                                               * * * * *

                                                                  Two

When Russ turned the corner, making a right off of McKinley Avenue onto Oak Street, he blinked his eyes for a second.  Had he made the wrong turn?  The third house on the left was where his house should have been, but it wasn’t there.  The neighbors’ houses all were there alright, but where his house should have been was a fenced-in brick structure.  He pulled up in front of it and looked at the sign on the fence. “Keep Out – City Water District Pumping Station Number Four – Built 1999,” it read.   Reaching for his cell phone, he punched in his wife’s number several times, but each effort was cut off by a metallic voice saying, “the number you dialed in not available at this time.”  Putting the phone down, he slowly drove off, circling the block a few times.  Everything was as it was when he had gone to work that morning; all the trees and houses looked the same, but his house was gone. 

Deciding to drive back to the center of town to his haberdashery shop, he thought he might sit down and think it out.  It probably was a dream which he was in the midst of, or some kind of hallucination.  There had to be an explanation.                               

                                          
                                         

                                         

When Russ got to the store, or more correctly to where the store he had left twenty minutes earlier should have been, it wasn’t there.  Between the Children’s Shoe Emporium and the Chiropractic office, where Russ’ Dapper Dan Shop had stood for the past twenty years, was a Starbucks Coffee shop.   It hadn’t been there a half an hour ago.

Getting out of his car, Russ cautiously walked along the sidewalk.  He looked into the shoe store and the Starbucks, but didn’t recognize any of the help there.  The Chiropractic office was closed.  Finally, he went into the Starbucks and quietly asked the girl behind the counter, “Miss, do you know of any men’s clothing store around here?”

                                

“No sir,” she replied.  “There’s a couple out at the mall but I don’t think there are any in town.”

A woman, seated at a table, looked up at him.  “Mister, she’s too young to remember, but there used to be one right here, about five years ago, right where this Starbucks is.”

“Thank you,” Russ said and walked back to his car.  This dream, he thought, had gone on long enough.  He had to do something.  He thought about going to the police but decided on the Emergency Room of the hospital instead. 

“Yes, sir,” the nurse at the Emergency Room addressed him.  “Can I help you”?  

He didn’t know quite how to explain what his problem was, but he blurted it out as best he could.

“Miss, I need to see a doctor.  I seem to be living in a dream or hallucinating, or something, but since I went to work this morning, my house has disappeared, my store has disappeared, and I seem to have lost five or six years of my life.”

“Have you been drinking or using drugs,”? the nurse asked.

“Neither,” he responded.  An idea struck him.  While he might be hallucinating, the nurse wasn’t.  “Here,” he said, taking his wallet out of his pocket.  Please call my wife. I couldn’t reach her on my cell phone, but maybe you can.”

The nurse examined the identification in the wallet, took his phone number and dialed it.   She turned away from him so he could not hear the conversation. When she got off of the phone, she turned to Russ, looking at him peculiarly, and said, “I spoke to your wife and she didn’t quite understand what I was talking about.  It seems you were sitting at the table at the very moment I called, eating dinner.  I asked to speak to you, and you got on the phone.  The voice sounded just like yours, incidentally, and you were a little annoyed about being disturbed, since you had just gotten home from a hard day at work.  Is this some kind of joke, or something”?

“No it isn’t, but where did whomever you spoke to say he worked,” Russ asked.

“At his store, Dapper Dan’s.  Incidentally, I know the store pretty well.  I bought my husband and my father their Father’s Day gifts there the other day.  It’s a nice store.” 

Russ held his head in his hands.  He was getting a headache.  Could it be that his body had split into two separate, but identical people, about five years ago, and one, the one eating dinner with his wife at that very moment, was continuing to lead a normal existence, but the other, himself, had been put into some sort of state of suspension, where he had remained until earlier that afternoon, when through some cosmic mistake, he had come back to a world where he did not belong, and would not belong, until his other self no longer existed.  That could be the only explanation.  This was the stuff, he thought, that science fiction was made of, but it was happening to him.  He couldn’t tell the nurse about it, of course. If he did, she would think he was crazy and he would never have the opportunity to replace his other self and resume a normal life.

His quickly-devised plan was to murder his other self, dispose of the body, and resume his rightful life with his wife and business.   How to do it, however, was another question, however, since he couldn’t get to the house or the store.  They existed, alright, but in a world of which he was no longer a component.  But the nurse, he thought, might be a bridge between both worlds, just as she had been over the telephone.

“Miss, I feel a lot better, so if you don’t mind, I’ll leave now.  But, could you do me one favor?  Ask the man you just spoke to on the phone to stop by the Emergency Room.  When he does, just give him these.  Russ took some photographs of his family from his wallet.  Tell them they were turned in to the Hospital’s “Lost and Found” desk.”

The nurse, eager to get rid of Russ, who appeared to be just another of the many screwballs who wander into Emergency Rooms, quickly assented.

                                    *                            *                        *

The next evening, Russ saw his other self striding up to the Emergency Room entrance.  He was crouching behind some thick hedges where he had positioned himself for the entire day with a loaded pistol in his hand.  A few minutes later, as his other self left, Russ aimed and squeezed the trigger.  The silencer on the gun muffled the shot.  He quickly dragged the body into the bushes and to his car.  He drove off and disposed of the body in a quarry where it probably never would be found.  He then drove home.  

This time, when Russ turned the corner, making a right off of McKinley Avenue onto Oak Street, his house was there, right where it was supposed to be, and his wife was on the porch waving at him.   She had no way of knowing that he was a murderer, or was he?

Jack Lippman

                                                       ***   ***   ***                

                    

Most readers of this blog are alerted by Email every time a new posting appears.  If you wish to be added to that Email list, just let me know by contacting me at Riart1@aol.com.  Also, be aware that www.Jackspotpourri.com is now available on your mobile devices in a modified, easy-to-read, format.

                                                      ***   ***   ***

To send this posting to a friend, or enemy for that matter, whom you think might be interested in it, just click on the envelope with the arrow right below the  dotted line at the very bottom of this posting.

Two Short Stories, Nigeria and Betsy Ross

Happy New Year Everyone.  Today's posting starts with two short stories about the hereafter.  Then, there a piece about the Christmas church bombings in Nigeria and the American Flag.  While Sid and Harvey have been generous with their contributions of stories and poetry over the past year, I earnestly ask our other readers to submit their contributions.  It all gets published (unless it's libelous or pornographic).  You're talented.  It's time to show it off!

                                                      ***   ***   ***

THREE PEOPLE YOU’LL MEET IN HEAVEN

Sid Bolotin

(Recently I watched a movie on the Shalom TV network via Comcast ON Demand.

The movie “All I’ve Got” is about a seventy five year old grandmother who’s just died, is about to enter the Hereafter, and is offered the option of becoming twenty three again to spend eternity with her then boyfriend who died in a car crash fifty years ago. The caveat is that she would have to give up all memory of her husband, children, grandchildren. Here is my

similar-themed story that I created for a writing class that I attended back in 2004.)

                                                                 

                                                                   

                                                                  * * *

                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

“Three people you meet in heaven” was the assignment given out in my writing class. What

3-people? Is there a heaven? If I suppose that there is, whom would I want to meet? Father I never knew? Mother? My own original ancestor at the dawn of time? Leonardo DaVinci? Ben Franklin? Some person whose life I touched? Looking back, there have been hundreds, if not thousands of contacts and influences…

The last thing that I remember is lunging for the wide, crosscourt tennis shot that Lou smashed toward me. Well, not really the lunge, but the stabbing pain in my heart as I lunged and then nothing till now.

Where is now? I wondered. A forest surrounded me as I stood at the shore of a lake that seemed strangely familiar.

As I walked first left and then right, I came upon an old man with a fishing pole in his hand who was staring at me with that familiar, toothy grin, like Teddy Roosevelt’s.

“Zaydah?” I asked. “Is that you?”

“Of course it is,” he chuckled. “Who’d you expect? Moses? This is my heaven…my lovely lakes, my fishing, my memories of you at my side.”

“Why am I here?” I asked.

“Because of how happy you made me as a child. Your visits helped to ease the pain of your father’s sudden death. He was my only son, and it was only a few years since he escaped Russian servitude by coming to America. He loved your mother and adored you. Teaching you about fishing, farming, raising chickens, worm farming softened my agony of losing him. The summers you lived with me in Plymouth, MA were like heaven to me, and so here I am.”

The scene shifted from the bright, sunlit lake to a dimly lit shed-like structure with a dirt floor. A single, low wattage bulb dangled from the exposed wooden rafters and cast an eerie glow over the vintage car that straddled a pit dug in the floor beneath it. As I strained to see, I suddenly realized that it was my 1955 Volkswagen Beetle, and that there was a man in the pit holding a trouble light.

“Jim? Jim?” I called out. “My God, is that really you?”

“Yup, sure is.” the familiar drawl floated up from the pit’s darkness. “You remember this, don’t you? When we became friends at General Electric where you were in The Apprentice-training Program, we bonded so well that you became like a younger brother. I loved your interest in theology, philosophy, and cars. We shared so many hours together that after my sudden heart attack at 39, I asked for a heaven that replicated those happy times. So, God was very kind. He set me up here in my old garage with your Volkswagen to putter with…as well as my old Saab. Moreover He’s arranged for this place to become a hangout for some of the greatest spiritual teachers…Moses, Plato, Meister Eckert, etc. They drop in now-and-again like at Socrates’ meeting place in ancient Rome. You touched a lot of people, Sid. I’m here because of you.”

As I pondered Jim’s words about my touching many lives, the garage faded, dissolved, and I found myself in a swirling mist. As I strained to see into the opaqueness, two figures took shape, and I gasped, “Mom? Dad? Is that you?”

Smiling gently at me they said in unison, “Yes, our darling. It’s truly us. We learned of your arrival and asked to be one of your three greeters. It’s wonderful to see you again. Of course our age differences are awkward as you can see.”

I was flabbergasted to realize that they were each being presented at their ages at death…dad at 27, and mom at 72.  “Don’t you find it awkward to be 27 and 72?” I blurted out in my stunned amazement. “Are you sharing a mutual heaven, or are you each in your own, like Zaydah and Jim?”

“Sadly, we’ve each been in our own.” My mother answered softly. “But now that’s all going to change. We’ve asked for a special consideration to share this with you…if you’re willing.”

“Willing? Willing for what?” I asked. “I don’t understand. How can we share?”

“Well,” my father continued. “We’ve all been so unhappy since my untimely death, and mom and I loved each other so deeply, that we’ve proposed to God that we three be given another go at it by living here in heaven as a family once again. He’s agreed on condition that you agree to it. You and mom would regress to your ages at my death. She’s willing; but, are you willing to go back to being 22-months old?”

“What are my options? What will my heaven be like if I don’t?”

“That’s the rub, Sid,” he chuckled. “You have to decide without knowing. This is another one of God’s quirky conditions about His heaven.”

“So God is asking me to buy a pig-in-a-poke,” I muttered. “A heaven based on my 71-years of being a son, husband, father, grandfather, and basically a good human being versus going back in time to when we three lived idyllically…or so mother always told me. He sure likes to play with humans as if they were His personal toys. I truly don’t know how to make the decision.”

As I stood pondering what I saw as God’s malicious humor, I felt a jolt, saw the mist fading, and heard shouting:

 “The defib worked! It worked!”

“ Thank God!”

“ No, no let him lie there. Just keep him warm ‘till the EMT’s get here.” 

                                              ***   ***   ***

Nice story, huh?  Well, I was in that same writing group with Sid and I well remember the assignment.  It was based on the late Mitch Albom's novel "The Five People You Meet in Heaven."  If you liked Sid's story, go get the book and read it.  Here, just to complete things, is the story I wrote for that assignment.
                        
                                                            * * *  

                                                           Choices

                                                

                                                        Jack Lippman

“You think we know what is going on back there, don’t you?  I bet you imagine we spend our time looking down at what’s happening, right?  Well, you’re wrong”!

I looked at him and tried to figure out what to say next, but words came out of my mouth automatically, without my even thinking them out.

“You mean that when you die and go to heaven, you get don’t get the ability to look back on people back down there who are still alive”?, I heard myself asking incredulously.

“That’s correct,” he replied, lighting a cigarette and placing it in a holder.  “Yes, we all die sooner or later, but once we do, we don’t have any more information about the who, the what, the when and the where of what’s going on back there than we did when we were alive.  Only the Big Guy knows the score, and frankly, none of us gets to see him.  In fact, I don’t even know where he hangs out up here.  Actually, we look forward to running into someone like you who just got here, so you can let us in on what’s been going on back on Earth.”

I looked at his face carefully.  He looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t quite place him.  I was sure that some divine plan had resulted in my running into him when I showed up in heaven. 

“Do I know you from somewhere”?  I asked.  “I mean are you someone who I should remember from when I was alive?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve been hanging around just inside the Gates for a couple of weeks, or months or years … I forget how long, not that time makes any difference up here … seeing if I could grab someone to talk to who was just coming up, and you were the first one who ever bothered to come over when I waved.  I guess the others were too confused about suddenly being dead and all that.  I really appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.  But let me introduce myself.  I’m Franklin Delano Roosevelt.  I was elected President of the United States four times, saved the country from going down the tubes and if Harry Truman turned out to have half the brains I thought he had, I probably led the United States to victory in the Second World War as well.  I died before I could finish the job, though.  I’ve been looking for Harry up here, but I’ve never been able to find him, or anybody else who died since I did for that matter, until you were nice enough to stop and talk with me.”

I straightened up, coming to what I remembered from my Army days as the position of attention, and replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. President.  I never expected to have the pleasure.”

“Thank you,” FDR replied.  “But can you fill me in on what happened since I passed away.?  Last thing I remember is a terrible headache.  We lose track of time up here.  How long has it been, and what has happened since.  You’ll have to do it fast, though. because we’re really not supposed to talk to newcomers like you.  If the Big Guy catches us, there may be a problem.”

I took a deep breath and started talking.  “Mr. President, let me fill you in generally, and if you want me to get more specific on anything, just interrupt, okay?”

FDR nodded.  “That will be fine. You know, come to think about it, the Big Guy has to know we’re having this conversation, so it must be okay with him.  So start talking before he changes his mind”!

“Well, when you died of a stroke, everyone in the world mourned your passing. They buried you in Hyde Park, and ultimately, Eleanor and Fala were buried next to you.”

“That’s nice,” FDR smiled.

“We won the war, but Truman had to drop a couple of atom bombs on Japan to get it done quickly.  You knew about the bombs, of course.”

FDR nodded.  “How long ago was that?  What’s happened since then?”

“Well, that was in 1945, and I died early in 2005, so it has been sixty years since the war ended.”

Roosevelt sucked deeply on his cigarette holder and looked at me.  “Did the world remain at peace?”

“Sort of,” I responded.  There have been small wars all over the place over the years.  Mostly offshoots of our ”cold” war with Russia.   We had a stand-off situation with the Communists which never quite resulted in a “hot” war.  We did end up fighting their surrogates and lost 45,000 men in Vietnam.  But that’s all history now.”

“I never trusted Stalin, or any of them.  I suppose he had an atomic bomb too, and I can see that’s what caused the stand-off.  But what’s this Vietnam place,?” he asked.

“French Indo-China,” I responded.

“I bet the Frogs pulled out, and left us to solve the problem, right?  I never trusted DeGaulle either.”

“You got it, Mr. President,” I answered.

“But how is the country doing?  Who’s President now,”? he asked.

“Well,” I continued.  The President now is a Republican named George W. Bush.  He just got elected to a second term.”

Roosevelt stroked his chin. “Bush,?” he mumbled.  “From Connecticut, maybe? I knew a Prescott Bush, a blue-nose Wall Street Yale Republican from Greenwich.  Nice guy though.  Helped me in the war.  Ran the USO for a while.”

“Yes.  I believe the President is his grandson.  His father, Prescott’s son, also was President for a term.”

“From what you are saying, son, it looks like the same crowd which we threw out in 1932 is back again.  Have they gotten rid of the New Deal?”

“They’re trying, Mr. President.  They’re trying very hard.”

His eyes twinkled.  “Tell me more, please.”

“Well, they’re screwing around with Social Security and Medicare for one thing, and they’re running up deficits like you can’t imagine.”

“Republican bastards,” FDR mumbled.  “What’s Medicare?”

“Health insurance for retirees on Social Security,” I explained.

“Great,” FDR chuckled.  “I had that in the back of my mind.  Glad to see that it happened.  I certainly hope they don’t mess it up too badly.  But look, I’ve been asking you a lot of questions.  The Big Guy won’t let this conversation go on forever, so go ahead, ask me something, if you want to.”

“Okay, Mr. President,” I continued, taking a deep breath. “Remember during the war when Albert Einstein, Bernard Baruch and some others were telling you about what Hitler was doing to the Jews in Europe?  By the way, Mr. President, Hitler committed suicide in his bunker as the Russians moved into Berlin.  Thought you would like to know that.  But as I was saying, remember how they asked you to do something to stop the Holocaust?”

“Too bad we didn’t catch Adolph alive, but this Holocaust thing, what’s that,?” Roosevelt asked, looking puzzled.

“Mr. President.  After all was said and done, the Nazis murdered six million Jews, mostly in gas chambers.  That period has become known as the Holocaust.  And many Americans wonder if you knew about it, and why you did nothing to stop it.  And there was a ship, the St. Louis, with Jewish refugees which wasn’t allowed to dock in the United States.  It was sent back and many of the passengers died in the gas chambers.  How did you allow that to happen?”

FDR’s face turned ashen.  “I did indeed know what was going on.  I didn’t do anything about it though.  It was a matter of priorities.  If I had it to do over, I would have done it differently.  I would have let the St. Louis dock in Miami.  I would have bombed the railroad tracks leading to the extermination camps.  But I didn’t.”

Roosevelt looked downward and continued, his voice now trembling. “It was a matter of priorities.  Nobody is perfect.  And now I see why the Big Guy has let this conversation take place.   He wants me to know that I didn’t arrive here with as clean a slate as I thought I did, and that he remembers, and will never forget, what I chose not to do while I was still alive.”

Roosevelt turned to me, and raised his hand to his forehead.  “Excuse me.  I have this terrible headache, and I want to close my eyes and lie down.”

And suddenly there were clouds and fog and smoke and a funny aroma filled the air, and FDR wasn’t there any longer, nor was I.

                                                   ***   ***   ***

Political Drek - The “Betsy Ross” Flag

I have a “Betsy Ross” American flag hanging from a stand on my front lawn, you know, the one with thirteen stars in a circle on a blue field with thirteen stripes of red and white.  It is generally believed that George Washington had Philadelphia seamstress Ross, who also did some personal tailoring for the Father of our Country, design and make it up to replace the many different flags our new nation of thirteen former colonies were flying at the time.  It is the first truly American flag in our history that looks like, except for the number of stars, our present day flag.

The other day a repairman came to my house to do some work and as he left, he commented that he was glad to see that I was flying the “Tea Party” flag in front of my house.  I explained to him that this flag is known as the “Betsy Ross Flag” and that the “Tea Party” has no more claim to it than any other American or group of Americans.   

By claiming this old flag as their own, the “Tea Party” people are trying to say that many of the things our country has accomplished over the years which to them are manifested by the growth of government, are bad, and they wish we could revert back to the days of the Founding Fathers and emulate those who objected to unfair English taxation, (which they liken to present day taxation) by dumping cases of tea into Boston Harbor. 

Most “Tea Party” believers advocate minimal government involvement in our country’s economic and social activities because they are gullible enough to be easily manipulated by those whose prime interest is preserving the financial assets of America’s truly wealthy.  Such people are against any hint of wealth redistribution, which, in a necessary and relatively painless way, taxation to support Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, unemployment Benefits, and any kind of economic pump priming, actually is, like it or not!   Once again, I refer you to my August short story, “The Meeting,” which can be accessed on this blog by using the search engine at its lower right.

Jack Lippman

                                                 ***   ***   ***

Islamic Extremists Bombed Several Churches in Nigeria on Christmas Day 

While it is very bad to believe that whatever you believe in is “the only possible true faith,” it is even worse to try to eradicate beliefs other than your own with such acts of violence, including murder, as were committed in Nigeria.  

Believing in your religion in this extreme manner is a disease.  The Roman Catholic Church was so diseased when in the name of its faith, it persecuted and murdered millions during the Inquisition.  Islam is diseased when its adherents murder and wage jihad against those of other faiths.  All of those who believe in a religion of one kind or another in this extreme manner are evil people, and that includes clergy of the highest rank in all faiths, if they support such beliefs.  It includes those Ayatollahs in Iran who issue “fatwahs” demanding the death of those who offend their religion, and who fail to recognize that they themselves, the Ayatollahs, are actually the evil ones, because of their horrendously misguided defense of their faith. 

Some extremists of all faiths do not go quite so far as to routinely sanction murder in the name of their faith.  Nevertheless, the religious police in Saudi Arabia or the Ultra-Orthodox in Israel still manifest a strong intolerance of other faiths or of the less observant within their own faith.  They are almost as evil as extremist murderers. In Exodus, the Bible says the punishment for insulting one’s parents is death. Anyone who believes that literally and tries to carry out the penalty is criminally evil, regardless of what his faith commands him to do.

Some religions include the personification of evil as the Devil.  Well, if we are seeking a personification of those extremists of any faith who would resort to violence in the name of their faith, it is indeed that same Devil.  And it is up to all the religions of the world to cleanse themselves of the extremist Devils within them.  And that includes those who bombed churches in Nigeria.  

As mentioned in the previous posting on this blog, Frederich Schiller in his famous “Ode to Joy” stated it well when he wrote “Alle menschen werden bruder.”  Yes, all men will be brothers.  The sooner, the better!
JL 
                       
                                                          ***   ***   ***

Our Right Wing Connection

            

Because I am registered to receive Emails from a number of right wing conservative groups, I have a steady supply of material coming to me which qualifies for inclusion in the Political Drek sections of this blog, as well on the new site, www.politicaldrek.com which is still “under construction,” but worth looking at occasionally.  Unlike www.jackspotpourri.com, the Political Drek site provides an easy way for the reader to communicate with me directly by Email.

JL

                                                          

                                                            ***   ***   ***                  

                    

Most readers of this blog are alerted by Email every time a new posting appears.  If you wish to be added to that Email list, just let me know by contacting me at Riart1@aol.com.  Also, be aware that www.Jackspotpourri.com is now available on your mobile devices in a modified, easy-to-read, format.

 
JL

                                                                ***   ***   ***

To send this posting to a friend, or enemy for that matter, whom you think might be interested in it, just click on the envelope with the arrow right below the  dotted line at the very bottom of this posting.