A coffee table not likely to flow with my wife’s decorating plans.

On page 37 we find the above declaration over an article by Hanson W. Baldwin. It’s easy to forget that Muslim radicals didn’t invent the use of hostage taking as a instrument of low-instensity warfare.

 

When this article was published, Hanson had already been the Naval Editor for the New York Times for almost 20 years (A Naval Editor!, that was back in the day when the Gray Lady could be taken seriously about matters of national security), and had won a Pulitzer in 1943 for his coverage of naval strategy in Pacific Theater during World War II. He first went to work for the Times in, get this, 1928. He died in 1991.

The article itemizes all the provocative incidents the Soviets and the Red Chinese had perpetrated in recent years, several of which resulted in the deaths of American servicemen. Of course, the mother of all Soviet provocations wouldn’t hit the headlines for about 17 months.

In searching for additional information on Hanson W. Baldwin, a came across this—the transcript of a talk he gave to The Empire Club of Toronto in January of 1940. The talk, supplemented by “lantern slides,” was titled “Some Strategic Aspects of the War in 1940.”

Of course in January of 1940, “The War” was the localized European spat involving Germany, France and England. Hitler had not yet invaded the Netherlands, Belgium or Denmark–not to mention France. It’s fascinating (to me anyway) to read Baldwin’s analysis of the situation and attempts to predict what will happen.

He was right about a few things. Wrong about a lot of others. But then, everybody was. Most grossly understimated the madness, aggresion and power-hunger of the enemy. They still do.

{Bonus: For amature students of Freudian imagery in vintage ads, look at the Coke ad on the opposite page and try to count the sexually-suggestive symbols and proxies. It’s like David Lynch was the art director.}

I just got the news. He was a few months shy of his 99th birthday.

Uncle Ross was not my uncle, but rather the uncle of my father-in-law. He was a fascinating, chatty presence at a few Thanksgiving dinners in recent years. I didn’t know him well. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard his last name.

The handful of conversations I had with him were rich with historical detail. Until very recently, he was sharp and quite active. In fact, he had grudgingly surrendured his driver’s license only a year or so ago. When I chatted with him this last Christmas, he was formulating a scheme to get it back. He was tired of sitting around. He had an itch to ramble.

Here’s just a sample of what I gleaned from one of our chats back at Christmastime:

Knowing he had been a professional baker for most of his working life, I asked him how he had gotten started in that field. He said it had started back when he was a 9-year-old kid “during the war. . .”

Of course, at first I thought he meant World War II, but after some quick mental math I realized he had to be talking about “The Great War,” World War I.  Ross would have been five years old at the outbreak of the war in 1914 and 10 at its conclusion “over there.”

He said tens of thousands of troops were moving through the U.S. Army base at “Camp Bowie” right outside Fort Worth every month. (Today, the name Camp Bowie identifies a trendy area of west of downtown in the center of “The Arts District.”)

He went on to describe how, as a nine-year-old he started buying boxes of fried pies from a local bakery and carrying them over to Camp Bowie to sell to the solders for 15 cents. This venture grew in size and scale to the point that he was able to provide significant support to his family and, as Ross described it, give himself some pretty handsome “walking around money” for a little kid.

Thus a 60-year affair with baked goods began.

Like reading a 1961 Reader’s Digest, talking to a nonagenerian is like traveling in a time machine—except a magazine can’t provide vivid additional detail or answer my questions after it’s told a story. How grateful I am for the eye-opening trip to Fort Worth in the early decades of the 20th Century. 

Uncle Ross was a book I now wish I’d started sooner. The chapters I had the privilege to read were a rewarding window into another time.

Why am I live-blogging a 46-year-old copy of Reader’s Digest? For the long answer, see the previous post. The short answer? “Because nobody has any danged historical perspective anymore.” Besides, the niche is wide open. I pretty much own the old-Reader’s-Digest-live-blogging position. So here goes.

When this copy of Reader’s Digest (“Articles of Lasting Interest” it says on the cover) hit the grocery store check out lanes in April of 1961, I was not yet 18 months old.  JFK had taken the oath of office only a few months earlier. The first ever airing of a Beatles song on American radio was still almost two years away.

Essentially, it was still the ’50s. What we think of as the ’60s wouldn’t really begin until the Kennedy assassination in the Autumn of ’63.

On page 29 we find a full-page color ad for the new Chevy Corvair Monza.

Note that the car comes equipped “with a de luxe steering wheel.” I wonder when deluxe quit being two words? Broken up like that, the modifier looks French.  

The Corvair was a very cool and innovative car design that was ultimately killed by a publicity-grubbing, fear-mongering Ralph Nader. The murder weapon was his book, Unsafe at Any Speed. Years after the Corvair had been discontinued due to plummeting sales, tests by the NHTSA and several car magazines demonstrated that a lot of Nader’s accusations against the Corvair were bogus.

Nader, Unhinged in Any Era.

  

. . .and I need a haircut. I actually needed a haircut before I left for the lake five days ago. Now I really need a haircut. And when a bald man needs a haircut bad, well, it’s not good.

There is much I love about the lakehouse, but best thing of all is the time travel. You see, this lake house is trapped in time — at least a part of it still is. Modernity is slowly seeping into places like the kitchen and the laundry room. But there is a little office in the heart of the house that is frozen in 1975.

On the counter is a CB radio base station and a ancient stereo system anchored by a turntable and reel-to-reel player. Better yet, the cabinets are piled high with magazines with publication dates ranging from 1960 to 1978.  I spend most of my waking, indoor time exploring these archives.

On this trip, I found a 1974 Time featuring a collection of essays about the significance of the ongoing impeachment of Richard Nixon.

There was a 1972 U.S. News & World Report with a cover story about the coming food shortages in America.

There was a 1973 Ladies Home Journal with big feature on Farrah Fawcett and Lee Majors and how in love they are and how they will always be together.

The best find of all this trip was a May 1961 Reader’s Digest. More on it in my next post.

Sorry for the sparse bloggage over the last few days dear friend. Since Thursday night I’ve been at “the lakehouse”—a wonderfully situated place owned by the grandfather of the wife of a brother-in-law.

It is in rural Southeastern Oklahama, about 20 miles from where I grew up. The aforementioned brother-in-law and wife are kind enough to invite us up when they book a week. It always represents a few days of rare, life-extending relaxation for me. The only available Internet access I’ve found is the wi-fi at the new local McDonalds.

Anyway, to compensate for the blog neglect, and to celebrate the spirit of the American Summer Vacation, I refer you to a hidden gem inside James Lilek’s site—an amazing collection of vintage motel postcards coupled with classic, Lileksian tongue-in-cheekiness. 

I’ll be back plowing in the regular yoke tomorrow.

First, full disclosure. . . Stephen Mansfield is a dear friend. But that doesn’t mean I’m exaggerating when I say that his new book deserves the attention of every individual that cares about the future of our nation.

Ten Tortured Words: How the Founding Fathers Tried to Protect Religion in America . . . and What’s Happened Since is a calm, thoughtful, compelling examination of that section of the First Amendment commonly called “the establishment clause.” The one that says, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or restricting the free exercise thereof.”

Of course, every conservative knows that the words “separation of Church and State ” appear nowhere in the Constitution. And that the phrase actually appears only in a letter from Thomas Jefferson to the Danbury Baptist Assocation. But we can shout these fact until will hoarse (and many have) and it won’t move the debate for religious freedom in this country one inch.

That’s why this book is so important. What Ramesh Ponnuru gave us last year with his book The Party of Death: The Democrats, the Media, the Courts, and the Disregard for Human Life — the seminal, comprehensive, devastating guide to sanctity of human life issues in this century — Stephen has given us on the issue of separation of Church and State.

Get it. Read it. Share it with someone who needs some clarity on this issue.

Found  outside a New Jersey Taco Mayo. . .

TO DO

 1. ___ Find that scrawny b**** E.H.. Kill & Eat

2. ___ Become 4th Dixie Chick (mandolin lessons!)

3. ___ TrumpDump! (Drive by Trump’s house. Poop on lawn. again)

4. ___ Look like crap. (get someone to video it)

5. ___ Check Daily Kos, Dem. Und., comment threads for fresh insights + rage infusion.

6. ___  Make fire. Fail to melt steel.

7. ___ Stop by Blockbuster. Return “Conspiracy Theory”, “V is for Vendetta”. Pick up “Clean and Sober”,  + Goobers! Raisinettes!