As though I needed further proof that life is unfair I have been cheated of a Darwin Award. Too many times in my life I have done things richly deserving of the award only to have guardian angels butt in and interfere thereby depriving me of the distinction I tried so hard to earn.

In mining, with which I am very familiar by experience, it is called “The Prudent Man Clause.” This requires you to prove to the government your claim would be profitable to work. Unfortunately, jurisprudence in America has fallen into such disarray it seems the prudent part often falls into the category of “The law is either a bachelor or an ass,” an increasingly unwieldy Rube Goldberg apparatus and a patchwork of laws too often at odds with each other. Who, for example, would have believed a judge would sue for millions of dollars over a pair of pants and such a thing ever even make it into a court of law? As though “How much justice can you afford?” is not bad enough, America has become such a litigious society it seems you must be either very poor or very wealthy to survive. That is, unless you are a politician or a judge in which cases the laws ordinary citizens are bound by seem not to apply.

Of course, if everyone was endowed with equal prudence there wouldn’t be any Darwin Awards, which discounting the fact the “winners” are people that get seriously hurt or killed for their lack of prudence give us a laugh about how some people can do things that are really stupid. Note that I do not say such people are stupid, but that they did stupid things qualifying them for this onerous award. However, were it not for guardian angels, in my opinion, some of the stupid things I have done might well have earned me such a distinction. So I’m not as quick to laugh at the winners of the Darwin Awards as some others might be. And looking back I can be forgiven for thinking that living to my elder status has been nothing short of miraculous.

Generally we think of prudence being a mark of maturity and without question people mature at different rates, if they mature at all. We do not expect the same level of prudence in children that we do of adults. Bill Watterson certainly understood this, which made his Calvin and Hobbes so successful. Quite understandably to Calvin his parents simply were unreasonable denying his reasonable requests for things like flamethrowers and bazookas.

When I was a boy living here on the mining claim I was awakened one night by a skunk that had come into the cabin. It was an entrancing idea to have my very own pet skunk. Like Calvin, I did not ask my grandparents a question I already knew would provoke a negative response. Instead, I began leaving table scraps for my nocturnal visitor without bothering to inform my grandparents. Then one night the dog tangled with the skunk and we were all awakened by the horrendous odor throughout the cabin. My grandfather in particular exhibited a very negative and uncharitable attitude towards my pet and planned its demise. Leaving out some cyanide-laced sardines he figured that would do the trick. However, the skunk having been miffed by the dog’s attempt to be friendly didn’t return. But grandad’s plan did bear fruit. A couple of days later I found our cat dead. On my side, perhaps grandad should have known the cat would be a likely victim of his plan for a deceased skunk.

Well, I don’t dare bore readers with the stupid things I have done in my life (can’t you just hear Cleavon Little in Blazing Saddles saying “Dare, dare”). Suffice it to say (dang) I have done too many stupid things in my life to call anyone else stupid. And no matter the detractors of Intelligent Design I believe I am living proof of guardian angels. Nevertheless, people do stupid things and we still get a chuckle out of the Darwin Awards.

If you were swimming and fishing in the Kern River back in the 40s you might have heard someone say, “The Kern River mile for mile is the most dangerous river in the world for loss of lives.” Even as a kid I thought this farfetched, something fabulous or extravagant some of the grownups would say as a warning like; “Be careful with that BB gun; you can put your eye out.” And while I never actually knew a kid that had stuck the barrel of his BB gun up to his eye and pulled the trigger, such things actually happened through carelessness on some rare occasions; which only proved to me as a boy that occasionally some kids could be as stupid as some adults.

However, when I saw the very first warning sign about the Kern River posted at the mouth of the canyon years ago my first reaction was resentment. I resented some nanny government functionary stating the patently obvious fact that you could actually drown in the river! Hey! Here were the “grownups” telling me once more I could put my eye out with my BB gun! But really, I thought at the time, have people actually become so stupid they don’t know a plunge into boulder-strewn, white water rapids is a dangerous thing to do?

Over the years we have become accustomed, in many cases callous to the many ways government attempts to control our lives to the extent we now live in an America where anyone can be sued for any reason, an America where lawyers and judges rule our lives and in which Big Brother will step in and tell us “what is best for our own good,” but in the end no one from the President on down is expected to accept personal responsibility for anything.

We need warning labels in many instances, and that skull and crossbones logo on some medicines I recall from childhood, and still used today, were necessary. And kids need all the adult supervision possible at all times. As a child I needed someone to point out what that skull and crossbones on a label meant. But a child can, and too often does, drown in a pail of water because of the lack of adult supervision. Adults need caution labels on buckets warning them this can happen? There needs to be caution labels on bathtubs warning children can drown in them?

Perhaps the warning signs about the Kern River are a good thing. But when I was teaching shop classes, during safety instruction I would tell my pupils “You can make a machine foolproof; but you cannot make it fool proof.” Over the years I collected an archive of stories about fools that make the point.

From childhood I have been engaged in “risk behavior;” guns, motorcycles, fast cars and airplanes; all of which do not suffer fools, and will certainly kill fools. When I started flying in the 50s a fellow had a J3-Cub at the Torrance airport with “armstrong starter.” I didn’t need my buddy to tell me that prop could kill you if you didn’t watch yourself. There was no warning label on that prop and there is a very good reason the guy in the plane shouts “Contact!” when he is ready for you to pull that prop through to start the engine. What I didn’t expect was when we took off he decided to teach me how to put the bird in an intentional spin so I could learn how to recover. This is no longer allowed because of the danger of such a maneuver. I recall the placard prominently displayed on a WWII AT-6 at Minter Field that read: Do Not Put This Aircraft In An Intentional Spin!

So, there is a proper time and place for warning signs and labels. Perhaps the Kern River needs such signs. But the resentment remains that there are such people Big Brother needs to care for because they are fools. My resentment stems from there seeming to be no want of fools that need to be told they can actually drown in the Kern River. Worse; the less personal responsibility and personal accountability we see in our government the more the fools seem to outnumber those with just plain common sense. And the signs and labels just keep multiplying, but they will never prevent anyone from being a damned fool, they will never make the “Killer Kern” fool proof.

The Clinton campaign ad taking off on the “Sopranos” is a real winner. I would have said a real “hit” but that would have been trite. However, “swimming with the fishes” only applies as one pundit had it the Clintons are like fishes swimming in waters where politics is the life source flowing over their gills, the quintessential political animals, fish in this case. And the fact that politics is a dirty business and “politician” is a dirty word has no relevance to bottom feeders that thrive in muddy waters.

No one is going to be taken in by the ad knowing the Clintons will do and say anything including murder, as I and not a few others strongly suspect, for political power; however I take exception to those that think the ad is an attempt to “humanize” the Clintons, specifically Ms. Clinton. As per the Mafia the ad is about “Respect!”

Harking back to the Godfather Trilogy, the thing about “respect” was given such prominence it became a focus throughout. Even Gerry Trudeau was having a good time with this where he has Frank Sinatra being introduced to some mobsters in Las Vegas and told to show them “respect” because they were all “made” men, and Trudeau had Sinatra being childishly “Golly, gee, really?” impressed by this.

So, no matter the amount of spin the Clinton campaign ad is all about “respect” as per the Mafia and the Sopranos. But before anyone objects, I’ll repeat something I wrote some time ago. Michael chides Kay for her naiveté in believing the government operates any differently than the Mafia. My point at the time was that we could wish our government operated as efficiently as the Mafia. Both are involved in all the things made illegal to the Great Unwashed, things like drugs and prostitution, payoffs and kickbacks, blackmail, extortion, loan sharking, there is virtually nothing in organized crime, including murder in my opinion, you will not find among politicians those like the Clintons and Bush epitomize.

Many are the church-goers that will self-righteously say if the minister’s sermon did not “pinch their toes a little” he wasn’t doing his job. And just so with many that make a living seeming to try holding politicians accountable. But too many in this camp are also trying to maintain the status quo of keeping things like marijuana and prostitution illegal, all the while knowing those with wealth and power deny themselves nothing while jailing and imprisoning those without the wealth and power for doing the very same things.

What is the focus of those in power refusing to secure our borders for the sake of slave labor if not profit? The fact made so odiously obvious is that those in power are profiting from drugs and human smuggling, from the slave labor of illegal aliens otherwise our borders would be secured. That politicians and their companion criminals sometimes find themselves in competition is not surprising; so the occasional bloodletting as in the Mafia wars take place.

Law in America has become increasingly a matter of “interpretation.” Power and influence too often define “criminal” or “legitimate,” thereby making these a matter of interpretation as in “How much justice can you afford?” Elected office treated as a license to steal is no different than the way organized crime operates, but when it comes to trying to hold those like the Clintons, Rove, Rumsfeld, Cheney, Bush to account for their crimes they are the greased pigs escaping the laws we the Great Unwashed are forced to obey. Ten years in Iraq or ten years in litigation, both are crimes against We the People, crimes against humanity!

The great majority of people are good people who do not ask more of life than the chance to live honestly and peaceably. Then someone comes along to make their lives miserable for the sake of power and wealth. The result is a tyrant whether an individual or a tyrannical system like our government has become where virtually everyone becomes a “lawbreaker” in one sense or another, but those with the wealth and power escape the consequences of being lawbreakers. And while it is despicable for any to selfishly drive drunk unconscionably putting the lives of the innocent at risk, the obscenity of a pretense of law punishing a Paris Hilton while letting real criminals like politicians get a pass or spend years in litigation to avoid prison is obvious to all.

More than just fascination, what is the seemingly magnetic appeal of films like the Godfather Trilogy and shows like the Sopranos? We applaud the good guy with the fast gun that comes in, gets rid of the bullies and cleans up the town. We want to see some justice prevail somewhere, some honesty and adherence to civilized speech and behavior, we want to see fair play rather than privilege the criteria. But like the Clinton campaign ad, politicians like Bush and others, where is the “respect?” The fact they demand honor and respect without earning it, demanding honor and respect without personal risk to themselves proves them to be cowardly and not worthy of that one accords those being “made” as comparatively honest gangsters.

“And what greater calamity can fall upon a nation than the loss of worship? Then all things go to decay. Genius leaves the temple, to haunt the senate or the market. Literature becomes frivolous. Science is cold. The eye of youth is not lighted by the hope of other worlds, and age is without honor. Society lives to trifles, and when men die we do not mention them.”

Emerson was damned by many of the clergy of his time because of his transcendental views, his perceived departure from the faith. Yet, in his address to prospective ministers he called attention, as did Benjamin Franklin before him, to the need of worship in a civilized society. And both were far closer to the actual history of America from which they spoke and had better access to primary sources than any “cherry-picking” detractors of such a thing today. However, both Franklin and Emerson recognized the need of freedom for such worship taking many forms, even Tom Paine giving credence to this. The best minds throughout history have devoted themselves to the support of religious sentiment in various forms, but invariably with a cautionary word that such sentiment not be given the power of the sword. And as we watch and listen to reports of so much Muslim religious barbarism in the world we should be grateful America had a founding in the great literature of Western Civilization, especially the Bible rather than the Koran.

It was while living on the mining claim as a boy I built a platform high in the branches of an old digger pine. When the weather was nice, I would often take a book or a National Geographic, climb up to my aerie and there with the wide vista of the Sequoia National Forest surrounding me unspoiled by fences or rooftops, I would lose myself in the world of literature and far off exotic lands of adventure and excitement.

So, no I did not spend all my time in this forest fastness hunting and fishing; as important as these were. I was raised to the great literature of Western Civilization, and great books became great friends. Some of you may recall times as a child, reading by flashlight under the covers at night. Where the heritage of such great books that fire the imagination of children in like fashion today? Where the families that make such great literature of such importance to children today?

There is an indelible picture in my mind of my great-grandmother reading a book late at night by the light of a kerosene lamp; and no one could read the stories from books, from The Saturday Evening Post and Colliers and make them come so alive to my brother and me like our great-grandmother.

And what of those great old radio shows that required so much exercise of the imagination, rather than the passive form of TV making no such like demand. You do not “explain” to anyone without like experience, the inanity of things today like TV and video games. But this does not prevent someone like me with such experience from attempting explanation, though it amounts to “spitting into the wind.”

From his interview as to why she never wrote again after To Kill A Mockingbird Roy Newquist concluded in part: “Harper Lee having told the truth about the deplorable state of writing in America, the failure of the universities to truly educate and pass on the heritage of great literature that has blessed Western Civilization, England and America, perhaps she may have realized she would be spitting into the wind to attempt any further attempts.”

Jesus said, “No man also having drunk old wine straightway desireth new: for he saith, The old is better.” But when it comes to things like the great books and literature of Western Civilization, there is this admonition in Scripture as well: “Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set.”

For any who are interested my three books presently in print can be viewed at iUniverse.com. The novel about two twelve year old children growing up during WWII in Bakersfield, in which the Padre Hotel gets a mention, and being mostly autobiographical draws heavily from the actual history of the area during that time. Four years in the writing my small cottage here in the Kern River Valley became my “storyboard,” the photos and artifacts I had spread all over the place of that time long ago helping me to relive the time and people of that bygone era. Visitors were few during those four years since I became a virtual recluse, the necessity for which any writer compelled to write will affirm.

But the old saying “life is stranger than fiction,” and the caution concerning the difference between fiction and non-fiction is that fiction has to make sense was ever before me in the writing of the novel. But much of what made life stranger than fiction for those of us who lived the era of WWII can only be understood fully by those of us left to tell the stories of what America was like back then; and in many ways it was stranger than fiction. Part of this was due to the fact children of that era were raised with the idea honesty was the best policy, and crime did not pay. These concepts were encouraged by the stories and fairytales with which we were raised, most of them having a sound moral basis.

Without TV, children were very much given to making up there own stories and games much as Harper Lee describes of the children in TKM. And notwithstanding raising my own children to be readers and encouraging them to use their imagination, sometimes I was taken by surprise. While living in Lancaster my daughter Karen (Karrie), who was six at the time, came to me and said, “Daddy, I just saw a bear outside.”

Now there had been a dearth of bears in the Antelope Valley for quite some time. Being desert, it is doubtful there had ever been much of a bear population even before hoards of people began to move to this desert environment and start building cities. But Karrie, while having at least as active an imagination as any healthy six year old was not given to telling “stories.” So what was I to make of this revelation about a bear in the neighborhood?

Rather than immediately reaching for my bear gun, I fearlessly went outside in search of this bear, and danged if I didn’t find it! It was only a few houses away; in a cage mounted on a flatbed trailer parked in front of a home. As it turned out, a friend of this neighbor was a government trapper. He had caught the troublesome bear in Tehachapi where it had wandered down from the hills and was posing a threat to the community, and had stopped by his friend’s house in our neighborhood on the way to relocate the animal elsewhere.

My first response to Karrie’s telling me of seeing the bear could have been to explain to her how unlikely it was that a bear would be anywhere in our neighborhood, that we lived in the desert where bears simply did not exist, let alone a well developed city like Lancaster far removed from any bear habitat. After all, I was the adult and Karrie was only a small child. I surely knew more about bears than Karrie, as the adult I knew how implausible it was that she could possibly have seen a bear in our neighborhood.

But I had the advantage of knowing the source of the story of a bear in the neighborhood. I knew my little girl; I knew she was not given to fabrications and would never lie or make up such a story. Further, how likely would it be for any six year old telling of something as exciting as seeing a bear to have explained all the circumstances of such a thing, that they saw the bear in a cage on a trailer? No, a small child tells only the most relevant fact of what they see; in this case the only relevant fact was “Daddy, I just saw a bear outside.”

As trite as it sounds, adults would do well to listen to children. As Henry Thoreau pointed out, children play at life with more wisdom than adults live it. And one of the reasons for this is that adults too soon forsake the wisdom of childhood, and give in to the “wisdom” of adults continuing to make war on one another and make life a living hell on earth.

There is a time for the fairy tales and legends as children are growing up, because the best of these encourage the concept of doing what is right. If you were among the fortunate you were raised among people that taught children the legends and fairy tales that inspired hope and imagination, the kind that led Francis Church to respond to little Virginia with his marvelous defense of fairies and Santa Claus.

In Little Oklahoma, my brother Ronnie and I were surrounded by the kind of people that were a treasure trove of stories, fairy tales and legends, many brought from far away and exotic lands like Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. One such story, and one I have often used by way of illustration, was told my brother and I by an Indian. He claimed he had once owned a pistol that had been used to commit a murder. He slept with this gun under his pillow, and every morning when he awakened the pistol would have blood on it. He would wipe it clean, but each time he awoke the blood would be there once more.

Ronnie and I were raised with the kind of good manners and courtesy that taught children did not “talk back” or show disrespect to our elders. Therefore, it never crossed our minds to express disbelief at the Indian’s story. Besides, he was a fount of such stories and we accepted them as we did the fanciful legends and fairy tales of our books, the funny papers, and radio shows like Inner Sanctum and so many others.

In much the same way, the marvelous stories of the Bible, stories like the baby Moses found in the bulrushes, of Samson, David and Goliath and so many others were the things of “theater” that inspired imagination when preached by grandad in our grandparent’s little church.

A lie is told with the intent to do harm or take advantage. Stories like that of the Indian’s were not lies, so it never crossed our minds to consider them such; they were simply stories, not unlike the healing power of a mother’s kiss. And what child would discount the efficacy of such healing power?

It is only when stories are told to do harm or take advantage that they fall into the realm of lies. So it is that I distinguish between stories like those of Francis Church defending Santa, the stories by those like the Indian, and those being told by so many politicians. Listening to politicians jockeying for position and power brought an appropriate episode to mind from my life as a boy living on the mining claim.

It was summer time and I had been out hunting. It was nearly dark when I got back to the cabin, and my grandparents were away so the lamps had not been lit. I was barefoot as usual, and upon entering the cabin my bare right foot came right smack down on a snake! All I remember is the feel of the poor reptile’s sudden, muscular jerking coiling under my foot. I don’t remember leaving the cabin, let alone how I went through the door. All I know is I was magically outside the cabin instantly.

Once my heart started up again, I gathered my wits and courage and very cautiously and carefully stepped back inside the cabin once more. There was no sign of the snake, so, lighting a coal oil lamp, I made a careful survey of the place. Looking back, I know the snake had to have been at least as surprised as I was. But the serpent probably didn’t have the propensity for heart failure. This world is full of “snakes” and it behooves us to tread through the often darkness properly shod and light in hand.

There is a needed dimension of magic in order for children to exercise a healthy imagination, and few things inspire such imagination as fairy tales. Fortunate is the child raised in an environment of books and reading. How well I recall those earliest stories of Mother Goose, Hans Brinker, Black Beauty, Snow White and so many more. Even Henry Thoreau mentions Cinderella.

A couple of years ago a headline read, “The age of Potter VI officially dawned today as millions of fans from sweaty New York to chilly Australia got their hands on ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’ and began the darkest of J.K. Rowling’s fantasy novels.”

I believe J.K. Rowling is to be greatly commended for bringing a world of imagination and fantasy to children, for the great encouragement she is giving to children causing them to want to read, and while I have not heard I would not be surprised to learn she owes a debt to the Bible and early Sunday School lessons for Harry Potter. Apart from the history and lessons clearly intended for adult readers, the Bible is replete with the stories of demons and witches, conjurors and sorcerers, of enough magic and fantasy to fire and encourage any child’s imagination.

Having been born into the age of radio long before TV in homes, children of my era had the benefit of all those great radio shows that required and inspired imagination. Reading and radio— a magical combination that gave free rein to our imagination. To read Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn is to involve yourself in the world of imagination the peculiar domain of children Sam Clemens so well understood, and had the rare genius to communicate. Harper Lee certainly understood the importance of books, and emphasized this in To Kill A Mockingbird.

The old radio programs like Let’s Pretend along with Terry and the Pirates and a host of others had most of us children tuned in. But there were also programs like I Love a Mystery, Inner Sanctum, and The Whistler that drew children into a darker world of imagination.

Admittedly, many fairy tales, radio programs, and children’s books of my time included a large degree of violence, of murder and mayhem. But the visual element made so graphic in films and TV were, apart from some illustrations, lacking, which left us largely to our imagination, and it was the stimulation of imagination required that among other things made my generation the last of the real readers and writers in America, primarily because TV being a passive medium simply cannot compete with books and those old radio programs when it comes to stirring the imagination.

But when it comes to the power of graphics, however, this is a double edged sword. Charles Lamb in his essay Witches, And Other Night-Fears writes of a book in his father’s library History of the Bible in which there were several woodcuts. One of these depicted the conjuring forth of the last judge of Israel, the prophet Samuel, by the Witch of Endor. Of this picture Lamb writes, “I wish that I had never seen.” With the keen perception peculiar to his genius Lamb concludes, “Credulity is the man’s weakness, but the child’s strength.”

However, as Lamb continues to point out in his essay that woodcut haunted him all his life due to the strength of his “child’s credulity,” requiring his need of a night light from childhood on, of his words of admonition to parents not to leave their children alone in the dark “where there be monsters.” The child’s strength of credulity lends itself, as Lamb recognized, to both beauty and monsters. The harm of it in adulthood is to subscribe to harmful fantasies, to be gullible and easily taken in by the “fairy tales” of charlatans and scoundrels, and one can only wonder what Lamb would have to say of the monsters children face today, the graphic and all pervasive violence and perversion children are being made to endure today.

In a world seeming gone mad and intent on nuclear annihilation unless sanity is restored, there is a lot of comfort to be found in the old hymn that goes “Farther along we’ll know all about it, farther along we’ll understand why; cheer up my brother, walk in the sunshine, we’ll understand it, all by and by.”

As a child, singing that hymn in my grandparent’s small church in Little Oklahoma brought me a lot of comfort in the very uncertain and dangerous world of WWII, one in which children needed all the help and encouragement, all the comfort and escape from reality they could find. I believe J.K. Rowling is offering children something that is not only stirring their imagination and encouraging them to read, but offering a source of escape and comfort to children in a world adults seem intent on making increasingly unfriendly and dangerous to them. But when people ask what’s wrong with kids today, the immediate answer that comes to my mind is most don’t have my maternal great-grandmother Mary Wright Hammond Smith.

Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6

If you were among the fortunate like me, you were raised in the instruction, “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” Ephesians 6:4

No, not admonition meant to frighten; but such that you feared doing wrong for all the right reasons, the kind of admonition that taught lying, cheating, stealing were wrong, the kind of fear of being disobedient and doing anything of which to be ashamed and hurting a parent or other loved ones because of their love and trust.

Among my most precious of possessions is a New Testament with Psalms. Grandma paid a dollar for it from the Jewel Tea salesman that made regular stops in Little Oklahoma. But that dollar was real money in the 30s, when a penny had real value and a dollar in your pocket was real wealth.

It is little short of miraculous that over these several decades of life and moving around the country as much as I have, through so much turmoil and upheaval in my life this New Testament is still in my possession while so many other things have disappeared in one manner or another. However, that I still have it is proof of its extraordinary value to me.

What makes this New Testament so valuable to me, actually priceless beyond any amount of money is what my great-grandmother did with it. Quite elderly, the years weighing hard and heavily upon her and with failing eyes and hands painfully crippled by arthritis she laboriously went through the whole book from cover to cover marking specific passages that were meaningful to her, passages of Scripture she marked for my benefit, passages she hoped and prayed would be of benefit to me as I grew and began to read the Bible for myself.

In the flyleaf of the book, my great-grandmother wrote: Darling, grandma has read and marked passages she loves to think you will read someday when she is gone. But dear, grandma will love you even if she is not here and will always know if you are a good boy and serve and love God and His son Jesus. God guide and keep you always honest and truthful. A world of love my precious boy. Grandma.

I don’t believe any child so blessed with anyone like my great-grandmother in their life can possibly turn away from such love, can possibly do anything to betray the memory of such love. And here these many years later, as I hold and turn the pages of this precious book, made so by Grandma’s love still speaking to me through all the many passages she marked for me, I know how very blessed I am. There is a hymn Precious Memories, and grandma’s gift of love, its pages like me showing the passage of time, causes the hymn to come alive in my soul.

While books about angels proliferate, I choose to think of grandma along with other loved ones now passed as angels, those who loved and sacrificed for me, who did their best to raise me properly “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord,” and made the Bible more than just a book to me by their lives.

Among too many things lost to children today is the heritage passed on to me by my great-grandmother and grandparents, the heritage of America being founded on the precepts of the Bible. This was the early textbook of America, of the Founding Fathers, the families and children, the earliest universities and schools of America. It was to be expected a Bible would be found in the homes of even those in the most humble of circumstances throughout America in a bygone era.

Yet it is correctly noted that none can consider themselves properly educated that do not have knowledge of the Bible, who have not read it in its entirety and know somewhat of its history and influence on the world, most especially its primary influence on the rise and progress of Western Civilization. And who can legitimately argue nations like America would have been better off with the Koran rather than the Bible as their basic textbook.

The separation of Church and State were intended to serve a noble purpose, but casting away our religious heritage and the Bible cannot but do grave damage and invite grave harm to the most important things that made us the greatest and freest nation in history, something grandma clearly understood and hoped someday I would as well.

While Jews are commonly known as People of the Book, Americans are no less but in fact even more People of the Book, even as grandma was. The ongoing attacks by those that would remove God and the Bible from all public institutions, most especially from our schools, do so in the face of the fact that America was founded a Christian nation on Christian principles, and much of the very language of our Declaration of Independence, our Constitution and Bill of Rights, the very writings of the Founding Fathers throughout is grounded in the Bible and Christian principles.

Religious extremism, not God, was the thing the Founding Fathers attempted to avoid. As we view the situation today one might get the impression from some of the media and pundits there is fear of Christians getting the upper hand in politics. But as we hear “moderate” Muslims claiming the murderers among them are not the “true believers” while at the same time refusing to denounce the crimes against humanity committed by their fellow Muslims it is nothing less than intentional obfuscation of the facts for any to claim they have a like fear of Christians in America. Considering those like my great-grandmother, it is impossible for me to believe the claims of those like Bush that they are Christians. No doubt the president of Iran believes himself to be a good Muslim, but that makes him no less a tyrant. Whether Bible or Koran, it is the claims by fanatics that the words of men are the words of gods that makes for the organization of hatreds, but good people will not be persuaded their books or gods approve cruelty and murder in the name of some deity.

It was the love my great-grandmother expressed by her note to me, the verses she lovingly and laboriously underlined in this precious New Testament, made precious by her own hand and love that told the story, not the book. It was not the Bible that made grandma the loving person she was, but those things she believed of importance in the Bible continue to be important to me as further evidence of her love and the way she lived her life as a Christian.

No one has to remind me of how privileged I am to be a resident of the Kern River Valley. I have loved this place since first visiting in the 40s when Isabella had a population of a little over 30 and Kernville a little over 100. And after moving with my grandparents to the mining claim, that is now Boulder Gulch Campground because of the lake going in, I used to pick up arrowheads as well as shell casings of the blank cartridges used in making some of the old western films hereabouts. And notwithstanding the many hardships, I recall the joys of childhood living in an environment shared only by the critters of the forest for the better part.

It is that wonderful time of year when the heat of summer finally begins to kick in; and being an old desert rat I thoroughly enjoy it, a kindness to old bones and a lean frame for which the bitter cold of winter is no such friend. In fact, preferring the heat I live without air conditioning or swamp cooler and rely only on an electric fan when needed. Another summer benefit is the marvelous, large white blooms of the nightshade plants, and the antics of the various birds at the water I provide them and at the feeders hanging from my oak trees, the quail and doves in the yard taking advantage of the seed the smaller birds spill to the ground.

But not all is serene as I watch mockingbirds chase other birds and even the resident cat because of their nearby nest, and in the balmy warmth of evening as I sit outside I’m dive-bombed by an occasional bat, keeping in mind some might be rabid, and now we even have to be aware of the West Nile Virus and spray with DEET.

Along with this time of year I watch tarantulas making the rounds, recalling one perched on the bathroom sink that surprised me as I reached to turn on the faucet one night. Uppity critter. I very carefully picked it up and deposited it outside. Home is where you don’t bump into things in the dark, but good thing I turned on the light that night. Reason enough to be very careful walking barefoot in the dark around here.

Far be it from me to question the Lord’s judgment in the Creation, but over the decades I have come to question why some things are the way they are? And no, it isn’t the size of avocado seeds as per George Burns that particularly bother me, though I admit to questioning things like the creation of mosquitoes, bears, lions, sharks (and lawyers) and their function in the scheme of Nature, it is things like why grownups are so forgetful of how things were when they were children? Why is it that so many adults seem to forget the many dangerous things that were so very attractive to them as children? Why didn’t the Lord wire this memory into the brains of adults so it would function properly as we grow older and have children of our own?

For instance, there are numerous and quite natural attractions for children among which are matches and lighters, anything that can be made to explode, tobacco, alcohol, guns, so many things adults might take for granted that are dangerous “magnets” for children. Wouldn’t it have been just as easy for the Lord to have wired some kind of genetic “obedience” code into children where a parent simply tells their child something is forbidden them and that would be sufficient? But it doesn’t work that way, and because there are so many hazards into which children are born too many think their name is “No” for the first years of their lives.

A child quickly learns adults are the most unreasonable creatures in the world. “Why can’t I have a pony in my bedroom?” So it isn’t any wonder children quickly learn questions they already know will draw a negative response from the parent don’t get asked, and the child schemes how to get that pony into their bedroom without the parent finding out.

Now I’m a well qualified scholar of the Bible and I find myself asking why did the Lord God from the very get-go make that tree so attractive and then turn right around and tell his children, Adam and Eve, they could have anything in the Garden but the fruit from that tree? It seems to me that was a setup, a loaded gun available to the children dooming them from the start, notwithstanding the beguiling serpent. Few things make something more attractive to a child than telling them it is forbidden to them; but in all fairness to children there are many that do not forsake this in adulthood.

Ok, so things begin to get theological at this point and the ongoing debate of Free Will vs. Predestination continues without let. Nevertheless, adults shouldn’t so easily forget the attraction of so many things dangerous to children, and the lesson from Genesis shouldn’t be lost on adults, that simply saying “No” is seldom enough. And the lessons of childhood should not be forgotten, lessons often learned to our hurt, like Adam and Eve, when we were disobedient.

Even granting we would not want to be robots wired for obedience, still one cannot help wishing there were easier ways of training up our children without so many dangers all about, dangers we adults are responsible for. Don’t you wish our political leadership would remember the lessons of childhood, to act like adults and be responsible for the many dangers facing all of us, the dangers that among other things they were elected to prevent?

Responsible adults don’t want a “nanny government,” however, parents are responsible to their children and those elected to office are responsible to those who elected them. We the People are not asking why we can’t have a pony in our bedroom, but we are asking why politicians don’t act responsibly, especially in the face of so many threatening dangers rather than stomping ants while the elephants are rampaging through the village, treating the electorate like children and having the temerity to call this “public service?”

Many of us privileged to live here in the glorious Kern River Valley take delight in sharing our space with the various critters and providing bird feeders for our feathered friends and water for them and others. One cannot but feel sorry for city-dwellers who at best have to make do with films, television, or screensavers of flora and fauna on their computer monitors. For my part, I don’t even mind sharing my space with the occasional “Pepe le Pew,” though this did cause a woman while visiting to remark on the presence of one that had become quite friendly.

No matter the technological advances, in my opinion “Virtual reality” will never take the place of the real thing. For example, I used to do a lot of ballroom dancing and examples of Japanese robots attempting this seemed a travesty. One cannot help applauding the inventiveness of us humans, but once you have held a lovely woman in your arms, warm, soft and sweet-scented moving together in graceful unison to the beautiful music of a waltz or tango you aren’t going to settle for a robot.

The beauty of our valley is reflective of something Emerson wrote: “That only which we have within, can we see without. If we meet no gods, it is because we harbor none. If there is grandeur in you, you will find grandeur in porters and sweeps.”

For renewal of purpose I will still watch Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald films, I still play the LPs of their music and continue to thrill to the operatic grandeur of love and romance of a simpler time that held so much hope of the future. Of such are the “gods” I harbor that sustain me, and while politicians ignore the grandeur to be found in ordinary people faithfully going about doing the menial tasks required to raise families where would America be without such ordinary people?

Having spent many years in various occupations such as machinist and construction earning a living with my hands and back, punching a clock and getting dirt and grease under my fingernails for a paycheck I am duly appreciative of the lives of the ordinary people politicians publicly applaud and privately disdain. For this reason alone we have justification to wonder what gods, if any, politicians meet or harbor? Perhaps this explains why Congress and state legislatures are not noted for the arts that sustain and advance truly civilized people.

Of this I am certain: If I had not spent those years working with hands and back my university education, the years I spent in academia would be utterly lacking in knowledge of the “grandeur in porters and sweeps,” of the real world in which the gods dwell and are met resulting in the best of the arts that sustain and advance the truly civilized, the appreciation on the part of the civilized for the art to be found in Nature that wastes nothing on superfluities, but even the various hues and scents of flowers have a distinct purpose.

But speaking of the “gods,” while no longer orthodox in Christian beliefs nevertheless I credit many of the myths and fables of the Bible having a basis in facts. Among these and other writings such as those of the Sumerians, Babylonians, Egyptians, and Greeks is the idea of war in the heavens brought to earth, of demons and angels in conflict from which we derive the origin of Good vs. Evil; the New Testament Gospel of the transcendence of good over evil personified in Jesus resulting in the basis of Western Civilization, the most advanced of any in the world.

Because of my experience and education, particularly my education in theology and philosophy together with the sciences, some years ago I began to entertain the notion there are indeed “monsters” among us in human guise, creatures such as we find in the Bible and elsewhere that throughout history have seemed to especially delight in preying on women and children.

While at first blush seeming fanciful, there are the rare instances of some animals with the human characteristics of self awareness, even using tools like some dolphins using sponges as such. If human characteristics can be found in animals, who is to say there may not be monsters in human guise among us?

Whether due to Biblical “Children of God” and “Children of the Devil,” or the interbreeding of ancient hominids or other, I believe science may yet prove such monsters are a distinct species apart from Homo sapiens and I am presently engaged in sharing my thoughts about this with some colleagues. And while circumstances and environment are often contributing factors perhaps “bullies” are born, not made. After all, saints and devils both come from the best and worst of circumstances and environments, and neither a ghetto nor Beverly Hills is a reliable predictor of the outcome.

Whatever your own thoughts on the subject of monsters among us, at least there are still places like the beautiful Kern River Valley where you have a chance to do some “celestial fishing” in hope of catching somewhat of the thoughts of kinder gods than those reflected by so much seeming madness all about our world today. And while I can no longer make the pilgrimage to my favorite trout stream here in the valley, I’m grateful to be living in a place where I can continue casting my celestial line in hope.

Walt Kelly among some other humorists had fun with the folks that used a Ouija Board. As a child I recall my mother had one of these and taught my brother and me to use it, so from childhood I could understand people talking about it and some of the movies where it would appear. For example, some of you will recall an Abbot and Costello movie where it was prominent. Unhappily, even as a child it seems I was a skeptic. I just didn’t seem able to believe the thing was working as advertised. But unlike the ambience of the séance setting in the movies where the “talking board” appears mom did not provide this environment.

Maybe mom didn’t have much faith in the thing either. But not only has the Ouija Board had a long history, it continues to enjoy popularity today. Bill Watterson had a strip where Calvin and Hobbes are using one and Calvin asks whether he will become President? The planchette begins to spell out God forb—whereupon Calvin kicks the board and shouts “Stupid thing!,” which, of course, makes me wonder if Bush as a child ever had such recourse to a Ouija Board. If so, no doubt had he gotten the same answer as Calvin he would have kicked it also. But given the choice for President, I’d take Calvin. And certainly Hobbes would be a far better counselor than Rove.

My last experience with Ouija was as a young man. I found myself alone with an attractive girl in her apartment and she had one. She insisted we use it, but when it became obvious she was manipulating the planchette to make the board say I would marry her I beat a hasty retreat. I really liked the girl, but it seems my skepticism about the occult in any form had carried into adulthood. When it comes to things like reading palms, crystal balls, horoscopes and so on, when they are only for fun and entertainment like the small strips in fortune cookies I find no fault. But when folks begin to take such things seriously, I remain the skeptic. And while the many facets of Spiritism in one form or another continue in our “modern” world, I have found some to be downright fun if not taken seriously.

I really got a kick out of the Mayberry episode where Barney Fife gets a chain letter and pretends he isn’t influenced by it. But in so many ways like the charms carried by those in the military from the most ancient of times to the present there is no getting around the fact that people do find comfort in such things. Some people have difficulty believing these had such significance to those young men in “Memphis Belle,” but I knew such young men personally. And for some of these, those lucky charms were taken very seriously. You will find many of those in our present military carrying about “lucky pieces.”

Far beyond the ordinary like four-leaf clovers and rabbits’ feet there are those who believe their very lives and destinies depend on totems of some form. Maybe mom wasn’t really serious about the Ouija Board, but there are many that do take it seriously, just as there are many educated and powerful people that continue to take Astrology seriously as did Ronald and Nancy Reagan, though biographers and others attempt to downplay the past president’s degree of credulity in such a thing. However, the occult is nothing new to the White House. And as I have written in the past it would not surprise me to learn Bush has recourse to some secret room where various forms of the occult are practiced. In point of fact, if so it would at least make some sense of his seeming lunacy that has resulted in disastrous decisions. What is too bizarre to believe of anyone that claims God speaks to them? From such lunatics we live with the results of people continuing to kill each other in the name of their respective deities, prophets and totems.

The studies ongoing in neuroscience hold promise of explaining some of the things that result in particular beliefs. But throughout human history this thing of believing has made for a demon haunted world wherever personal beliefs have resulted in the systematic organization of hatred as we are facing with the Muslim threat to the civilized world. However, the equally evil threat of greed and avarice on the part of the leadership in the civilized world remains as well.

When our mother had my brother and me catechized and baptized into the Roman Church I wanted to believe the amulets blessed of a priest had magical powers, but I continued to confront that skepticism that seemed always a part of me. Even during the years when I became a student of theology and a minister there was always that skepticism to confront. It became primarily a question of what was God’s part, and what was our part as human beings? It seemed good people would remain good people irrespective of what they believed, and bad people would remain bad people. My opinion in this regard did not change during my doctoral studies in Human Behavior. Certainly some behaviors can be modified, but quite simply it still came down to good people are good people and bad people are bad people.

However, when a system of belief is such that it punishes those that do not conform it makes for hell on earth, and this holds true for any system of religion or politics. What would an ACLU, NAACP, or La Raza America look like for example? No one needs a crystal ball or Ouija Board to tell there would be little difference between such an America and one ruled by any other system driven by fanaticism. The biggest fault I find with the ACLU is that it has never left its historic roots in Communism. It was on this basis our earliest nuclear secrets were betrayed to Stalin, the most infamous mass murderer in all of human history. But America would not be any better off under the control of those that believe our nation should fall into the hands of those with a racist agenda, though such people have made careers of calling anyone “racist” that does not agree with their agenda. Just what, for example, is this thing of politicians prostituting themselves for the “colored vote” of Negroes and Hispanics? No real American of whatever “color” can fail to be insulted by such pandering by politicians directed at any particular race. In such manner We the People are losing our distinction as Americans.

Now if prayer changes things just whose prayers are being honored by what deity? For my part, like Lee Marvin in “Death Hunt” I’ve never had much luck praying. The faithful of whatever religion will say I’m not praying correctly or I’m not in a good relationship with the deity. But though I’ve never had much luck praying, I continue to talk to loved ones and friends gone on before me, I continue to talk to God; and often in anger. Maybe that’s the problem. But I doubt it. After all, surely God knows I have a lot to be angry about in this messed up world. However, I’m not about to fault those who believe in prayer. By all means, if people find comfort in praying so be it, as long as they are not praying for their deity to kill those like me that don’t go along with their beliefs, or as some Muslims are presently doing attempting to give their deity a hand in my demise.

You know, despite the obviously inherent injustice of life fat or ugly remains fat or ugly. Attempting to make fat or ugly people “attractive” is an exercise in futility. The stories are legion, “You just have to meet him/her; they have a great personality.” When has that ever failed to raise the red flag? But those attempting to force their beliefs on others whether of evolution or deities are too often guilty of trying to sell personality rather than anything attractive. What will ever make a Rosie O’Donnell anything other than fat and ugly? She knows this, so she lashes out at others because of the injustice of what she is. She knows life has not been fair, so she does what she can to get even with life, much as Doc Holliday said of Ringo wanting revenge for being born. And no matter the amount of fame or fortune, nothing will satisfy such people from lashing out at what they perceive to be the cruel injustice of what they are. I say the same thing of Rush Limbaugh. But your own beliefs will determine who you favor.

Life is filled with injustices and inequities, but in the end good people will remain good people, and bad people will remain bad people. And good people will live by the principles of the Golden Rule regardless. But in a demon haunted world filled with so many injustices and inequities the circumstances of life will often prevent acting out all the goodness of even the best of people. I have witnessed what the extremes of poverty and ignorance can do to even good people. But so long as there are those that believe in Ouija Boards, Astrology, etc., so long as there are those that attempt to force their beliefs on others whether of science, religion, or politics there will continue to be ignorance and poverty, there will continue to be those that take advantage of such beliefs.

Is our own leadership in America like Bush and those in Congress using occult practices much in the way of the ancients? It would not surprise me. Some of these things as with many superstitions are so engrained throughout history it seems impossible to be rid of them. But if people die as a result of the failure of reason or because of the occult, it will not matter to those who die. Whether lighting candles or resorting to Ouija Boards what’s the harm so long as you do not harm others? But to believe any words of men are the words of gods, to attempt to force your beliefs on others; that is another thing entirely.

Some of us live long enough and are of a temperament to resent old age. I recall having such resentment and then having to come to terms with it, though the resentment remains and is encouraged every time I need help with anything I used to handle ably alone. However, as one acquaintance put it when someone told him he was getting older, “I don’t know anyone going the other way.” But this other fellow and I are doing our best to accommodate the realization, we are not trying to punish others for what is after all only a process where our physical bodies are succumbing to age. We can be grateful neither of us have any encroaching Alzheimer, though there is a lot of clutter. Still, why should anyone old enough to know better commit young people to the wars of old men? Which brings me back to the Ouija Board. No harm as entertainment, the harm is taking such things seriously and trying to force others to do likewise. But the disquieting question to my mind, a question I consider a legitimate one, is whether Bush, Cheney, and Rove consulted a Ouija Board whether to invade Iraq, and now doing the same thing about the question of whether to nuke Iran?

There is real merit to my suggestion the Padre Hotel in my hometown of Bakersfield be turned into a world-class brothel. The very history of the hotel, its architecture, its list of famous people who have stayed there, all cry out for this historic building to be made into something that declares Bakersfield has come of age with a chance to take its place with the best of world cities.

Ok, so that might be bit of a stretch, but one only has to consider the arguments against such a thing to recognize the schizophrenic hypocrisy that rebels against the suggestion to understand why America is suffering so much at the hands of politicians dedicated to selling out and betraying our nation for the sake of globalization and profits.

It is clear that sex dominates our lives including religion and politics. But unlike other religions such as Islam that dehumanize and demonize women, Christianity at least makes a place for them as human beings, though as Harper Lee pointed out Christian Fundamentalism continues to teach a doctrine that women are unclean and a sin by definition. As to the politics of America, women are still no better than second-class citizens.

So I’m going to say a few words on behalf of the “working girl,” repeating the things I have written in the recent past on her behalf and as justification for my opinion the Padre Hotel offers Bakersfield the chance for greatness:

One of the things I would like to see here in the Kern River Valley and in downtown Bakersfield is a “gentleman’s club,” you know, a brothel. But not just a whorehouse, an upscale nicely appointed palace of vice right out of a Hollywood production. Ideally these places would also provide marijuana legally. Such establishments properly regulated and taxed would be a real boon to local economies.

For that very small minority that might object to such a thing, consider the fact Walt Kelly made so clear in Pogo when discussing the presidential elections a “Vice Party” was suggested and Churchy asks Owl, “Deep down, wouldn’t you be for vice too … given the chance?” My dear brothers and sisters, no matter how you slice it a Vice Party is exactly what both Republicans and Democrats represent. Were these honest vice parties I would find no fault in that. But one of the problems I have with this is politicians of every stripe allow of every kind of vice among themselves including prostitution and illegal drugs, often at taxpayer expense, but hypocritically deny these vices to We the People! And quite frankly this makes me mad as hell! Why should the very vices politicians treat as their personal domain coming with elected office be made illegal and denied ordinary American citizens?

While historians and behavioral scientists have not made it much of an issue, sexual frustration may account for many of the wars of men as well as many of the more noble achievements. After all, for many men and women a cold shower just does not suffice; and much of our history as a species may well be understood in the light of sexual frustration on the part of both men and women.

Now I am all for traditional marriage and families as the foundation of all civilized societies. I am a staunch supporter of the sanctity of marriage, the sacredness of the marriage bed. But I am at least equally opposed to the kind of hypocrisy that denies sex is a normal function of the human species and makes it a crime for relieving one’s sexual frustration by simple mechanism of economics. There is all this foofaraw over abortion, so many women claiming they have the right to determine what to do with their own bodies while at the same time denying the “working girl” the same right. And what of the men in Congress and elsewhere that legislate and pass laws self-righteously denying women this right to their own bodies? Hypocrites!

The right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness should have included prostitution. After all, this was thriving at the time of the Founding Fathers, it was quite acceptable in most of the civilized societies at the time and throughout history, and it is doubtful the early years of our government could have been successful without a plentiful supply of bordellos. If our early legislators did not see these establishments as threatening to home and hearth, what happened to change their minds? All the other biological functions of the body are carefully attended, enormous amounts being spent on bathrooms for example, why the normal function of sex is suppressed is the stuff of history and books by the thousands.

Of course, in societies where women are made dependent on men, where “poor Jenny, bright as a penny” in the song decides “getting herself a husband is the thing to do” the historical disparaging of prostitution is in full force, and in a world dominated by men it is in their interest to continue subjugating women, refusing the “working girl” equal status with the honorable occupations, which may have something to do with women never achieving the status of equal value to men. Boys will be boys and men will be men, but girls and women dare not be girls and women in the same way. Solomon spouted off about the lack of virtuous women, but apparently didn’t think this standard of virtue should apply to men, an infamous double standard that has held sway throughout the history of humankind.

But in all honesty, why should there be a different standard of “virtue” applied to women than applies to men? Where is the logic in men are expected to be and accepted as “experienced” while women are supposed to be chaste? The purity of womanhood exalted while the man is often held in contempt should he cleave to this same standard.

No one is a stronger adherent to the ideal of romance, to the art that flourishes around the sexual purity of the chaste girl and woman. After all, without this where would most of the great poets and writers find inspiration? Much of my book Birds With Broken Wings has to do with this kind of inspiration of romance. But this does not blind me to the pragmatic facts of the case that the working girl should not be an object of shame and derision because she believes she should have the human right to decide the issue for herself just as any man, that there should be no disparaging of the “fallen woman” while the man escapes any such designation.

However, the historical male dominance that makes whores of women while men have escaped any such pejorative appellation, at the same time denying the same right to women hiring themselves a man to satisfy their normal sexual desire, does make for the steamy novels, plays and films that take full advantage of this dichotomy in most cultures. And the refusal of men to accept women on the same basis they excuse themselves makes for an industry where women pander to the lust of men, making fools of men in the process. But men seem to excuse their foolishness in this regard while penalizing women and holding them in contempt. Consider the man playing the fool exclaiming “I never had to pay for it!” as though that was a proclamation of his “manhood.”

During the Civil Rights marches I watched some Negro men carrying placards declaring “I Am A Man!” But there were no Negro women marching with placards declaring “I Am A Woman!” Well of course not, those men were trying to call attention to the fact they should not be treated as lesser human beings on the basis of the accident of birth giving them the color of their skin. But it did occur to me that such placards just might be appropriate to all women within the same context having to do with equal value on the basis of gender.

Because sex is such a powerful thing, much of religion and politics can only be understood within this context. George Will: “Barney Frank, the 14-term Massachusetts congressman who chairs the Financial Services Committee, says it might be useful to ‘make it a misdemeanor to use metaphors in the discussion of public policy,’ such as ‘a rising tide lifts all boats.’ “

Frank shows his real intelligence in making such a statement. Now if a discussion of all the really important issues of life could be addressed in plain language, if politicians and pundits were forced to say what they mean in plain English without metaphor how much better off America would be. Suppose Caesar Bush were made to say in plain language what he means by “stay the course” for example. Well, in his case he would probably be, in fact, at a loss for words. He apparently doesn’t have much of a vocabulary. But you get my meaning.

How about discussing the issue of sex and prostitution in plain language without any metaphors? I’m willing to bet this article will prompt many to resort to metaphors rather than using plain language addressing the issue. Granted metaphors are safer than plain speech; but some issues are too important to be left to metaphorical language. And no matter what your opinion, sex is definitely too important a subject to be left to pornography and metaphors.

“Booze has its place, but its place is in hell!” Dear old Billy Sunday sure was instrumental in bringing about Prohibition, along with the side product, the unintended consequence of organized crime in America. At that, Prohibition did not make saints of sinners, and the booze continued to flow. And who is so naïve as to believe the wealthy and well-connected became teetotalers because of a silly law? It is silly, when not downright dangerous, to legislate human nature attempting to frustrate the normal desires of human beings. And too often “follow the money” is the only way to interpret such legislation.

Well, the suffragettes marched until women got the vote. Women marched for abortion until they won that battle. But where are the women marching for the rights of women to be prostitutes? Taken within the context of religion and politics, it is admittedly a tad touchy of a subject and I don’t expect many to be jumping on the bandwagon. Nevertheless, wherever men gather they talk about women, and wherever women gather they talk about men; and the topic is sex. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could talk about the subject of prostitution in a civilized manner devoid of all the religion and politics? “Deep down, wouldn’t you be for vice too … given the chance?”

Since I am known as a writer of humor, it was gratifying to receive so many notes from people who got a laugh out of my suggesting I would like to see a “gentlemen’s club” in downtown Bakersfield. While many people commenting understood the significance of my support for legalizing prostitution and treated it with the seriousness such a thing deserves, it was the name “Bakersfield” being associated with a fancy, legal whorehouse that tickled not a few funny bones. And by golly, I’m tired of Bakersfield being the butt of derisive jokes having this image problem and propose doing something about it!

While I was born in Weedpatch, I have always considered Bakersfield my hometown. And I have fond memories of the Dust Bowl folks among whom I was raised, many fond memories of our little church and grocery store on the corner of Cottonwood and Padre, and I know first hand the kind of nobility associated with the best of those Okies and Arkies with their polite southern manners and speech so characteristic of long held traditions of such things.

But let’s face it folks, when anyone says “Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Malibu, San Francisco” these names conjure up a certain image. And, when anyone says “Bakersfield” this conjures up a certain image; and it certainly is quite distinct from that of the other cities mentioned. And people are not going to confuse CSUB with Stanford or Berkeley. However, perhaps because of my being born in Weedpatch I may be a tad more conscious of and sensitive to the name of one’s birthplace, and maybe that has something to do with my sticking up for Bakersfield. That said I do understand the importance of perception. And I want to do my bit in changing the perception of Bakersfield.

The progress of civilization owes much to those like Charles Dickens, Upton Sinclair, John Steinbeck and others, gifted writers who could make the plight of children and working people so touchingly clear it forced politicians to take notice and act. But unlike Karl Marx, the writers in the English and American traditions never lost sight of the need for Emerson’s “strong natures,” those rare people who by brute force overcame enormous obstacles of nature and lesser men, seized power, and once having done so founded dynasties that would eventually lead to the betterment of humankind with civilized families giving rise to the arts, to the true Lady and Gentleman, those without affectation that would lead by virtue instead of the physical force required of their brutish ancestors.

Having graduated from Mira Costa High School in Manhattan Beach, my having lived and loved much of my young adult life among the Lotus Eaters of that Camelot of my youth now only seen in films like “Gidget” I am well qualified to speak knowledgeably about the subject of a whorehouse in Bakersfield.

No one is going to dispute the fact Bakersfield has an image problem, and I’m not going to belabor the many reasons this is the case. But it is time the city fathers, and mothers, came to grips with what is required to change this image of Btown being a harbor of brutish people of brutish ancestors and begin to think seriously about making it a toney town of refined, civilized people with civilized manners and an appreciation for real culture. A “squiggle” isn’t going to do the job, and while I recall the Bakersfield Arch with fondness since it was first constructed so many years ago over Union Avenue, the move to its new location only enhanced the poor image of my hometown. While I love good C&W and have played and sung in some real honky tonks the Arch and Buck Owens, a Crystal Palace only emphasizes the word “Hick.”

But a whorehouse, a real gentleman’s club with all the embellishments of the old Ambassador Hotel with its Coconut Grove, something rivaling Grauman’s Chinese Theater and having its own Walk of Fame, the stars to be named for the most talented of the ladies, a virtual palace gilded inside and out, garishly shouting “Whorehouse!”- Absolutely that would enhance the image of Bakersfield! And when anyone would mention “Downtown” the term would have real significance. And once some minor scruples against the idea have been overcome, I’m certain not a few church leaders would see the wisdom of my suggestion; that is the leaders not of the mindset women should be subservient to men, the kind of “barefoot and pregnant” thinking already associated with the denizens of Bakersfield.

Now I grant you such a world class brothel would generate real interest far beyond the confines of downtown Bakersfield. The city boasts its annual Business Conference but just think of how many more worldwide would attend if they knew they had a world class Pleasure Palace to which they could resort following the conference. The world leaders of corporations would be falling all over each other to attend! If you can relate to the profound philosophy in “Paint Your Wagon” you readily understand my point. Why should local folks have to travel to the Getty for some refinements of civilized culture?

Let’s say some really far-sighted civic leaders in Bakersfield should see the wisdom of my suggestion. Granted it would take real courage to speak out on this and support the idea; but the one thing that more than any other standing in the way of our leaders, whether local, state, or federal taking up for the working girl and acting on my suggestion is the fact politicians do not want the competition in a field they consider their own turf, especially since their idea of “servicing” the public makes a mockery of the legitimate working girl and prostitution as an honorable occupation by comparison.

In George Babbitt of Zenith, Sinclair Lewis showed the power of conformity often leading to the vacuity to be found in American life. In both Main Street and Babbitt, Lewis skewered the axiom “The business of America is business,” an oftentimes poignant satire on the meanness of lives of “quiet desperation” recognized by Thoreau and so many before Lewis put pen to paper. But the genius of Lewis in portraying such lives of quiet desperation led to his being the first American to win a Nobel for literature.

A Community Voice column in the Bakersfield Californian titled “City mustn’t forsake literary heritage” by Gerald Haslam would lead one to think poets are the only writers of note by which a “literary heritage” should be acknowledged. This is the typically elitist thinking that denies the actual literary heritage of America, which is not in its poets but the great writers like Lewis by which America earned its place as a literary nation. A far better measure of Kern County’s literary heritage is to be found in the Weedpatch Memorial Library, to which I have made a modest contribution from some of my own writing.

I am justifiably proud of my literary award from The Writers of Kern. As a “home boy” such an award proves someone from Weedpatch can actually be literate and write well. And I am only one among many in Kern County that are literate and can write well, but when it comes to what is too often only sophistry attempting to pass as “poetry” I have little patience for such pretense; which, of course, brings me to the point for my addressing the issue of a high class whorehouse in Bakersfield. And in the words of JFK I say “why not?” Come to think of it, there have been times when the White House has been host to… but I digress.

No one who knows me well would accuse me of naiveté, least of all when it comes to sex, made unashamedly and indelibly clear in my non-fiction book “Birds With Broken Wings,” some of the stories having to do with “working girls” I have known. And while I believe legalizing prostitution would be the right thing for America, I have no illusions about the prospect for such a thing happening. Still, in that fantasy world where writers often dwell in their heads the images of such a thing happening and what this could mean to American culture conjure up all sorts of fascinating and tantalizing possibilities.

While many writers, Lewis among them, wrote about whorehouses and the prominent role these have always played in American cities since before the Revolution and continuing on to this day, most writers of any stature have been of necessity somewhat circumspect in doing so, knowing well how they might call down the wrath of civic and church leaders were they to be absolutely truthful and candid about the subject. At that, while “gentlemen’s clubs” flourished the very idea that women should be entitled to the equivalent “lady’s clubs” would be anathema. But in all fairness, when it comes to the issue of equality in the best sense of the word there should be no double standards of race, religion, or sex.

Now if Lewis was able to write today on the subject of a high class whorehouse in Bakersfield, a contemporary Zenith peopled by Babbitt’s, I cannot but believe he would find a wealth of material for satire and parody just on the basis of the objections made to such a thing. Btown abounds in pretentiousness, so many attempts to make it a toney town all the while suffering the small town strictures of conformity leading to the vacuity of lives of quiet desperation. In all my years of experience with Kern County in general and Bakersfield in particular there is no escaping the kind of conformity that is much more like Babbitt and Zenith; and this is certainly accentuated here in the Kern River Valley where I now dwell, which is one of the reasons I live in near reclusive isolation from society. Someone of note replying to my first article about a whorehouse in Bakersfield asked, “Why don’t you put that in the Kern Valley Sun?” To which I replied with the words from the song “Oh, that’ll be the day…”

Bakersfield has an image problem. Imagine someone like Haslam expressing any consternation over why Bakersfield “poets” are not taken seriously in the literary world. The first thought that came to my mind when I read the piece was “You have just got to be kidding!” It reminded me of Sam Clemens remarking on the young man claiming to be a poet. “The trouble,” Sam said, “was his trying to get other people to believe he was a poet.” The literary doomsday name Bakersfield aside, one only has to do a search of the status of so-called “poetry” in America today to get the point. There is too much truth to the saying, “I may not know much about art, but I know what I like.” There are scams galore in the field of poetry, so-called “contests” of every kind, but just try to find a literary agent for anyone believing they are a poet or legitimate publishing houses looking for poets.

Now I have had book signings at Russo’s Books at the Marketplace. And talk about being surrounded by culture; this is where it is, where the literary folks of Kern County are in their proper environment. But whether Russo’s or any other upscale bookstore in Bakersfield, here you will find the proper environment for lovers of literature; the real cultural elite of Kern County. And one can only be thankful Bakersfield is not being judged and further demeaned on the basis of its “poets.” But one thing I miss is being able to have a cigarette, pipe or cigar with my cup of coffee while discussing literature with others. And I don’t doubt posters of famous literary figures will eventually for the sake of political correctness have their cigarettes, pipes and cigars air-brushed out of existence, much in the same way many famous figures of history and their association with whorehouses is often ignored.

Ah, but if prostitution were legalized and a truly grand Pleasure Palace were to open in Downtown complete with smoking rooms; now that, folks, would be the stuff of dreams. I would then say to literary pretenders in the most politically incorrect language; “Put that in your pipe and smoke it.” And it boggles the mind to consider what Sinclair Lewis would write about Bakersfield then. No Zenith of small minded Babbitt’s, but a city with a real claim to grandeur, sophisticated beyond the pretensions of San Francisco.

Granted such a high class whorehouse would be available only to the wealthy, but if prostitution were legal in no time at all other places would be made available to those of modest means. And so long as they were properly legalized with all the protections in place both men and women would be safer than the present system that encourages so much crime and disease.

Few knowledgeable people would disagree with the sentiment and oft expressed opinion that Kern County is a cultural wasteland. It isn’t that my native county has ever suffered a lack of talented and artistic people, some of this wasteland has to do with geography as much as anything else. Then too, our county suffers from a preponderance of low wage earners, too many people on the dole, abysmally low education due in no small part to the county playing host to so many non-English speaking illegal aliens, a host of problems plaguing the county accentuating the difficulties to be overcome; all of these things detrimental to the image of Kern County and the city of Bakersfield.

Ok, so I’m a humorist and I’m having fun pulling a few legs, but faced with such seemingly insurmountable problems to putting Btown on the cultural map, as someone who would like to have justifiable cultural pride in my native county and hometown, when I cast about in my mind what could be done to change our image a world class brothel, fitted and appointed with great art and décor, seemed more plausible than attempting anything else. The nattering nabobs of negativism are quickly circling the wagons, opposing such a thing. Preachers will take to pulpits denouncing the very idea of such a thing; civic leaders will expound on how preposterous the whole idea is, how it would be a shame and disgrace all the while ignoring the fact politicians avail themselves of illicit sex and drugs often at taxpayer expense. But wouldn’t it be fun to see editorials discussing the merits or lack thereof of such a thing. That alone would be sure to draw attention to Btown from the rest of the country. Ah, the hypocrisy of it all. It is the stuff of great literature like that of Sinclair Lewis, denouncing such hypocrisy and small minds.