"Dear Richard"

       Dear Richard;

      I never thought I would be saying this after all of the chaos and uncertainty you left behind, but you were right! I'll never forget my own skepticism when you probably said to yourself  "Someday everyone will understand what they have done to me and they will miss me."  It was August 8, 1974 and you must have pleaded with yourself over and over to reconsider the decision you were planning to make the following day.

    Since then all of us have had to acquire a taste for Humble Pie because if we weren't right about anything else we were right that we were the victims in all of that mess the Democrats caused by enlisting the media to help run you off. (My God! Did they treat you unfairly!)

    Nevertheless, what we didn't know then, but now do is we were victims of our own recklessness by not paying attention to what you were trying to tell us for our own good; a case of shortsightedness on our part of epic proportions! Some celebrated when you said goodbye and I must confess that I did too but since then I have run out of words and excuses to explain why. If only we had the Internet back then. Maybe if we had we wouldn't have been so quick to trust people like Howard K. Smith, Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw and the rest of that pack of media trouble makers to tell us the truth.

    You should have listened to your heart and trusted your instincts Richard because you were right all along. I don't know enough words to say it, but what this country wouldn't give to have you back and back in control! We were wrong about about you, Dick. We have nearly self-destructed since everyone made such a big fuss about that harmless little scavenger hunt your friends went on in the middle of the night over there at the Watergate Hotel, when all it was proven to be was an attempt to thoroughly vet someone who wanted to take your place. Now we bitch when candidates are NOT vetted properly!

    You knew the Democrats were hiding something that might someday destroy all of us, and you only did what any responsible sitting president should do by wanting to make sure we didn't make a disastrous mistake by voting for another candidate we didn't know much about. I think I can speak for at least half of the country now when I say we are sorry we so grossly underestimated your benevolent intentions and that you were only thinking of what was best for everyone that had a stake in America.

    If only you could come back from wherever you are and once again throw your hat into the ring in 2016 to lead us through these dark and dangerous times, because our pickings have never been slimmer and those damn Democrats are at it again! This latest crop of them looks like the most dangerous band of malcontents this country ever had to choose from.

   There is an old gal named Hillary Clinton who lies so much, that any you were ever accused of now seem like little white fibs. Yours only embarrassed us a little but hers could get us all killed! You have probably never heard of her but she is the matriarch of what has come to be known as The Clinton Dynasty. They are a family that came out of Arkansas to amass an obscene fortune that is being spent to build an oligarchy that they can control and benefit most from. Many believe that if they succeed it will leave the rest of us jobless, homeless and fighting in the streets over the food scraps they and their supporters throw out.


   Then there is another loudmouthed old Hippie like her that can't be trusted either because he keeps picking the scabs of old wounds and reigniting the volatile rhetoric that caused all of those poor race relations that you and LBJ had to confront back in the 1960s! I think your people probably kept him under surveillance because of his anti-everything civil disobedience when he was just an angry college kid that no one ever heard of. He is like a false prophet taking advantage of millions of lost and confused minions; someone who will build them all houses made of bricks instead of sticks and straw, and stock their pantries daily with free food!

    His name is Bernie Sanders; a longtime Washington freeloader from Vermont that looks and behaves like Professor Irwin Corey but sounds like George McGovern! He has vowed to spend seventy-million dollars or more if he has to between now and the convention just to stay in the limelight even though he knows he can't possibly win this thing.

    Think about that Mr. President; he is willing to piss away $70,000.000.00 of other people's money to keep telling everyone else that WE need to care more about the disadvantaged and the poorest people. He speaks of wasteful spending and how the rest of us need to be more responsible if there is money that can be channeled to neighborhoods that need it most! Can you even imagine such pompous arrogance? I am sure that if you were still in charge you would have a man like him jailed! Things are getting worse, not only because they are worse or  ever were, but because these two knuckleheads seem to be missing the '60s and want to push the progress we made back 50 years by encouraging only more economic and social divide!

   What these people are threatening to do (and have done) makes your policies look like a curriculum for successful innovation through higher education, everyone living healthier and longer, expanding the opportunities for more people to achieve the American Dream and the safest world the planet ever saw! I am dumbfounded that I and so many others didn't see that when we had the chance.

   I am telling you Richard, things are a real mess right now, and more than half of us are afraid that we may never again see the country you led and wanted us to be during your tenure as Commander and Chief, while the other half doesn't even want it! As for the Grand Old Party, there is ONE man that is willing to step up and take a shot at fixing everything we have broken in the years since you left. He isn't exactly like you but he is the nearest we have to anyone with balls as big as yours must have been. His name is Donald Trump; perhaps you knew his dad, and he wants to make America Great again just as you tried to make it.

    There hasn't been a leader since you left that could do it and make it last for any more than 8 years or so and this could be our last chance to ever get there. Because now we are engaged in a new Civil War that this Sanders dude and this Clinton dame started, and this one is as hate-filled and bloody in rhetoric as the first war between the states was with rifles and cannons. America doesn't like itself much anymore and fewer and fewer countries around the world even respect us, and I think you predicted it would come to this someday if we turned our backs on people like you.

   You were right, Richard. We must have been wearing blinders when we allowed you to return the keys to the White House before you were finished back in '74. We should have listened to you and tried to understand you better. Someone should have crawled to that podium on their hands and knees that day and thrown them self at your mercy and begged shamelessly for you to reconsider your decision to just quit and leave us dangling with little hope for the future. I have survived to see it all unfold just as you predicted it would; the future is here and it is a mess!

    Please share this letter with Pat and tell her we miss her too.

    Neither of you would believe some of the First Lady's that have hung curtains in your old home since you moved out of it. We know because we have had to endure their husbands and some of them were so pussy-whipped and meek that some of us have forgotten what it was like to have a classy and powerful first couple to look up to. I hope you can forgive us for our reckless acceptance to let you go, because as it all unfolded you were right along.

   Oh, and if you see Spiro tell him all is forgiven also; even he would be better than most of the choices we have now!

    Sincerely,
    Richard.

"I didn't get a Green Beer"

  

                                         "I'll bring back a green beer for you later"
 
I think that's what he said before he left the WMNI Radio studios for the last time in his long and storied broadcasting career, but he he never came back. Jim Eldridge lived in a suite one floor below the station in The Great Southern Hotel at the corner of S. High Street and E. Main Street in downtown Columbus. If I ever knew a downtown guy it was he.

Think about it, you are one of the city's top radio announcers in an era when the radio industry had more listeners overall than television had viewers, and your home is on the 6th floor of a famous hotel that is located at the intersection heading into a thriving downtown in one of the 20th largest cities in America. Almost everywhere you go people know who you are even if they really don't know anything else about you. 

All I knew about Jim aside from his personalty persona is what I have shared here, and my radio show was bookends to his; it started an hour before he came on, and re-started 3 hours later after his program ended. Mine began as sort of a buffer between our afternoon-drive DJ and his nightly talk-show called "Columbus Feedback" and the second segment of mine which finished at midnight.  

That odd sounding schedule made me the evening DJ as well as producer for his show; I know, it all sounds complicated and it was! I would just get warmed up for my show and in the same hour have to say goodbye to my listeners and welcome his and hope mine would come back for me later!

It was the wee hours of the morning after St. Patrick's Day, 1978 and Jim had wandered into a production studio where I was producing commercials that would air the next day following my live on-air program. He had been across the street celebrating in an adult-themed nightclub called "40 Carots" and from his demeanor and general attitude I could tell he had a good time. 

That strip along S. High Street was normally populated by good times on any given night because of the hotel and various taverns nearby and a usually busy pornography emporium called "The Gentlemen's Bookstore" where lonely men could hang out, purchase naughty books, tapes and magazines, or just get to know one another in various ways.

Sometimes late at night when I would be walking to my car after work I would hear a cat-call from someone standing on the corner shouting "Hey Baby!" Usually it was a prostitute pretending to be attracted to me but really only wanting to earn a few bucks for special services; while other times it was strange men testing my sexual preference. None of it was anything I wasn't used to or something I worried about. 

Being a local celebrity in my mid-20s and thinking I was kind of special I was rarely desperate for attention, and believing I was ten-feet tall and bullet proof not much that happened anywhere was cause for alarm unless I felt threatened in some way. The cat-calls were all about the same thing and never anything I wanted to venture into, just stuff that goes on in an environment like that.

Like I said, Jim on the other hand was a real downtown guy, he was single and he knew his way through fast and loose crowds more than I wanted to, and because he was older and had no one at home waiting for him he had more time and probably more desire for a risque atmosphere like that than I did. So the night began and ended like any other; he left the building after finishing a lively and spirited St. Patrick's Day show at 9:30 and after the bars closed he returned and stopped by the studio to say goodnight. I had no idea that it would be the last time I would ever see him. What awaited him in his suite was someone that would take his life before the sun came up.

I don't know if any of us ever got the entire story surrounding the circumstances of that murder, but the general consensus was that he had met someone (probably in the bar or on the corner) who either followed him home or was invited to join him there and something went terribly wrong. His beaten and bloody body was discovered the next day by our company president and hotel owner, William R. Mnich when attempts to call him failed and knocks on the door went unanswered. We were told that when he went inside it was like stepping into a scene in horror movie! The room had been ransacked and the walls, the ceiling and the furniture were blood spattered as he lay dead in a pool of bloody broken glass from a lamp that was used to beat him and stab him dozens of times. 

(More than 60 we were told.) 

Every St. Patrick's Day since then I think of that night, of him and the rest of the radio staff at WMNI, and as stoic as it may sound, I remember that time as the good old days, and of 1978 as my single best and favorite year in radio; a career that lasted until the early 90s! 

From March 17th, and for weeks after it things were unsettling all through the hotel because no one knew who the murderer was and the police would need nearly a full year to finally identify a suspect and bring him to justice. But still it was a very rewarding year for me, both in my personal and professional life. Before it ended I would settle into the air-shift I wanted and a second son would be born. It was when being a radio personalty really added up to good things for those who had a passion for it and worked in good environments that were as good as ours. 

It was also a turning point for the country music format; the brand was becoming enormously popular not only in Columbus, but across America, and as it stock continued to grow so did ours! Nothing I had ever accomplished in broadcasting before or since that time was more gratifying or rewarding. I had the best job in Columbus! So tonight, Erin Go Bragh, and if beer or alcohol of any color will be in your celebration between now and sunrise, please drink responsibly, and be careful! 

Oh, and one more thing, it might also be a good idea to resist any temptation to pick up strangers or be picked up by one.  

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off...

    In the wake of another election cycle, and after the winners run out of breath from bragging about their victories and the non-winners reflect on what they might have done differently for a better personal result, there is one bright spot for everyone; at least for a few months we won't be bombarded by all of those sickening and vile political ads! In them we are all played for fools expected to believe that candidates really are who they say they are and that their opponents cannot now and never should be trusted.

   The truth is, everyone that runs for public office is the same in more ways than anyone would have time to count. When incumbents win it means they still have a job whether they are worthy of it or not and when challengers unseat someone and take their place it means they can finally stop looking for work and settle in somewhere behind a desk knowing the rest of us will be paying them a salary for at least a few years. Holding public office is good work if you can get it and every candidate, regardless of the office they seek knows it or they wouldn't bother to try. 

     (Just ask any that have made politics their life's work.)

    Congratulations to all of the winners, and to all who fell short of their latest ambition, remember, we do this in relatively short cycles and another election is always right around the corner. For them I suggest taking a deep breath, lick the wounds and regroup with smarter people and a better plan next time. 

    (Just ask any that have made politics their life's work and keep running for other offices even when they have already lost a few contests but keep coming back for more.)

    It is easier to be angry at the winners when they weren't the people we had hoped would come out on top than it would be to simply congratulate them and wish them well, but in the long run no one wins when we hold grudges and hope they fail. Most of the candidates I have been supporting in recent years haven't won but I have been around long enough to know that being bitter about it only prolongs the disappointment until the next time we are disappointed.

   So I always congratulate the winners, wish them well and remind the rest that I will be here for them the next time if they need me. After the shock wears off of being on the end of a short stick after all of the votes are counted whatever just happened is only temporary anyway; that is if we stick to our values and what we stand for instead of only feeling defeated.

   Politics is like sports; when the title is clinched the victors remind everyone that they are the best and they pop the corks of champagne bottles and douse one another with more accolades about how hard they worked to get there while the runner-ups begin planning for next season. The best of the latter group doesn't waste much time preparing and getting back in shape for another run. They simply pick themselves up, dust themselves off and go to work more determined than ever.

   Like I said, I have been disappointed over election results for the past few years because my horses haven't fared too well but I still want the same things out of life for me and for my family. My hopes for having the best people in the right places hasn't changed and I will continue to support the platforms and issues I believe are best. The winners this time around will have 3 years to show me what they are all about and then we will begin a new primary season. At that time they will have to raise more money for more ads and circulars and they will again be on the hot seat as they approach another election.

   For anyone who woke up disappointed today because they or their candidate didn't win this time please don't waste this day. Instead get busy with a new plan even if it means supporting all who did win until they disappointment you or until you figure out how to beat them the next time. Usually all that takes whether in politics or anything else is the willingness and determination to put the disappointments behind us and start anew with a clear head, because remember, everything in life is temporary.

   All that is really important now is where do we go from here and what is the best way to get there? I know, because I have been knocked down a few times also but I always get back up, and I think I have been able to do that because I don't burn bridges, instead I shore the ones up that broke behind me and then look for ones that are more sturdy when I need to get over something. In the case of political expectations it has meant switching party affiliations for me because as a lifelong Democrat my Democrats are headed into directions where I see a lot of weak and crumbling bridges caused by incindearies that keep exploding beneath them.

    It will take a lot of coming back and working together for the good of everyone by a lot of important people before I ever return to the fold. But until then Ill take the high road and stay focused my own way. Oh, and for what it's worth,..Trump in 2016!

0 to 120 MPH in 63 Years (Still Cruising Along)

                                                                        

                                                    Click images to enlarge

    The speedometers of the first car I ever owned and the last one that I will probably ever buy are shown here, one on top of the other; they are reminders of my fascination with automobiles for as far back as I can remember and examples of what still revs my inner motor.

    Let me explain; it all began with Tonka trucks and toy cars I could push around on the floor or outside in the dirt until I got a little older and graduated to assembling plastic model car kits that I would display on window ledges and shelves in my bedroom. They were usually the cars I dreamed of owning someday and the aroma of Testor's model cement and paint wafting from my room and filling other rooms were usually cause for someone to pound on the door and complain that I was stinking up the entire house with my hobby, and sometimes my mother worried that I would inhale too much of it and eventually kill off a lot of brain cells that would be needed someday for more important projects. But that never happened as far as I can tell, even though  some might wage an entirley different debate about that.

    I couldn't begin to remember how many kits I put together during those formidable years, but I think I probably ended up buying even more real ones. All in all I have owned more than 60 (mostly Ford's) since I got my first set of wheels and that one was a 1960 Ford Falcon that I have bragged about since the day I got it when I was still too young to get my temporary driving permit. It was May, 1968 and all of my experience from building 1/24 scale replicas before that summer helped when it came to understanding where parts were supposed to be whenever I needed to replace one or work on something to keep it running.

    What began as a child's hobby in my bedroom in the early 1960s eventually escalated into a similar one in a bigger workshop near the end of the decade, and over the years I viewed them all as giant metal versions of all of those plastic kits I used to buy for a buck and a half. (It seemed I was always wanting, or  needing new parts to either glue together or bolt on to get one finished.)  If any of this sounds weird to the reader then consider that I grew up surrounded by weirdos because nearly all of my friends were a lot like me! (At least in that regard.)

   Almost every kid I knew (except for the girls) blew a lot of their allowances and money they earned from mowing lawns or delivering newspapers on model cars, and then when we were old enough to get real ones it went to title transfers, insurance and things like baby moon hubcaps, pinstripes and after-market dash gauges.

   For many of us something that needed spark plugs to fire gasoline to make engines and transmissions spin to get us humming down the road was as important as almost anything else! And for rabid car guys it was sometimes what mattered most! As curious as it may sound, even what girls may have had on their minds for me to do may have finished  a close second; even though there were times when that could have been a toss-up!

    However, none came before my car if it wasn't running as it should or if I had an idea to make it look better. There were times when I would even back away from asking one for a date if I only had enough extra money to buy a can of Turtle Wax and a few polishing cloths.

    I would like to believe that Falcon was most of the reason my first serious girlfriend was always dating other guys and maybe why she eventually walked away from our high school romance for good; because if that's what it was about then I am fine with how everything turned out because I can look back on it without feeling like I either failed her or simply wasn't good enough for her. I mean after all, I wasn't a horribly looking kid and if it was because she thought I usually smelled bad or always looked dirty then so be it! I may have smelled like gasoline and oil and maybe my fingernails were caked with dirty grease at times, but if she found any of that repugnant then I could have argued the same about her perfume and make-up, but I rarely did. 

   
    In the end she married someone else and had several babies and I married someone else and had a lot of cars. I also had a few kids to play with when I wasn't busy in the garage so it all worked out best for us both. But eventually the kids grew and went on to pursue their own dreams and here I am still reflecting on my own by writing about them and sharing them in books and blogs.

    Sometimes I look up and down both sides of my street, and for 2 blocks in either direction  I think about all of the cars I have owned and if I still had them all there would be no place for anyone else to park. When I think of all of the speedometers I kept watch on through the years none of them ever said more about my passion for cars as the one in that first 1960 Falcon.

    I miss that little compact car, and I think many of us feel that way about our first cars. But now when I climb behind the wheel of what I have in the garage and think of all of the years that have passed I smile because this one is more to me than just what it might look to someone else; this isn't just a car, in some ways it is the glass, the sheet-metal, the rubber and the plastic of what little boys dream of when all of those fantasies are about where we hope to go in life, how we will arrive and what we can build along the way. 

BEING A PORN STAR ON THE RADIO

   
                                             Click "steamy" image to enlarge

     Perhaps to some that is all I was, but if so being a radio porn star was more than just an easy way to earn a living; daring to play with adult broadcasting toys in a place where thousands of people could witness my nightly live performances sometimes offered unexpected opportunities that I rarely speak of, but they were experiences that I believe made me a better man for having lived them.

    Those nights when I would sit on a stool in a dimly lit studio wearing nothing more beneath my headset than a shirt, blue jeans and a pair of sneakers were a little unsettling for a 19 year-old kid when I first started, but in time I grew more and more comfortable in my surroundings by imagining the audience listening in their underwear or sometimes while they were naked!

    Announcing to the family my desire to push the envelope of decency and take up something like that just to earn money wasn't as bold as some might think it was because mine usually kept an open mind anytime they discovered something about me they might not have understood. I'll never forget the expression on my mother's sweet face when I told her I got that first radio job! At first she pretended to be surprised but then she smiled and simply said "That's nice." My dad's reaction wasn't quite as subtle; he, like many other father's wondered if I might be biting off more than I could chew.

    I remember something of a father-son talk when he reminded me that I would be surrounded by people from all walks of life, many of them strangers and all of them expecting something different coming from their radio speakers, and maybe some that might try to take advantage of me after misinterpreting my intentions. "Some, he said, may offer to walk you home or take you to places you shouldn't go."  Then he asked, "Are you really up for what you're getting yourself into?"

   After assuring him that I could get myself up for anything if there was money to be made he hugged me and then cautioned me that it might be best to keep some of my experiences to myself and not share all of them with my mother. It wasn't long after I took that first job before I learned exactly what he meant!

   Going into radio and performing as I was expected to was easy for me because I believed I had the right tools and the energy it took to get done what needed to be done. At the risk of sounding full of myself I think I had a face for radio and to the listeners that might have wondered what I would look like naked I thought I had a voice that could leave the worst of them with any image they wanted to conjure up! I discovered that I was right anytime I answered the request line and some devious sounding voice on the other end would ask what I was wearing.  I could tell by their tone that they wanted me to paint a picture that was already being seen in their own mind. So when they asked what I had on I would catch my breath, hold it for a moment and then blurt... "Headphones!"  and then I would hang up knowing they got from me what they hoped they would.

   Now, I never professed to be the Monk of the Month or someone like that by claiming to have morals above anyone else, but there were times when even I could be deeply offended by some of the language us radio porn stars had to contend with, and it did happen more frequently than anyone might think. Sometimes it would be a disgruntled advertiser that wasn't exactly pleased with how I read his commercial or how I pronounced the name of his business, but more often it would be a very upset program director or station manager using language I will refrain from sharing here; shouting words so vile and despicable at me for doing or saying things I thought were innocent or no big deal; such as playing the wrong record or talking too much over the intro of a song or not reading the cue-cards that were carefully laid before me.

    This was a lifestyle that was not always conducive for personal relationships and on at least two occasions it brought some of the reasons I ended up in divorce court. It can be a load on a man's mind when his significant other looks at how much he is paid and then describes him as something of a radio prostitute. But I never denied it; I took the money, at least twice a month, even when at times times it seemed like it wasn't enough for the things I was willing to do for it.

   "Every night you leave me to go downtown to talk to strange women and even MEN for crying out loud, and you don't even care who knows it! I know you do because I hear it on the radio!  You must like it better than you like talking to me!"

    I never denied it or tried to defend what I was doing and when I was younger and more in demand I would take just $3.00 an hour to do whatever any other disc jockey was doing in a radio station. They would tell me what they expected from me and what pleased them and I would do the best I could, and usually they were satisfied even if all I got from it was a few bucks. In other words, everyone got what they wanted and I got paid!

   Eventually that money became $5.00 and then $11.00 an hour and because I was able to hone my skills and techniques and get better and better at it I began meeting more and more important men and women in the community; people that were interested in what other skills I possessed and how I might be able to give them what they wanted or needed also.

   Better jobs that I would find away from radio were the result of working night after night as an unabashed DJ; one that tossed aside inhibitions that others might not be willing to, many that may have otherwise prevented me from saying the things I did or even playing songs I didn't personally care for, all for the enjoyment of people I never knew and many I probably wouldn't have wanted to know.

    Of course it was a form of porn, but I prefer to remember it all as soft porn; something that even prudes might have found easy to not only embrace but even like enough to share it with their families! I know that many must have because my ratings reflected that! Some might find it a little unsettling to know that my customers could have been living next door to them; perhaps their doctor or their children's teachers...maybe even their Pastor!

    But I enjoyed my work and I would do it again and I would take money for it again if someone offered it! These days I do it for free hoping that it brings a new audience a few pleasures they cannot find anywhere else. I perform on a Internet station called "Heartlites" where once again I strip down to nothing but my shoes, a skimpy cheap little headset, a pair of pants and a shirt, and every now and then I will say something risque between the songs.

    If only there was a larger market for old radio porn stars besides the few that still long for the days when we were everywhere and easier to connect with.  

Black & White Lives Matter

                        Click image to enlarge

    This is a tale about a story that swept across the small town of Obetz, Ohio in 2003 when a racist group of men and women took it upon themselves to write and "publish" their own daily editions of something they called  "The Odisville Gazette". The photo above appeared on the front page of a REAL newspaper in town and it shows two men (me on the left) sifting through a pile of pages of hate-filled rhetoric that had been circulating on the streets during the days and weeks leading up to an election.

    The faux "newspaper"  was named for the man on the right; his name is Odis Jones. Odis was the village administrator and the only African American to ever hold that position in the history of Obetz, and I was the Police Chief. We held coveted positions that neither of us were worthy of, according to the publisher and (guest writers) of the "Gazette"  for one basic reason, according to them. Odis, because he wasn't white and me because I wasn't white enough. For those folks that meant embracing their long held prejudices and standing with them to oust the town's first African American to ever hold a position of authority and me because I supported him and liked him.

    The Village of Obetz had a population with a demographic that was slightly above 95% white at the time and it had a tradition of doing business pretty much the same as it had since the late 1800s when it was just a tiny railroad stop known as Obetz Junction. By 2003 it had grown to just under 5000 residents and was rich with industry due to its proximity to Rickenbacker Air Base to the south, which by then had become a massive industrial complex that employed thousands of people. Marry those equations into the rail yards that crisscrossed in every direction we boasted of a daytime population of more than 20,000.

    Traffic through the main corridor was as busy and as congested as anywhere else in Central Ohio during some hours but in the older sections of town a few long-time residents weren't as enthused as the village planners were to see us growing as fast as we were and they did all they could any chance they had to slow the progress. Odis was a visionary, something not everyone endorsed, but more importantly to them he was the wrong color to be holding such a threatening position against their hopes of staying just a small hamlet on the southeast edge of Columbus. Columbus had problems they wanted no part of and to a certain group those problems were mostly caused by people of color.

     When I was named Village Marshal and Chief of the the police department I wasn't the guy that many residents wanted to have that position and some scrambled to "vet" me in ways no one should have reasons to; all the way to showing up at my house to dig through my trash to practically tracing my roots, with hopes of finding any reason they could to nullify my appointment. What they discovered was my mother's maiden name of Jewish origins, and when they found that, the "Gazette" went into high speed print mode asking why residents should be expected to accept not only a black administrator, but a Jew wearing the top badge when other "more qualified" officers on the force had been there longer and were more "in tune" with their normal traditions than I ever would be.

    Now, of course none of us believed that just anyone with only access to a computer and a printer could possibly be taken seriously enough to have an effect on an election, but these people weren't just someone. In their small circle of collaborators was a few members of city council and even a couple of cops under my command who had their eyes on the job I was chosen for. They had a lot of support, because remember, they had been in town for years before Odis or I got there and a few of those career politicians didn't become political lifers by sitting around; they were masters at campaigning and telling their constituencies what they wanted to support. That is precisely what they did best! It is the formula used by most politicians everywhere whose names show up on ballots, year after year, after year.

     Like I said, it was an election year and up for grabs was the mayor's office that could change all of that and get everything back to normal Obetz business. Their preferred candidate was hoping to unseat the current mayor and promised them that among his first acts if elected would be to remove Odis and find a more suitable Village Administrator and we all knew he meant it. I probably read between those lines as well as anyone else because in a private conversation I had with him when he came to introduce himself I asked why, if he were to be elected  would he be so quick to remove Odis when he was growing the town as well as he was and he stated that Obetz is a "white bread town" steeped in certain traditions. This candidate knew that whoever holds that position does so at the pleasure of the mayor and can be easily replaced but not so for changing the guard in the division of police. He was trolling for what he probably hoped would be an ally and someone who could see things his way.

    He also knew that cops have to be brought up on charges that can be proven, either criminal or administrative before the process of removing them can commence, so I was safe in my position. But Odis knew that if on election day the votes didn't count in the favor of the mayor who hired him that his days would be numbered. The "Gazette" was doing all it could to slander two reputations by using racists remarks that left many townspeople laughing in the barber shop and in the beauty parlor, and they were used as place mats in a local restaurant and hung on every pole around the town's busiest market. Printed under the "Odisville Gazette" banner at the top of the paper was "A Watermelon Publication." One edition even showed hand-drawn monkey's playing with one.

    Dialect and quotes used in the stories contained phrases like "All-a-Y'all" and if the word "asked" was in a sentence it might read "axed". Jews and Black Folk weren't the only targets; one editorial wondered how a woman became mayor and why she didn't stay home more where she belonged and it asked readers what they thought of a police chief that lives in a community known to attract gay people; "Where men walk and talk like women and bounce around all day humming songs by The Village People." It was true that I lived in the south end of Columbus in an area called German Village and it has long had a reputation of being a gay-friendly community, so according to the "Gazette" I too must be assumed to be gay if I chose to live there. Never mind that I grew up on those streets and it has been my home most of my life: to them I must certainly be gay because I chose to be surrounded by gay people!

    Elections can brutal, and that one was. The mayor was ousted and victory was declared by The Odisville Gazette. The mayor's last day in office came a few days after Odis Jones' last day. He didn't wait around to be replaced and Obetz would get the right guy to man the administrator's office and the right man to be my boss just as it was promised. But still they were stuck with me; a police chief that not only endorsed people of color to hold important jobs, but also someone that lived virtually next door to gay people and whose mother was Jewish! The day after the votes were counted I received a voice mail calling me a nigger loving Jew fag. The voice sounded like a former Obetz City Councilman that I had run-ins with for numerous years; he was one of my biggest detractors of them all and someone that was suspected of having ties with a small pocket of Ku Klux Klan wannabes. Whether any in that group were actually a part of the Klan remained a mystery.

    My job for the next year wasn't easy! Before I finally retired in 2005 I could look back on a stay in that town where I experienced the air being let out of my tires, lug nuts on my wheels loosened, hate letters mailed to my wife accusing me of infidelity, my kids being harassed and being followed and video-taped almost everywhere I went. But in the end I left on my own terms and when I look back on those ten years as an Obetz lawman I smile. Not because any of it was easy, but to paraphrase an old JFK speech, because it wasn't.

   You may have noticed a Chess Board on that conference table in my office; Odis and I never played against one another and it was never used in any contest by anyone. I set it up on the day I took over the police department to remind myself that I had entered an environment where I would have to use my brain to its full potential and and my wits to avoid being checkmated by some very diabolic forces that surrounded me. Those "pawns" never moved and my Queen was never in jeopardy, and when it was all packed away and I left the building for the last time I went home feeling like a Chess champ because I knew we had made the best moves for the overall good of the community while we had the chance.

    In the years that have passed since I retired, Obetz grew in spite of itself and today it is regarded as one of the fastest growing communities in Franklin County and is an ideal spot to set up camp for families of any diversity. It has a good reputation for putting behind it many prejudices and most of the scars from decades of narrow mindedness by too many who refused to go down without a fight. I came out on the other side just fine and so did Odis so in that regard this story has a happy ending. I am enjoying retirement and Odis found a high position in the City of Detroit where he has accomplished remarkable things in a town tougher than Obetz could ever imagine.

    And like I said, when I reflect on all of that I really do smile because of what I learned from the experience and because most of those people were good people; they must have been, because how else can it be explained when we look at them now and see the progress that has been made; progress that will see a village become a city in about 4 years when the next census is taken and where so many people today outnumber the narrow minds that once ran in large numbers and held powerful posistions but now are hard to find? Much of the steps taken forward to beyond that era were in the footprints we left behind.

   Those new residential neighborhoods that have sprung up since then were the blueprints on Odis' desk, as were many of the infrastructure projects that were finally completed. The job growth there can be largely attributed to what that administration had been planning for years and the police department has grown bigger and better than it ever was under the direction of a chief that I hired and trained back when he was a young rookie.

    What none of those knuckleheads back then ever knew was I looked forward to the challenges they laid before me day after day. I embraced the rhetoric and the slander and every attempt to derail my own intentions they could conjure up because, well, it kept life interesting for me while providing me with a priceless education. They only saw a man who showed up for work every day, wearing a clean and neatly pressed uniform, someone who was required by law to play by the rules and have skin thick enough to endure whatever came my way. I gave them that, but what none of them ever figured out was I am a pretty good Chess player and someone who is usually eager to engage anyone foolish enough to underestimate my abilities. Couple that with my own agenda to stand up to corruption within bodies of government as well as in our streets and it was easier to hold my own than any of them could ever understand.

    The epilogue here is that racism and deep rooted prejudices can be difficult to navigate but we can do it better and more effectively if we stop making the same mistakes over and over by electing the same politicians that keep the embers of division smoldering by constantly reminding us of how divided we always were. We see it and hear it more from the candidates that cannot stop babbling about inequality and how they can make things better for one group while never discussing what they can accomplish for everyone. When that happens all we get is more people like those behind "The Odisville Gazette". The message is different only in its wording.  Anytime I see the slogan "Black Lives Matter"  at a political rally or hear some candidate say that in a debate without finishing the sentence I am compelled to wonder if they believe all lives matter. In other words, I don't have any problem with Black Lives Matter until that is all there is to the message. We all matter!

    I don't buy the argument that we can't make black lives matter as much as they should for everyone if we don't focus on only on that because I believe when we do we only empower people like those Odis and I tried to silence years ago. To me it is like rattling cages and waking old prejudices and giving them new room to breathe. I saw it in Obetz and I see it again on a larger national political scale now. But what we should keep in mind is there will be as many losers as winners when this next round of elections is finally settled.

    Odis and I moved on without causing a ruckus anywhere and I think he would agree with most of what I shared here. Especially the parts about leaving color issues alone when constantly stiring them up and making elections only about that can lead to what it sometimes does. Odis was the only man in town I never wanted to play chess with and he never challenged me to a game. I think that was because we both knew that game might never have ended.

Forever a Deputy Sheriff

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    When I became a Franklin County Deputy Sheriff more than 30 years ago I couldn't have known where that journey would take me because I was joining the ranks of law enforcement after having established myself as a broadcaster for many years in Columbus, Ohio. For the previous 15 years I had been working in radio, beginning as a yeoman and then becoming a news reporter, DJ and finishing as a talk-show host; I was probably the least likely candidate in our class of new recruits to even have a seat in it! 

    Prior to being appointed to the academy by then Sheriff, Earl O. Smith, some may have seen me as just another long-haired Hippie with a pretty cool job; my hair was a little longer than shoulder length and my mustache fell over my upper lip and draped both sides of my chin when I didn't trim it for a week or more, and on any given day my pants were probably made of either denim, ripstock or leather. 

   Fashion for me was more about making a statement of identity; less conventional for a white-collar environment and more in line with what might be worn by male models for biker gear or someone that only wanted to stand out in a crowd. It wasn't because I tried to appear flamboyant or quirky, it was about being seen in character. In those days radio announcers were celebrities similar to television personalities, but unlike the TV guys our faces and how we dressed could only be imagined by our listeners until they saw us, so when I was out and about I wanted them to see what I thought my on-air personality really was!

   Before I became a talk-show host at WCOL I was best known around the city as something of a reckless Rock & Roll DJ, and before that a radio cowboy when I was a Country Music Disc Jockey at WMNI. So when that stage of my working life was winding down and everyone around me was trying to wrap their heads around this new voyage I was about to embark into, very few probably would have taken the bet that I was serious about it or that I could make it work. But somehow it did and I spent the next ten years as a Franklin County Deputy Sheriff and then another decade as a street cop for the Village of Obetz, Ohio, eventually retiring as Chief of Police and Village Marshal.

   However, I don't think cops ever really do retire completely. That is unless one is dismissed from the ranks for bad behavior or quits because they either don't like it or because they lose the stomach for it. I believe good cops that accept the challenge for the right reasons and then dedicate themselves to serving well and with honor never really walk away completely because they can't. The badges and equipment stop being your identity but what they represented stays with you for the rest of your life.

   Whenever I hear sirens off in the distance it still makes my mind race with wondering things like who is misbehaving now, or who is in trouble; I say silent prayers that the officer driving that car will be safe and his mission will have a positive outcome for everyone. 

   

   It's kind of funny, but when cops hear a siren we can tell the difference between a squad car or an emergency squad even when we can't see it, and even if it is blocks away. When we hear a car racing down the street faster than one should we know when it is a police car even if it too is somewhere out of view. Cop cars have a sound all their own and everyone that has ever driven one in a hurry knows exactly what I am talking about.

    It has been more than 30 years since I ventured into the fold, and after years away from it there are still those moments when I truly miss being out there, doing something that really matters and feeling those adrenaline rushes that are constant emotions in a police officer's workday. There are just as many moments when I feel a little guilty that I walked away when I did because even in my 60s my heart is still out there and it would take a lot of convincing to make me believe I couldn't still do the job; maybe with a little less energy and strength but with no less passion or desire.

   One of those recruits in the academy class with me did stay in and he is now the Franklin County Sheriff. Zach Scott is currently running for re-election to lead the greatest sheriff's office in the country and it shouldn't surprise anyone that I support him in every way I know how. He was my classmate when all of us could only hope we could make it through the rigorous training (let alone the uncertanty of what the future might hold) but when we did we both went on to have very successful careers in law enforcement.

    It is a comforting reality check for me when I think about a guy that sat next to me in that classroom way back then, and who stood just a few feet down the firing line when we were learning how to shoot and know that he is the county's top cop now. Comforting because I know him and what he is made of and what he has accomplished for the good of Franklin County and the brotherhood of law enforcement. 

    Having played all the rolls from Deputy Sheriff to Police Chief I hope my endorsement of him will matter in a positive way to anyone reading this, because like I said, I don't think I will ever fully retire from law enforcement, and I believe my experience and knowledge can still count for positive things when it comes to public safety. 

   My retirement badge may read "Police Chief" but I will always be a Deputy Sheriff because that is where it all began for me. I want the best man possible to occupy the office of Sheriff and I believe we already have him in place.

   Good luck, Sheriff. Never quit, and stay safe.

America Needs a Good Mechanic!

                                                    Click image to enlarge

    America is broken and everyone knows it. After 8 years of bending over to appease the wrong groups (those that contribute very little to anyone else but take more than they deserve) we are in worse shape now (economically) as well as in our ability to function as a peaceful society. This came about when so many people tossed aside our values in favor of trying to be something called politically correct. That in and of itself is a gross clash of terms if you think about it. Most of us agree that politicians rarely pull off anything correctly or anything that is good for everyone.

    Instead they bend over when someone pays them enough to, or when any large group raises enough Hell when they are angry and then try to convince everyone else that if they also bend over, then being screwed when they didn't want to be might not hurt as much as it would standing up and putting up a struggle.

    Now, in the photo above that mechanic is bending over at about the right angle for liberal thinkers; what they see when they look at it is someone they might believe knows what she's looking for under that hood. What I see is a set of shapely legs and a nice ass, and then I see a pretty cool red Mustang convertible. I see someone that isn't showing me any reason to believe she knows much about fixing cars, only someone who is either curious or who has agreed to pose at a certain angle for a photographer. It is a very pleasing picture, even though her shoes seem a little awkward for mechanic duties.

    So I am trusting my own hunch that she really isn't a mechanic at all! Maybe she is, but if so, one thing is very clear to me; she is dressed more appropriately for deception or something else that has nothing to do with getting her own hands dirty.

    Right now America is more like that car than it is like that girl to me. It looks fine and so does she, however, looks can often be deceiving. But I am a mechanic and a car with its hood up can suggest one of two things; someone is either admiring what is under it or someone needs to grab a rag and a wrench. I am going on the assumption that she isn't a mechanic and if that motor isn't functioning as it should then someone who is will need to take a look to assess what needs to be done. She may be thinking only how pretty everything looks but there could be a serious problem under there! Much like America; it hasn't been functioning as well as it did before we started caring more about how it looks than we do about what works best for everyone.

    I was around when the Ford Motor Company built and introduced that 1966 'Stang and I have owned one just like it. But that was back when America led the world in auto production and Mustangs like this one were common wherever anyone went; some were broken and the ones that were was someone else's problem...probably caused by them! But most of them ran well and those that were taken care of properly are worth more now than they ever were. Like life; when we work hard for something and take care of what have we keep it and don't want to give it away!

    This one was made in a small town near Detroit (Dearborn) and not in some other country that has never had America's best interest at heart. In fact, the 2010 Mustang I now own was built on the other side of Lake Erie in Canada instead of in Michigan where hundreds of thousands of Americans toiled for decades to earn a living building them.

    There aren't any cars with American brand names on them that are built here using parts that are manufactured here exclusively anymore and many brands assemble some of their models on some one else's shores because the labor is cheaper. But let's forget cars for a minute and not make this post about that; we don't make anything here anymore! More and more of our jobs are being shipped to other countries every day by the same career politicians that say they can fix what is broken here!

    Whenever something we once took for granted as freedom is either taken away from us or becomes priced so high that many of us cannot afford it, it is pointed out to us that it never was a "right" in the first place. There is a long list of things we cannot say or do any longer, either because it offends someone else or because we haven't been able to control inflation. Basic health care comes to mind right away. Americans do not have a legal right to it but we should!  People who cannot afford to go to a doctor when they should can't go because health care in America has become more about big business than about basic needs and politicians are quick to remind everyone that our bill of rights does not guarantee the right to get well or fix what is broken with us.

    Like that Mustang; if something is broken or isn't functioning properly the owner has no right to have it fixed and if they cannot afford it then they have two choices; let it sit, or sell it. Like our country does with most of its problems, or when it runs short on money or sees a path to easy fixes even if they are only temporary. But if we had a good mechanic; someone that could look under the hood of anything, whether it is our economy, our health care system or everything else that keeps us all safe or keeps us ahead of the rest of the world then we would be better off than we are now.

   There doesn't seem to be any good political mechanics in Washington anymore and fewer and fewer of them are coming to work every day in State Houses and City Halls. Instead we have only more and more irresponsible drivers and people getting too close to situations they shouldn't, and they break things and then ask for someone else to fix them. Our politicians are more like that girl than anyone that could fix the car if it needed attention, because like her, they dress to impress, they strike poses to entice us and pretend to know what they are doing while listening to people who don't.

    Hillary Clinton could do what this girl is doing; it would look gross and it wouldn't be nearly as easy to watch what might happen next so most of us would look away. But that is precisely what Hillary would hope we would do because she knows that would be the best time to do whatever she has in mind to do, even when she doesn't know what to do. Hillary cannot fix what is wrong with America anymore than she could that Mustang! (Trust me, if she were a good mechanic she would have been bragging about that too by now.)

    On the other hand, Donald Trump who isn't a career politician like the Clinton family has proven them selves to be, has shown that he is an expert when it comes to using the tools he has at his disposal to get done what he wants done! So I am thinking that if that car were his and needed fixed he would know how to fix it! And like America, it is a beautiful thing but beautiful things break and when they do we call the people we think can make them good again. When it comes to politics that too can be like the difference between a good mechanic and someone that only knows a little about working on cars or someone that only bends over to admire them.

    I have known many people that have slipped into a pair of coveralls and grabbed the tools they are familiar with and tried to fix cars they couldn't fix, and I have known several that have been making the same mistakes for years. Their intentions are good but the results are usually bad. So maybe what we need to fix America is a political outsider instead of someone that keeps trading failures for more failures..someone like Hillary Clinton who looks at the country in its hour of need and blames Republicans for breaking everything while Democrats have been driving it for the past 8 years!

    She hears the knocks and the pings of its engine and says things are getting worse and we need her to keep turning the same bolts that have been causing our problems for most of this past decade. She has been part of it all along by endorsing and promoting failed attempts at almost everything and by promising to do the same things that haven't worked and never will. She does a lot of bending over (like that girl in front of the Mustang) but at the end of the day all that is gained from it is whatever is in it for her. Trump, I am guessing, is a far better mechanic in this case than anyone else now seeking the high office of fixing and leading America. And I would wager that if he has any vintage Mustangs in his own car corral they all run just fine!