Why This Clown is not a Veteran

My half-brother was a Marine who served three tours in Vietnam. I have a daughter who joined the Air Force for a tour in Germany and Yemen. I currently have a son in the Navy, on a nuclear sub cruising off Korea. I honor all of them for their convictions and their response to our country’s protection.

But I have never been, and never will be, reconciled to our country’s foreign policy that led us into the Vietnam war or the current military actions in Iran and Afghanistan.

And in the summer of 1970 I did two things to protest against what I still believe was an unrighteous use of force by our government: I bought a one way bus ticket to Winnipeg, and I applied to the Ringling Clown College.

When I turned 18 I had registered for the Draft down at the Post Office, as required by law, but I was determined not to be inducted into the Armed Services to play at gangster in Southeast Asia. My adolescent mindset was that I would either flee to Canada to avoid the Draft, or run away to the circus under an assumed name so the Draft Board would never find me -- it worked for Jimmy Stewart in The Greatest Show on Earth, didn’t it? Well, at least for a while . . .

I spent most of that summer at anti-war rallies in Minneapolis -- because I was passionately against the Vietnam war (and because it gave me an excuse not to look for work, and as a way to meet a bevy of young girls.)

My parents and I were barely on speaking terms that summer. On those sticky summer evenings, while Gary Moore chuckled idiotically on CBS, my dad raged and my mother wept when I insisted that I would either have to leave for Canada or run off to the circus and never darken their doorway again. I even bought an English/Canadian dictionary to brush up on my possible new native tongue (honestly, I thought they spoke a different patois up there -- until I realized the ‘dictionary’ was a joke book full of Canuck puns.)

“I’ll report you to the police!” my dad threatened.

“At least look up your great uncles in Quebec, for godsake!” my mother pleaded. “They’ll keep you away from those terrible hippies!”

I remained adamant. I had some money in the bank, which I drew out, and my bus ticket in my pocket, and Uncle Sam could kiss my sweet bippy.

As the air grew crisper in September I was leaning towards the Canada option. I hadn’t heard back from the Ringling Clown College, and frankly didn’t think my chances of getting in were any too good. And I kinda liked the idea of being a lonely exile up in the Land of Ten Thousand Molsons.

Then, as Victorian historians used to write, the hinge of fate swung wide open for me. On the very same day I got my draft number -- an unbelievably high 320 -- and my letter of acceptance to the Clown College down in Florida. With a draft number that high I would never have to worry about being inducted into the Armed Services -- and the bright letterhead featuring clowns and elephants promised me all the wonders of the big top, without the hassle of me having to change my name and always be looking over my shoulder.

I tore up the bus ticket, packed my knapsack with underwear, a toothbrush, and a pair of boy’s culottes (which I immediately ditched when I saw what everyone else was wearing down in Venice.) My older brother Billy drove me to the Greyhound Bus depot on Hennepin Avenue, since my parents refused to believe I was actually leaving, and I went down the Slapstick Road like Dorothy and her pals went down the Yellow Brick Road in a similar fantasy.

I’ve often asked myself since then what my life would have been like had I gone to Canada instead of waiting around. I wouldn’t have met my wife Amy and had 8 wonderful kids with her. Nor had all those years of child support. But most of all, I think of the opportunity I would have missed to generate laughter as a circus clown, first with Ringling and then with a host of other circuses.

Providence, I believe, took me down the right road at the right time to the right place. So praise the Lord, and pass the custard pies!

For the needy shall not alway be forgotten

For the needy shall not alway be forgotten: the expectation of the poor shall not perish for ever.

O God, reach down to touch the strands

Of my cold heart, and break the bands

That suffocate my spirit still --

That place me on a judge’s hill.

Assessing those with less than me

As objects of mine enmity.

Withholding all my widow’s mite --

As if my usury be right.

Make advice I want to give

The poor to die and never live

To haunt me with its brittle taste.

Be prodigal, my heart -- make haste!

Ole Bull's Peppermint Oil

One of the greatest violinists of the nineteenth century was Ole Bull, of Norway. Born in Bergen in 1810, Bull could play the violin by the age of five and was professionally touring by the age of 21. He spent over thirty years on tour around the world, often performing fund raising concerts for Norwegian independence from Sweden, which did not occur until 1905.

Bull toured the United States several times, and bought a large tract of land in Pennsylvania specifically for settlement by his fellow Norwegians. Robert Schumann called him “the greatest of all violinists,” and he was instrumental in encouraging Edvard Grieg to study musical composition while still a boy.

As Bull grew older he found it harder to execute the brilliant pizzicati and trills that audiences demanded of solo violinists -- his fingers began to stiffen up as middle age crept up on him. A doctor in Paris told Bull to rub his hands with peppermint oil an hour before each performance to keep his fingers nimble. He did so, and the problem disappeared. For the rest of his life, Bull carried a small vial of peppermint oil with him on his concert tours. He advised aspiring violinists to keep their fingers agile with regular peppermint oil treatment.

Modern medicine has shown that peppermint oil is useful in fighting the effects of arthritis in the hands, as well as being an excellent mood enhancer for aromatherapy, and a brilliant anti-dyspeptic. If you depend on your hands for a livelihood or for enjoyment with hobbies, make sure you keep some peppermint essential oil with you at all times. Like Ole Bull, you’ll find it comes in very handy!

For further information, and for an absolutely free, no obligation, sample of three of the most commonly used oils, including lemon and lavender, contact Wellness Advocate Amy Snyder at http://bit.ly/2vHgrH6 Please put your name and address in her Comments box.  She has used these superb essential oils for years herself and will be delighted to share her experiences with you in a professional and friendly manner!

NOTICE TO READERS: The information contained in this blog is for educational purposes only. It is not intended to diagnose, prescribe, or treat any emotional or physical condition, illness, or injury. The author, publishers, and distributors of this blog shall have no liability or responsibility to any person or entity with respect to any and all alleged damage, loss, or injury caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this work. This work contains suggested uses of oils based on acceptable dosage amounts recommended by the manufacturer. The author makes no claim to have verified or validated these suggestions. The readers must validate acceptable dosage amounts from the manufacturer before application. The information in this book is in no way intended as a substitute for medical advice. We recommend that all readers obtain medical advice from a licensed healthcare professional before using essential oils for any reason.

Chester Milbanks

Chester Milbanks was a clerk in government employ.

Early in and staying late were all his pride and joy.

He gazed so long upon his screen while wrinkling his brow

He grew a hump and then a squint just like a mild sea cow.

This dedicated servant to the public int’rest dwelt

In a tiny office with a carpet worn to felt.

He cherished ev’ry memo, and he guarded paperclips;

He doted on the words that fell from bureaucratic lips.

A new administration came to town one awful day,

And Chester Milbanks suddenly began to lose his way.

The policies he’d memorized as goodly protocol

Were now condemned -- which filled him with a bitter-tasting gall.

In prior days he knew the kind of red tape to produce.

But now his boss demanded tape the color of dark puce.

His carpet was replaced with bamboo mats, and what is more --

They oiled the hinges on his rusty, trusty office door!

Poor Chester knew not where to turn -- stability was gone.

The certainties of routine were as shorn as White House lawn.

He had not the suppleness or cunning of his boss --

And had no stomach to perform a one-eighty volte-face.

When he was instructed to dispose of memorandum

From the last eight years, he screamed and cried in painful tandem.

Then he ran down hallways as the water coolers shook,

And all vestiges of sanity he finally forsook.

Some say he now roams the streets of Washington D.C.,

With a shopping cart and sleeping bag his company.

Others swear he’s on the beach in Thailand with some girls,

Drinking rotgut arrack while he dives for opaque pearls.

Wherever Chester Milbank is; whatever he may be --

We ought to bow our heads and think of him with charity.

No man is a rubber band, to stretch until he breaks.

The inside of the Beltway harbors nothing but heartaches.

Will Healthcare Premiums Ever Go Down -- Will the Pope Ever Turn LDS?

My premiums for healthcare have grown quickly overnight

Like the beanstalk in Jack’s tale, giving me a fright.

It’s likely I will have to make the choice soon whether I

Eat three times a day or pay insurance rates sky high.

The money that it’s costing me to carry these provisions

Cuts into my budget like some surgical incisions.

Staying healthy’s costing me an arm and leg -- and more.

I’ve got a second job now bagging at the grocery store.

If the private sector keeps on gouging me this way

I’d rather have the government take over any day.

Let insurance companies complain it’s socialism --

Those moneybags refuse to see it through my bankrupt prism!

President Trump Declares Sunday, September 3. a National Day of Prayer

NOW, THEREFORE, I, DONALD J. TRUMP, President of the United States of America, do hereby proclaim September 3, 2017, as a National Day of Prayer for the Victims of Hurricane Harvey and for our National Response and Recovery Efforts.  We give thanks for the generosity and goodness of all those who have responded to the needs of their fellow Americans.  I urge Americans of all faiths and religious traditions and backgrounds to offer prayers today for all those harmed by Hurricane Harvey . . . "

As response and recovery efforts continue, and as Americans provide much needed relief to the people of Texas and Louisiana, we are reminded of Scripture's promise that "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble."  Melania and I are grateful to everyone devoting time, effort, and resources to the ongoing response, recovery, and rebuilding efforts.  We invite all Americans to join us as we continue to pray for those who have lost family members or friends, and for those who are suffering in this time of crisis.
From the White House

It takes a mighty tempest at our inoffensive shores

To force the President to ask for Heaven’s open doors.

A Day of Prayer he has proclaimed upon this Sabbath day;

A time to humbly ask the Deity to hear us pray.

Although he’s never claimed to be a man of God, this Chief

Must suspect the Lord of Hosts can always bring relief.

Forgive us for our partisan and sectarian divide --

And help us, Father, succour to our Texas friends provide!

It Happened at McDonald's

A writer at McDonald’s found a wrapper round his straw;

It struck him as a metaphor for miscarriages raw.

Shoving his Big Mac and fries away in thoughts so deep

He heeded not that ketchup on his pants began to seep.

That wrapper loomed so large to him, in such a mystic way,

That he began to write things down upon his plastic tray.

He wrote of inequality, of falling leaves, of death;

He scribbled how a milk shake could be likened to Macbeth.

He gazed upon the customers around his shabby booth,

And wept to think that most of them would never know the truth.

His great heart yearned to educate the fast food hoi polloi,

While gobs of special sauce most of his arteries did cloy.

And as he slumped right over on his placemat quietly,

He was heard to murmur “Quarter Pounders make you free.”

I Used to be a Circus Clown

Maybe it’s the recent announcement of a new Joker origin story, or perhaps just 2017’s general specter of clownish grotesquerie, but something feels perfectly timely about Pennywise.

The villain from Stephen King’s “It” terrified when he was left to childhood imaginations in the author’s 1986 doorstopper. And he is likely to send similar shudders after appearing, in the form of young Swedish actor Bill Skarsgard, in the new Warner Bros. release opening Sept. 8.

One of the great fixtures of modern literary evil, Pennywise the clown, with the help of the 27-year-old Skarsgard, is attempting to jump mediums and give a new generation an injection of fear.  From the Los Angeles Times. 

I used to be a circus clown -- at parties oft requested.

But now if I put on greasepaint I just might be arrested.

I loved to take a pratfall and to throw a pie or two --

Today such actions label me a terrorist cuckoo.

I never thought I’d see the day when clowns became so scary.

How did Bozo transform into creepy adversary?

I think we’ve lost the aptitude to belly laugh our way

Out of existential dread and general dismay.

Instead of celebrating all the silliness that life

Hands us on a platter, we must concentrate on strife.

And make a monster of a clown, and make a mock of God --

And all our happiness and cheer declare to be a fraud.

A people who prefer to wallow in sadistic gore

Are Coliseum-bound to watch the Christians die once more.

The Clown Haters are at it Again

Winooski, Vermont, is a small town in the middle of the state known for its picturesque waterfalls and boutique shopping center in an old converted woolen mill. It also was gaining ground for its annual “Cinema Clowns Film Festival,” held each November at the city’s Community Hall. But it looks like the clown haters will see to it that the Festival is canceled this year.

According to Reuters, one Julie Crandall, a citizen of Winooski and the founder of RSMG (Racial Slurs Must Go) has put the town on notice that some of their proposed films are highly objectionable, and if they are not pulled from the Festival RSMG is going to file a civil suit against the town. Ms. Crandall lists the following films as objectionable on the grounds of “hateful racial epithets contained in the film:”

The Dentist, starring W.C. Fields. In this classic Mack Sennett short Fields essays the role of a crotchety dentist -- who at one point tells a patient “The doctor down the street treated a fellow for yellow jaundice for nine years, then found out he was a Jap . . . “  

This is admittedly a crude line, but it fits the whole pattern of this slapstick gem -- earlier in the film when the nurse informs Fields that a patient screaming in agony out in the foyer is waiting to see him, he brusquely replies “Ah, the hell with her!”

Duck Soup, starring the Marx Brothers. This film features half a dozen classic slapstick routines that originated in clown alley, such as the mirror scene and the lemonade stand battle between Harpo and Edgar Kennedy. Groucho was never more brilliant than in this zany political satire, but he is given one unfortunate line that goes: “And that’s how little darkies were born.”

In theatrical showings no one ever hears this line because of the wave of continuous laughter that washes over it. But that doesn’t stop Ms. Crandall from wanting the whole film banned for that one miscue.

The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek, directed by Preston Sturges. This slapstick comedy pokes fun at America’s patriotic mania during World War Two. A daring satire at the time, the censors made Sturges edit out much of the pungent dialogue he was famous for -- but they didn’t catch the line uttered by William Demarest, who started out in showbiz as a waterboy for the Hagenback Wallace Circus, where he tells someone who has just done him a favor: “That’s mighty white of you, brother!!”

I’m not sure how this fits the description of a racial slur, but admittedly it is an unfortunate quote of American vernacular from the 40’s. Because of this one little misstep, Ms. Crandall is determined to deny the public the fun of watching this beautiful American comedy, which has one of the strangest ending gags in cinematic history.    

Daniel Jenkins, who has run the Winooski “Cinema Clowns Film Festival” for the past five years says he’s now afraid to run any films, for fear of offending some special interest group that will sue the city. He says: “Much as I hate to say it, it looks like clowning is just too politically incorrect to show to the public anymore.”

I’m giving the last word to Julie Crandall -- not because I want to, but because the below outrageous statement is the icing on the cake -- a cake that ought to be thrown in her face. She is quoted as saying: “We are also looking into the German films of the clown Grock, who was suspected of having ties with the Nazis.”

I think Stymie and Our Gang better watch out!

Charles Lindbergh and Citrus Oil

In 1927 an obscure barnstorming pilot, who made ends meet by occasionally flying U.S. Mail routes, became the darling of nations and an immortal hero to Americans by becoming the first person to fly directly from the United States to Europe in his monoplane, The Spirit of Saint Louis.

Charles Lindbergh spent his formative years on a farm in Little Falls, Minnesota. His parents were of Swedish ancestry, and Lindbergh recalled in his autobiography that the kitchen was always redolent with the scent of cardamom. His mother used cardamom oil not only for flavoring but for doctoring the children when they were ill -- giving them a drop or two in a glass of well water to settle their colicky dispositions, and rubbing it into Lindbergh’s hair when he had trouble memorizing the multiplication table. A chemistry teacher at the local high school, Lindbergh’s mother distilled all of the essential oils used in her own household.

According to Lindbergh biographer A. Scott Berg, prior to taking off on his record-breaking flight Lindbergh received a postcard from his mother giving him some advice about the use of essential oils:

“Camphor for colds.

Clove for toothache.

Fennel for digestion.

Citrus for concentration.”

Lindbergh records that he took only three ham sandwiches and a thermos of coffee for his 33-hour flight across the ocean. But in a footnote in his autobiography he writes that he also took along a small glass vial of citrus oil to help keep him focused and awake: “The oil was given to me by a well-wisher from Florida, who said rubbing it on my temples and inhaling it every two hours would help keep me from nodding off at the wheel.”

After his world-famous flight, Lindbergh and his wife Anne became interested in holistic and homeopathic medicine. While living in Hawaii they experimented with tropical oils from ylang ylang blossoms and fever tree bark, but refused to use their discoveries for commercial purposes -- giving their research instead to the United States Army at the outbreak of World War Two. The Army, however, disregarded the Lindbergh’s claims that essential oils could help soldiers recover more quickly from shell shock and trench foot -- and their research was relegated to a dusty file somewhere in the Pentagon, and eventually lost entirely.  

45 years after Lindbergh’s death, his belief in the restorative power of organic essential oils is being validated by medical researchers all over the globe. Whether for aromatherapy, skin treatments, or as an internal medication, essential oils are once again the focus of intense scrutiny as scientists struggle to find ways to treat mankind’s many ills without having to resort to harsh and sometimes deadly chemicals and radiation.

For further information, and for an absolutely free, no obligation, sample of three of the most commonly used oils, including lemon and lavender, contact Wellness Advocate Amy Snyder at http://bit.ly/2vHgrH6 Please put your name and address in her Comments box.  She has used these superb essential oils for years herself and will be delighted to share her experiences with you in a professional and friendly manner!

NOTICE TO READERS: The information contained in this blog is for educational purposes only. It is not intended to diagnose, prescribe, or treat any emotional or physical condition, illness, or injury. The author, publishers, and distributors of this blog shall have no liability or responsibility to any person or entity with respect to any and all alleged damage, loss, or injury caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this work. This work contains suggested uses of oils based on acceptable dosage amounts recommended by the manufacturer. The author makes no claim to have verified or validated these suggestions. The readers must validate acceptable dosage amounts from the manufacturer before application. The information in this book is in no way intended as a substitute for medical advice. We recommend that all readers obtain medical advice from a licensed healthcare professional before using essential oils for any reason.