Atlantic

The Methuselah Report never drafted a mission statement because the Board of Director believed such a document might create goals that would intimidate the writing staff, some of whom still admit  being challenged by the order of letters in the alphabet.  But, although no formal document of purpose was ever drafted, the consensus of the Board believes it is Methuselah's responsibility, whenever possible, to enhance the intellectual powers of our readers.  If we try and fail, so be it. If we try and succeed, God bless us.

Which brings us, this posting, to our sincere wish that each of you out there on the blogosphere will pledge to read from cover to cover the December 2019 issue of the Atlantic Magazine.  (A link to some of it is posted here.)  The newly redesigned cover carries the headline, "How to Stop a Civil War."  Every American would profit from this read.

Abraham Lincoln considered the Atlantic Monthly (its original name when it was founded in Boston, Massachusetts, in 1857) to be the most important public journal of that time.  It was created as a literary and cultural magazine using leading writers of the day (Ralph Waldo Emerson, Herman Melville, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, among others) to address the important issues.  That tradition has continued to this day, even though it posted its first profit in a decade in 2010.

Don't miss this issue.

The Prize Is Wright

Once in late July of 1982, it is reported that someone in Bangor, Maine, saw Stephen Wright laugh.  Probably just a rumor but what is not a rumor is that wherever Wright pops up there are mobs of people laughing.

My friend John Hanson (as a Dartmouth College undergraduate, John was that institution's inspiration for drafting its Guide to Student Deportment) recently reminded me of the remarkable creativity of Stephen Wright.  As a stand-up comic, his material was delivered in his dour, lethargic voice.  I will share with you, my enraptured readers, some of the wit and wisdom of Stephen Wright.

Never criticize a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes; then you are a mile away and you have his shoes.

It's a small world but I wouldn't want to have to paint it.

Everywhere is in walking distance if you have the time.

There's a fine line between fishing and standing on the shore like an idiot.

All those who believe in psychokinesis raise my hand.

Eagles may soar but weasels don't get sucked into engines of jets.

Boycott shampoo.  Demand the real poo.

99% of lawyers give the rest of them a bad name.

I was sad having no shoes until I saw a man with no feet; so I said to him, "You got any shoes you're not using?"

Shin: A device for finding something in the dark.

The sooner you fall behind the more time you will have to catch up.



Thank you, Stephen.  Pick any of the above and memorize the line so you can slip it into a future conversation.  Don't mention Stephen Wright.  If John Hanson is in your group, don't try it.

Jesse,You Out There, Boy?

Do you know anyone named Jesse?  Neither do I.  I wonder why parents stopped naming their little boy babies Jesse. It really is a fine name that is easy to spell and easy to remember.  When you hear the name you probably think of either Jesse James or Jesse Owens, both of whom made their claim to fame way, way back in those other centuries.

It is my belief that Jesse James owes his notoriety in large measure to the alliteration of the two names.  After he robbed a bank or a train his name just rolled off the tongues of the lawmen.  "Yes, it was Jesse James who shot the engineer.  Jesse James."  If Jesse had been born to Ethyl and Ignatius Snodgrasse the lawmen would would have just said, "Yeah, it looks like it was Snodgrasse on the train shoot."

A case could be made for calling Jesse Owens the greatest athlete of all time.  In the 1936 Olympics, Jesse set five world records and tied a sixth, all in the space of about 21 minutes.  His long jump record stood for 25 years. One might surmise that the next 9,827 boy babies born after Owens dazzled the Olympic spectators (except you, Adolph) would have had  "Jesse" inscribed on the birth certificates.  Didn't happen.

Then there was Jesse Applegate who made his bones on the Oregon Trail by blazing a southern trail across the Cascade Mountains into the Willamette Valley thereby giving settlers an easier option than the dangerous Barlow Trail or the treacherous Columbia River. A southern Oregon river bears his name and his grave is the only interesting attraction in Yoncalla, Oregon.

So come on people, now, (remember that early '70s song by Jesse Colin Young?) let's all get together and do right by the name, "Jesse."  How about a baby boy, Jesse Jones? Or a Jesse Jerome (instead of Harry Jerome)? Does anyone have "Hesse" as a last name?  That would be cool.  Jesse Hesse.

Oh, wait...Holy sh--! JESSE HELMS. Yikes. OK. Class dismissed.  Enough with the Jesses. Stick with Johns and Jons and Michaels.  No more Jesses.

Funny You Should Ask

People like to laugh and will be attracted to anyone or anything that will make that happen.  I'm no exception and I consider my most precious asset to be that small pocket in my brain that is still functioning where I store funny memories. With so many of my body parts reaching their shelf life, I think it might be prudent to record some of the contents of that humor locker before the whole thing goes dark.

Fred Allen was one of the early radio comedians and wrote great material.  He once made reference to his agent by saying if the man's heart was crammed into the navel of a mosquito, it would rattle around like a bee-bee in a box car.

I quoted Sam Levenson once in a letter to a friend when my four children were young inmates in our home: Insanity is hereditary; you can get it from your children.

My sister Mary had some major surgery recently and in the recovery room as she began to come around the lead nurse leaned in close to her face and said, "Say your name." Mary said, "Your name."
It runs in the family.

I had the good fortune to have my life overlap with that of Dorothy Parker.  This is my favorite of her many contributions:

I only drink one martini,

I sometimes have two at the most;

Three I'm under the table,

Four I'm under the host.

My father, John Earl, was a funny man.  He was also a warrior who ran away from home at 17 to join the  army and his mother was so happy to see him gone she signed the papers to facilitate his underage enlistment (she came to live with us when I was growing up but that's another 103 blogs). In 1902 he found himself in the Philippine Islands fighting the fierce Moro natives and then, later, his unit was sent to China to take part in the Boxer Rebellion. He fought alongside Black Jack Pershing chasing Pancho Villa around northern Mexico and that army formed the core of the AEF that went to France in World War I. In all those adventures he took a liking to adult beverages and he claimed drinking caused him to fall victim to Syncopation which he defined as irregular movement from bar to bar.  A friend of his told me he once ran into my father at one of their hang-outs in Grants Pass called the Wonder Bur and said to him, "Hi, John, how's it going?" My father replied, "I've been having a little trouble with yers."  His friend said, "What's yers?"  My father said,"Oh, thanks, I'll have another Budweiser."

My friend, Bill Bowerman, the legendary coach of Track and Field at the University of Oregon and co-founder of Nike, was born funny and never got over it. The steeplechase race in track involves running and hurdling and at one of the hurdles there is a water pit that must be cleared by the runners.  One spring day Bill's attention was drawn to the pit where the water was covered by a floating mass of larva.  "Get me a jar from the grounds shed," Bill instructed one of his runners.  He then scooped the larva into the jar.

Bill had an army of track volunteers who acted as officials for putting on the meets and these fan-volunteers included doctors, lawyers and other professionals from the business community.  Many of them had offices downtown in a building with a large atrium that featured a rock-surrounded pond and it was there that Bill gave his captive larva their new home.  He was delighted to learn some days later that chaos ensued with screaming secretaries running about when the hatch became multi-winged frying creatures filling the air.

Let's see, there's more. Do you have another 14 hours?

by area

Who Thought That First?

If you ever imagined you had an original thought it probably wasn't. Consider all the creatures who have ever lived on this earth who could pass the classification test of being human.  Now suppose you could give name to and list all the thoughts all those individuals have had in their lifetime. Whoeeeeee.  That's a lot of thoughts, Pilgrim. So let's play a little game:  Guess who claims to have first thought the following:

Given that nearly half the citizens of the USA believe President Trump to be an inspired leader, who first thought people don't need facts to support belief?  Give up?  Julius Caesar, 74 (approximately) B.C. said, "Men willingly believe what they wish."  Somebody before Julius might have had the same thought (and probably did) but didn't have an army and followers who wrote down everything he said.

Who first thought accumulating great wealth doesn't guarantee great happiness? No, not Bill Gates.
Socrates. 459 B.C.  "Having the fewest wants, I am nearest to the gods."

Who first thought, if it were not for my compulsion to devote my life to helping others to be successful and constantly sharing my acquired financial resources with those in need,  I would be a wealthy, serene, senior citizen, basking in the loving adoration of all whose lives I have touched?
Yes.  William Landers, November 1, 2019.

" I Want More."

The bullies in the cruel orphanage who forced Oliver Twist to go up after the evening meal and ask for more gruel inadvertently gave us a symbol of today's ultra-billionaires whose appetite for more gruel is never satiated. In this decade-long, top-heavy boom, the 1 percenters keep going back for more.  Unlike Oliver, who falls under the influence of the evil Fagin, they become Fagin, using their power of the purse to keep their good times rolling.

In the words of some prescient sage of another time, the rich are not like you and me. After getting more than would satisfy you and me, they want more.  Why would Tesla C.E.O. Elon Musk want to add to his accumulation of $23 billion by maintaining a work week of 80 to 90 hours?

"Elon, honey, do you want your eggs scrambled or fried?"
"Which is quickest?"

The distance between the wealth of the 1 percent and everybody else keeps growing but is not sustainable and the smartest of the upper group know it. An adjustment must come. I urge each of you to go on line and Google the Ted talk by Nick Hanauer, "The Pitch Forks Are Coming."  Don't miss this.

Bob Dylan gets the last word:

Yes 'n' how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind

Cop Tales

Ex-police officer, Lou Barrett, the charter member of our breakfast club, was the kind of cop you would want arresting you.  He starts you off with credit points for being human.  I know this from the stories he tells.

He and his partner spot a car pulled off to the side of the highway with the driver slumped over the steering wheel.  Lou knocks on the window with no response and so he opens the door and shakes the guy who finally comes around.  Lou tells him he was driving over 80 miles an hour and weaving all over the road until getting pulled over.  His partner says to the driver, "Who was that guy who jumped out of the car and ran across the field?

Long pause trying to remember: "Probably my brother but you'll never catch him because he's really fast."

Lou gets him out of the car and walks him around away from the edge of the highway and asks him where he was going.  The guy names a town about 80 miles in the opposite direction from the way the car is pointing.  Lou figures he has been there for awhile because he is pretty steady on his legs and he gives the guy bonus points for having pulled over and stopped driving.  But he can't leave him there with his car so he tells him he is going to give him a break and write him up for public drunkenness instead of DUI.

Lou said all the way back to the jail the guy is in the back seat singing, "A boy Named Sue."  Over and over.  The guy called out to Lou as they were leaving him in his cell, "I'll never forget you, officer, for saving my life back there."

Lou eats a large bowl of oatmeal with his black coffee every morning.  Over and over.