Although it seems a bit early this year; it’s the day before Thanksgiving, winter’s here and I’m already suffering from the twin winter-time gremlins of boredom and grouchiness. During the rest of the year I can usually find something to do to take my mind off annoying things that lead to the twins. In winter annoying things gang-up on me and I start driving me and anyone unfortunate enough to be stuck near me crazy. I have started cataloging annoying things in an effort to, hopefully, neutralize the gremlins.
We all know what lackeys are, right? Back in the day we’d call the lackeys of big shot bureaucrats, “horse-holders.” I have noticed lately there is a whole new class of horse-holder out there; although they don’t usually work for bureaucrats. They’re “hat handers,” the guy who hands the star (athlete, driver, whomever) the sponsor’s logo-bearing baseball cap(s). Just another opportunity to go-fer a celebrity!
Speaking of which; how demeaning are those sponsor’s logo-bearing baseball caps anyway? Imagine you just drove to victory in the Indianapolis 500, you’re standing on the podium to receive your justly deserved accolades but, before you can hold your latest trophy, you have to change hats six times. And make sure the logo on each, and on the beverage you’re consuming, is pointing camera-ward. It’s not like you didn’t just drive, on camera, 500 miles in a rolling billboard covered with the same logos.
Years ago I wrote a poem about how to successfully become an anonymous bureaucrat, something for which all bureaucrats strive:
The Bureaucrat
He dreams of having an office
And a telephone all of his own,
With a machine to answer it quickly
So the damn thing will leave him alone.
With all the pressure he’s under,
The stress and anxiety and such,
Each day brings another big crisis;
Just doing his job’s way too much.
Making those routine decisions
Is the most difficult thing that he does;
About a thousand and one stupid issues
To which he can’t say, “Just because. . .”
The answer he’ll give to your question
Will never be right or be wrong;
“I’m sorry,” he’ll say, “you’re mistaken
This isn’t where you belong.”
“Whatever you want we can’t help you
In this department at all;
For that you must go to the office,
Third door on the right, down the hall.”
For him no problem’s too difficult,
No question ever too trivial,
To refer to the office just mentioned;
Third door on the right, down the hall!
I recently re-read the poem and realized how obsolete it had become. When I wrote it I worked in an office where employees shared telephones; they were located in centralized “phone banks.” The phones, not the employees; they were located in cubicles. Nowadays everyone has a phone, and a computer, and any number of other devices to insure both anonymity and non-contactability.
Today, of course, there’s the phone menu. You know, “press 1 for . . . ad nauseum.” A system far more effective than even Beijing’s Forbidden City for eliminating unwanted attention. Talk about insulation; today’s bureaucrat can count on the phone menu, voice mail, e-mail, and security guards with metal detectors to keep the “customers” at bay! The personal computer and the receptionist rendered the secretary obsolete; soon all we’ll need is “virtual” bureaucrats. Who’ll know the difference?
Carroll G. Anderson
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Confessions of a Drug Store Car Guy, Nov., '08
It’s hard being a member of a “classic chevy club” and not be concerned about the future of General Motors and those other two car companies. I was born sixty-some years ago and “the big three” (B3) were the big dogs in both American industry and the American economy. In those days they shared the spotlight with biggies in the steel industry and retail giants like Sears-Roebuck. Although quite a few of the companies on the NY Stock Exchange today were there fifty years ago, some are gone (the steel industry and retail giants like Sears-Roebuck) and those that remain have transformed themselves to meet the realities of a new century and a new economy. All except the B3, apparently.
Despite the persistent ringing of their alarms, the B3 seem to insist on hitting the snooze button. How obvious was the wake-up call from Japanese and European automakers every year since the 1960s? Since 1966 the best selling car has been a Toyota followed closely by a Volkswagen. With the exception of the Ford F-150, Mustang and Corvette, niche vehicles at best, the top selling cars for over forty years were built by someone other than the B3. If the reason why American cars have under-performed in the marketplace was a mystery the lack of response on the part of the B3 might be understandable. But there is no mystery, buyers know they get better value buying “foreign” cars!
Today we’re told the B3 are on the verge of collapse and that they need to be bailed-out or they’ll fail and drag the rest of the economy with them. The debate rages; bail-out or bankrupcy and there is plenty of support for either side. I’m a car guy not an economist and, therefore, not qualified to make the decision as to which course should be taken. Following the course they have over the sixty-some years I’ve been around, however, is not working for the B3 and it seems to me the problem is accounting, not economics.
The basis for accounting is balance; matching expenditures to revenue or not spending more than you make. The B3 have not operated within this accounting paradigm in decades. No component of the cost of “building a car” is more out of balance than labor costs (wages and benefits). The B3 are unionized and they pay their employees nearly 50% more than companies like Toyota and Honda pay their employees who build cars in the United States. A drive across Michigan reveals acres of new vehicles in abandoned parking lots, cars that were built in excess of demand because the B3 were required to pay union auto workers whether the cars were needed or not. When airlines started folding under the pressure of expensive labor contracts they re-negotiated those contracts and managed to survive and fly another day.
I don’t have the credentials to propose a solution to the crisis facing the B3 and I wouldn’t want the responsibility to do so if I was qualified. I am conscious, however, which may be more than can be said of the powers-that-be at either the B3 or the United Auto Workers. Albert Einstein said insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I believe insanity ought to be ample justification for throwing out the fools who have been running the B3 for decades. They didn’t fix things when it became obvious things were broken in the Seventies and there’s no reason to believe they’ll fix them now!
Carroll G. Anderson
From: Heart of Maryland Classic Chevy Club Holiday 2008 Newsletter
Despite the persistent ringing of their alarms, the B3 seem to insist on hitting the snooze button. How obvious was the wake-up call from Japanese and European automakers every year since the 1960s? Since 1966 the best selling car has been a Toyota followed closely by a Volkswagen. With the exception of the Ford F-150, Mustang and Corvette, niche vehicles at best, the top selling cars for over forty years were built by someone other than the B3. If the reason why American cars have under-performed in the marketplace was a mystery the lack of response on the part of the B3 might be understandable. But there is no mystery, buyers know they get better value buying “foreign” cars!
Today we’re told the B3 are on the verge of collapse and that they need to be bailed-out or they’ll fail and drag the rest of the economy with them. The debate rages; bail-out or bankrupcy and there is plenty of support for either side. I’m a car guy not an economist and, therefore, not qualified to make the decision as to which course should be taken. Following the course they have over the sixty-some years I’ve been around, however, is not working for the B3 and it seems to me the problem is accounting, not economics.
The basis for accounting is balance; matching expenditures to revenue or not spending more than you make. The B3 have not operated within this accounting paradigm in decades. No component of the cost of “building a car” is more out of balance than labor costs (wages and benefits). The B3 are unionized and they pay their employees nearly 50% more than companies like Toyota and Honda pay their employees who build cars in the United States. A drive across Michigan reveals acres of new vehicles in abandoned parking lots, cars that were built in excess of demand because the B3 were required to pay union auto workers whether the cars were needed or not. When airlines started folding under the pressure of expensive labor contracts they re-negotiated those contracts and managed to survive and fly another day.
I don’t have the credentials to propose a solution to the crisis facing the B3 and I wouldn’t want the responsibility to do so if I was qualified. I am conscious, however, which may be more than can be said of the powers-that-be at either the B3 or the United Auto Workers. Albert Einstein said insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I believe insanity ought to be ample justification for throwing out the fools who have been running the B3 for decades. They didn’t fix things when it became obvious things were broken in the Seventies and there’s no reason to believe they’ll fix them now!
Carroll G. Anderson
From: Heart of Maryland Classic Chevy Club Holiday 2008 Newsletter
Friday, November 7, 2008
Confessions of a Drugstore Car Guy, Oct. '08
I don’t stockpile these “Confessions”; each month I think until I come up with an idea I can run with. Sometimes the ideas are kinda lame. I know even Brett Farve can’t throw for a touchdown every time so I guess the best I can hope for is to not get sacked too often. Enough of the pitiful attempts at metaphor, this month I’m thinking about what we do and why.
By we, I mean HMCCC, individually and as a club. We’re pretty lucky, you know, in that most of us are able to do the things we love; we have both the time and the money to pursue our passions at least to some extent. I remember the days when just the pressure of providing for a family kept me scrambling 24/7. There wasn’t time or money for unessentials and lots of “like-tos” took a backseat to “have-tos.”
It warms the cockles of my Loman & Barkley heart* when I see “us” doing the things we love to do and, at the same time, giving back to our community. Although it’s pretty obvious we don’t all love exactly the same things and sometimes don’t agree on how to show our love, we seem to agree on the “giving back” part. As a result, this year both the Alzheimer’s Association and Toys 4 Tots will be better able to do what they do. Everybody wins and that’s a good feeling!
I said last month that as long as I can cruise in my old car I don’t care too much about “economy crashes or hurricane breezes.” The fact is, in the coming months, some of us won’t be able to play with our toys to the extent we have in the past. Of course we’ll only have to wait until the new administration makes good on their promises. Then we’ll all wind up with a new Chevy in every garage and a new garage for every Chevy!
As good as our generosity makes me feel and as well as we seem to be able to overlook those things our colleagues do to annoy us, there is room for improvement. That’s what I thought the other night as I overheard one of my compatriots essentially telling another that “ . . . your cars aren’t as worthy of attention as mine.” I’d like to think that no Car Guy hates any other Car Guy because he (or she) loves his (her) car(s) too much (or not enough). We are in deep doo-doo if we start judging one-another on the amount of money we spend or the way we choose to make our cars look!
I happen to know that not too long ago one of our favorite Chevy guys attended an event celebrating . . . (wait for it) . . . Hemis! We certainly live in turbulent times. Nowhere is this more evident than in the auto industry. In fact, in the near future our favorite automaker may be changing its name; it’s possible we’ll soon be buying cars from General Mopars!
I don’t want to sound too P.C. here but I believe the strength of our association lies in its diversity; we share an appreciation of things automotive and the opportunity to interact with others who feel the same. We need to cultivate our differences, however, as much as we do our similarities. I, for one, will never support any mistreatment of either Ford owners or folks who trailer their old cars even though being around that kind of people makes me extremely uncomfortable.
*An obscure reference to the ‘70’s morning radio show on KFI, Los Angeles.
Shoeboxes in a Parking Lot
To the tune of Little Boxes
Shoeboxes in a parking lot,
All lined-up for another show,
Tri-five Chevys shined-up pretty,
And they don’t all look the same.
There's slammed ones and fast ones
And plain ones and fancy ones
All built by Chevy in the fifties,
But they’re just not all the same.
They are hot rods or customs,
Or restored to mint condition,
Though they all are Tri-five Chevys,
They are not just all the same.
There's convertibles and hardtops
And gassers and just survivors
Built by Chevy in the fifties
But they’re just not all the same.
Car Guys drive the shoeboxes
To shows and to cruise-ins,
And love their trusty Chevys,
Making sure they’re not the same.
There are Bel Airs and Nomads
And even some pick-up trucks,
Built by Chevy in the fifties
But they’re just not all the same.
With big blocks and small blocks,
And four-speeds and automatics
Some are trailer queens, others drivers
So they’re clearly not the same.
They come out in the spring time
And cruise on through the summer,
Then go back into their garages
Which are also not all the same.
I’ve been watching old episodes of a Showtime series called Weeds. The theme song of the show is Little Boxes which I remember from the Sixties. I think Pete Seeger sang the version I remember although it may have been written by Woodie Guthrie. It’s one of those songs you can’t get out of your head. Anyway, I modified it a bit to fit in this space (there’s a rumor going around that I may have too much time on my hands).
By C.G. Anderson
From: Heart of Maryland Classic Chevy Club Newsletter
October, 2008
By we, I mean HMCCC, individually and as a club. We’re pretty lucky, you know, in that most of us are able to do the things we love; we have both the time and the money to pursue our passions at least to some extent. I remember the days when just the pressure of providing for a family kept me scrambling 24/7. There wasn’t time or money for unessentials and lots of “like-tos” took a backseat to “have-tos.”
It warms the cockles of my Loman & Barkley heart* when I see “us” doing the things we love to do and, at the same time, giving back to our community. Although it’s pretty obvious we don’t all love exactly the same things and sometimes don’t agree on how to show our love, we seem to agree on the “giving back” part. As a result, this year both the Alzheimer’s Association and Toys 4 Tots will be better able to do what they do. Everybody wins and that’s a good feeling!
I said last month that as long as I can cruise in my old car I don’t care too much about “economy crashes or hurricane breezes.” The fact is, in the coming months, some of us won’t be able to play with our toys to the extent we have in the past. Of course we’ll only have to wait until the new administration makes good on their promises. Then we’ll all wind up with a new Chevy in every garage and a new garage for every Chevy!
As good as our generosity makes me feel and as well as we seem to be able to overlook those things our colleagues do to annoy us, there is room for improvement. That’s what I thought the other night as I overheard one of my compatriots essentially telling another that “ . . . your cars aren’t as worthy of attention as mine.” I’d like to think that no Car Guy hates any other Car Guy because he (or she) loves his (her) car(s) too much (or not enough). We are in deep doo-doo if we start judging one-another on the amount of money we spend or the way we choose to make our cars look!
I happen to know that not too long ago one of our favorite Chevy guys attended an event celebrating . . . (wait for it) . . . Hemis! We certainly live in turbulent times. Nowhere is this more evident than in the auto industry. In fact, in the near future our favorite automaker may be changing its name; it’s possible we’ll soon be buying cars from General Mopars!
I don’t want to sound too P.C. here but I believe the strength of our association lies in its diversity; we share an appreciation of things automotive and the opportunity to interact with others who feel the same. We need to cultivate our differences, however, as much as we do our similarities. I, for one, will never support any mistreatment of either Ford owners or folks who trailer their old cars even though being around that kind of people makes me extremely uncomfortable.
*An obscure reference to the ‘70’s morning radio show on KFI, Los Angeles.
Shoeboxes in a Parking Lot
To the tune of Little Boxes
Shoeboxes in a parking lot,
All lined-up for another show,
Tri-five Chevys shined-up pretty,
And they don’t all look the same.
There's slammed ones and fast ones
And plain ones and fancy ones
All built by Chevy in the fifties,
But they’re just not all the same.
They are hot rods or customs,
Or restored to mint condition,
Though they all are Tri-five Chevys,
They are not just all the same.
There's convertibles and hardtops
And gassers and just survivors
Built by Chevy in the fifties
But they’re just not all the same.
Car Guys drive the shoeboxes
To shows and to cruise-ins,
And love their trusty Chevys,
Making sure they’re not the same.
There are Bel Airs and Nomads
And even some pick-up trucks,
Built by Chevy in the fifties
But they’re just not all the same.
With big blocks and small blocks,
And four-speeds and automatics
Some are trailer queens, others drivers
So they’re clearly not the same.
They come out in the spring time
And cruise on through the summer,
Then go back into their garages
Which are also not all the same.
I’ve been watching old episodes of a Showtime series called Weeds. The theme song of the show is Little Boxes which I remember from the Sixties. I think Pete Seeger sang the version I remember although it may have been written by Woodie Guthrie. It’s one of those songs you can’t get out of your head. Anyway, I modified it a bit to fit in this space (there’s a rumor going around that I may have too much time on my hands).
By C.G. Anderson
From: Heart of Maryland Classic Chevy Club Newsletter
October, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Jimmy's Revelation
Jimmy was in prison, in solitary, and in despair. He had lost everything and had been abandoned by everyone who’d ever meant anything to him. Here in solitary they’d even taken his TV.
Alone in his cell, with nothing but a bunk fastened to one wall and a stainless steel combination wash basin/toilet attached to the other, he felt as if he’d reached the end of his rope. As low as he felt right now he’d hang himself if he had a rope. If he had something to which he could tie the rope. Cells like Jimmy’s were designed to make most things, especially self-destructive things, as hard as possible.
Jimmy fell to his knees on the floor of his cell. Which put him, because there is so little floor, right in front of the combo commode. He prayed for deliverance. Jimmy had done a lot of praying in his time but usually in front of a crowd. He knew the power of prayer; the kind prayed before an audience. The effectiveness of those prayers can be measured in terms of dollars. In his previous life Jimmy had prayed, or preyed, for dollars. So deep was Jimmy’s despair that he prayed without an audience and without really believing he’d receive any help from God.
You can imagine Jimmy’s surprise when the john spoke to him. Hearing a voice calling his name he looked around, thinking one of the guards was at his cell door. But there was no one there. The voice seemed to be coming from within the commode. Jimmy, on his knees, leaned over the toilet. He heard the voice calling his name more clearly and looked into the bowl.
There, in the water, appeared the face of a kindly-looking older gentleman. The guy looks like Billy Graham, thought Jimmy, and he’s calling my name. It didn’t occur to Jimmy that this might be a joke, that somebody might be playing a trick on him. He didn’t have to ask who was talking; he knew. So Jimmy asked what He wanted and why He was speaking from inside a toilet.
“In the first place,” the Voice answered, “there aren’t too many other places in here in which to appear. You don’t have a bush and I don’t see your TV. Besides, I’ve used pools of water, springs and the like, many times in the past. This works fine as long as you don’t flush. That gets me all choked up.”
Then a laugh, “Get it? Gets me all choked up?”
Now Jimmy began to get suspicious. Would God, speaking to him from the toilet bowl, be making jokes? This had to some kind of a prank.
“No joke,” the Voice said, “I need your help.”
Oh-oh, thought Jimmy, He knows what I’m thinking, it really is Him. “What do You mean, You need my help?” asked Jimmy, “I was just asking for Your help.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t think you were going to get it. You were just covering your bases. And don’t bother arguing with Me; you know I know what you’re thinking.”
Jimmy, in prison, still on his knees peering into, talking to, the toilet bowl, asked what he, Jimmy, could do to help.
“I’m looking for a media consultant,” the Voice said. “I need an expert at getting the word out.”
“You’ve been getting the Word out for centuries,” replied Jimmy. “You should be The Expert at that by now. What could I possibly teach you?”
“In the first place, I’m talking about word, little ‘w.’ I don’t get involved in spreading the Word, big ‘w.’ You know how many folks are out there doing that.”
“Yeah, but most of them seem to be getting it wrong; or just doing a damn poor job of it.”
“That’s not my problem. This is a totally different project. Besides, you’re hardly the guy I’d ask for help with anything to do with the Word, big ‘w.’ I need help in reaching as many people as possible as quickly as I can. I need a state-of-the-art media blitz.”
“Why, do You need money?”
“That’s all you think about!”
“What else is there? You’re not running for office are You?”
“I’m trying to save the world, or at least trying to keep it from self-destructing.”
“You’re not talking about another flood are You?”
“That stuff doesn’t work very well anymore. The only ones who get hurt by floods, earthquakes and such are the poor and down-trodden. They aren’t the ones I need to reach.”
“I’ve always found them to be the most receptive to my message,” Jimmy countered.
“You mean the ones most willing to send you money, don’t you?”
“That too.”
“Well, I’m not interested in money; I don’t need it. Besides, seeing the fix you’re in I’d say you’ve probably figured out there may be some truth to that old ‘root of all evil’ thing.”
“Why pick me?” Jimmy asked, “what can I do for You from here?”
“In spite of the fact that you’d tell anybody anything if you thought it would help you, I think you’re just about to the point where you might be dependable. I’ve dealt with guys with nowhere to go but up and found that, eventually, certain qualities begin to emerge.”
“What qualities are those?”
“The ones that allow you to care more for others than you do for yourself.”
“You’re saying that I possess those qualities?”
“Absolutely, and if your going to be of any use to Me you’re going to need them.”
Remembering that God seemed to know what he was thinking, Jimmy tried to think of something he thought He wanted to hear. But all he could think about was ‘how is this going to get me out of here?’
“You’re not ready yet,” said the Voice, “but it won’t be long.” And the toilet flushed.
The next few weeks were hell for Jimmy. He didn’t know if God was going to be getting back to him and he had no one to tell what had happen, nobody who’d believe him.
By Carroll G. Anderson
4/7/92
Alone in his cell, with nothing but a bunk fastened to one wall and a stainless steel combination wash basin/toilet attached to the other, he felt as if he’d reached the end of his rope. As low as he felt right now he’d hang himself if he had a rope. If he had something to which he could tie the rope. Cells like Jimmy’s were designed to make most things, especially self-destructive things, as hard as possible.
Jimmy fell to his knees on the floor of his cell. Which put him, because there is so little floor, right in front of the combo commode. He prayed for deliverance. Jimmy had done a lot of praying in his time but usually in front of a crowd. He knew the power of prayer; the kind prayed before an audience. The effectiveness of those prayers can be measured in terms of dollars. In his previous life Jimmy had prayed, or preyed, for dollars. So deep was Jimmy’s despair that he prayed without an audience and without really believing he’d receive any help from God.
You can imagine Jimmy’s surprise when the john spoke to him. Hearing a voice calling his name he looked around, thinking one of the guards was at his cell door. But there was no one there. The voice seemed to be coming from within the commode. Jimmy, on his knees, leaned over the toilet. He heard the voice calling his name more clearly and looked into the bowl.
There, in the water, appeared the face of a kindly-looking older gentleman. The guy looks like Billy Graham, thought Jimmy, and he’s calling my name. It didn’t occur to Jimmy that this might be a joke, that somebody might be playing a trick on him. He didn’t have to ask who was talking; he knew. So Jimmy asked what He wanted and why He was speaking from inside a toilet.
“In the first place,” the Voice answered, “there aren’t too many other places in here in which to appear. You don’t have a bush and I don’t see your TV. Besides, I’ve used pools of water, springs and the like, many times in the past. This works fine as long as you don’t flush. That gets me all choked up.”
Then a laugh, “Get it? Gets me all choked up?”
Now Jimmy began to get suspicious. Would God, speaking to him from the toilet bowl, be making jokes? This had to some kind of a prank.
“No joke,” the Voice said, “I need your help.”
Oh-oh, thought Jimmy, He knows what I’m thinking, it really is Him. “What do You mean, You need my help?” asked Jimmy, “I was just asking for Your help.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t think you were going to get it. You were just covering your bases. And don’t bother arguing with Me; you know I know what you’re thinking.”
Jimmy, in prison, still on his knees peering into, talking to, the toilet bowl, asked what he, Jimmy, could do to help.
“I’m looking for a media consultant,” the Voice said. “I need an expert at getting the word out.”
“You’ve been getting the Word out for centuries,” replied Jimmy. “You should be The Expert at that by now. What could I possibly teach you?”
“In the first place, I’m talking about word, little ‘w.’ I don’t get involved in spreading the Word, big ‘w.’ You know how many folks are out there doing that.”
“Yeah, but most of them seem to be getting it wrong; or just doing a damn poor job of it.”
“That’s not my problem. This is a totally different project. Besides, you’re hardly the guy I’d ask for help with anything to do with the Word, big ‘w.’ I need help in reaching as many people as possible as quickly as I can. I need a state-of-the-art media blitz.”
“Why, do You need money?”
“That’s all you think about!”
“What else is there? You’re not running for office are You?”
“I’m trying to save the world, or at least trying to keep it from self-destructing.”
“You’re not talking about another flood are You?”
“That stuff doesn’t work very well anymore. The only ones who get hurt by floods, earthquakes and such are the poor and down-trodden. They aren’t the ones I need to reach.”
“I’ve always found them to be the most receptive to my message,” Jimmy countered.
“You mean the ones most willing to send you money, don’t you?”
“That too.”
“Well, I’m not interested in money; I don’t need it. Besides, seeing the fix you’re in I’d say you’ve probably figured out there may be some truth to that old ‘root of all evil’ thing.”
“Why pick me?” Jimmy asked, “what can I do for You from here?”
“In spite of the fact that you’d tell anybody anything if you thought it would help you, I think you’re just about to the point where you might be dependable. I’ve dealt with guys with nowhere to go but up and found that, eventually, certain qualities begin to emerge.”
“What qualities are those?”
“The ones that allow you to care more for others than you do for yourself.”
“You’re saying that I possess those qualities?”
“Absolutely, and if your going to be of any use to Me you’re going to need them.”
Remembering that God seemed to know what he was thinking, Jimmy tried to think of something he thought He wanted to hear. But all he could think about was ‘how is this going to get me out of here?’
“You’re not ready yet,” said the Voice, “but it won’t be long.” And the toilet flushed.
The next few weeks were hell for Jimmy. He didn’t know if God was going to be getting back to him and he had no one to tell what had happen, nobody who’d believe him.
By Carroll G. Anderson
4/7/92
The Things People Write
Because I’m blogcasting my opinions I guess I fall into a “glass house” category but sometimes the opinions of others really trigger my o.g. (opinion generator). Two things in particular that bother me are opinions that are based on patently false information and “personal” opinions that are apparently nothing more than knee-jerk restatements of popular propaganda. For instance:
I Have Déjá Vu From Arguments Against The War In Iraq
Paul Gordon's whiny polemic against the war in Iraq ("Let's put a final end to this needless war we're waging," Oct. 9) is the same one used against the Vietnam War by the same people: the Democrat Party.
I remind Mr. Gordon that we won the Vietnam War. A peace treaty was signed on Jan. 27, 1973.
Over the next two years, Russia and China resupplied North Vietnam and the Democrat-led Congress refused to give previously promised aid to South Vietnam, resulting in the murder of tens of thousands of those loyal to the United States when they violated the treaty and invaded in 1975.
As one who is proud to have served in Vietnam, I ask him to use his predilection for 20:20 hindsight to surmise what might happen if we pull out now.
Ed Morgan, Clarksburg, Frederick County
http://www.gazette.net/stories/10232008/fredlet151930_32475.shtml
I’m not sure what to say; for the last thirty-five years I’ve known, and I’m pretty sure that everybody else knew, that we lost that war. I know, for instance, the following know we lost:
· The 58,209 Americans Killed in Action and other dead,
· The 303,635 Americans Wounded in Action (including 153,303 who required hospitalization and 150,332 who didn't) and
· The 1,948 Americans Missing in Action.
· The 125,000 Vietnamese who came to the U.S. after fleeing their own country during the spring of 1975.
· The millions around the world who saw the refugees being airlifted off the roof of the American Embassy in Saigon as the city fell to the North Vietnamese in April, 1075.
I Have Déjá Vu From Arguments Against The War In Iraq
Paul Gordon's whiny polemic against the war in Iraq ("Let's put a final end to this needless war we're waging," Oct. 9) is the same one used against the Vietnam War by the same people: the Democrat Party.
I remind Mr. Gordon that we won the Vietnam War. A peace treaty was signed on Jan. 27, 1973.
Over the next two years, Russia and China resupplied North Vietnam and the Democrat-led Congress refused to give previously promised aid to South Vietnam, resulting in the murder of tens of thousands of those loyal to the United States when they violated the treaty and invaded in 1975.
As one who is proud to have served in Vietnam, I ask him to use his predilection for 20:20 hindsight to surmise what might happen if we pull out now.
Ed Morgan, Clarksburg, Frederick County
http://www.gazette.net/stories/10232008/fredlet151930_32475.shtml
I’m not sure what to say; for the last thirty-five years I’ve known, and I’m pretty sure that everybody else knew, that we lost that war. I know, for instance, the following know we lost:
· The 58,209 Americans Killed in Action and other dead,
· The 303,635 Americans Wounded in Action (including 153,303 who required hospitalization and 150,332 who didn't) and
· The 1,948 Americans Missing in Action.
· The 125,000 Vietnamese who came to the U.S. after fleeing their own country during the spring of 1975.
· The millions around the world who saw the refugees being airlifted off the roof of the American Embassy in Saigon as the city fell to the North Vietnamese in April, 1075.
Signing a treaty does not mean you won, either; usually representatives of both sides sign. Certainly the terms of the Paris Peace Accords do not identify the United States as the winner of anything but an opportunity to go home. The American Indians, for example, signed more than 120 peace treaties between 1778 and 1868. I don’t think they considered themselves the winners in any of the conflicts those documents “ended.”
By Carroll G. Anderson
11/6/08
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