Even More Missionary Memories: Run for your Life!

 

harvey brown was a jolly and tubby little man, built along the lines of Kris Kringle. he was also our mission president in thailand after president morris was released. he'd had a long successful career with the state department before retiring. i don't believe he'd ever been stationed in thailand or, for that matter, knew anything about the country at all. as he told me the first time i met him: "elder torkildson, i'm just fat, dumb, and happy -- call me harvey the hugger!' 

well, i never did call him that but i came to appreciate his good humor early on. he loved to hear stories about my experience with ringling bros circus, and whenever i had an interview with him the apes (assistants to the president) would admonish me beforehand that he was a busy man and couldn't spare me more than ten minutes. those ten minutes as often as not turned into an hour, with me telling him about how the clown car worked or my monumental fight with michu the world's smallest man.

harvey the hugger encouraged us elders and sisters to come up with new ways and means to garner good PR for the church in thailand. that was the purpose of my clown shows, and the singing group. 

"think big!" he'd exhort us. "come see me with any idea at any time -- my door is always open!"  and indeed it was -- but behind that jolly exterior was a stone cold pragmatist.

"what's in it for us?" he'd always ask, after some elder had explained his hare-brained scheme. there were a lot of organizations and companies that wanted a tie-in with the church, because they knew it was a rich world-wide operation, and they expected to leech off of it for their own benefit. but unless there was some concrete benefit to the church, president brown always gave these schemes the thumbs down.

one idea finally met with his approval. i no longer remember who came up with the idea. it was called "run for your life."  Or 'wing phua chiwid.'

it was inspired, i guess, by all the old chinese men and women who spent their early mornings exercising in the park, going through a series of slow motion movements that allegedly improved everything from their mental capacities to their sex life. it was noticed that more and more young men, and women, were joining in with these tai chi groups in the park. so let's horn in on this trend to grab some free PR for the church! seemed to be the general idea.

pamphlets were printed up, showing a grinning group of thais jogging along a hibiscus-strewn path, and extolling the virtues of a good morning run each day. the whole concept is contained in the book 'aerobics' by a us air force doctor. we all were given copies of the book to read and told to start inviting men and women to come out at 5 in the ever lovin' morning to join us for a jog down the local soi.  

it wasn't a bad idea. we got to wear bright yellow t-shirts, labeled with 'wing phua chiwid' which literally means run for life.

it wasn't a bad idea, but it wasn't something my body liked to do. at the time elder terry, from snowflake, arizona, was my companion, and he was a little dynamo. he could run all morning and not feel a thing. after about six blocks i would be left behind panting and developing shin splints. but we kept up with the program for several months. until word came from salt lake to phase it out. so we did. 

seems like the mission office never got any good news from salt lake. whenever the apes said there was word from salt lake we prepared for the worst.

just before my mission was up president brown called me into his office to ask if i would like to serve an extra four months in thailand. he thought he could pull some strings to have it happen. would i!?  i would have loved that. but word came from salt lake, and, in fact, i even got a letter from the church missionary committee, stating firmly that once my 24 month were up they were up and no one single day more would be added to my time serving as a missionary. It was time to return home, resume my education, and find a good and proper wife to marry. End of story.

i was with elder terry when another missive came from salt lake -- disband the singing group and get rid of the clown. so i was sent to knon kaen as the branch president. my companion was elder day. that lasted two months, during which time president brown worked his wiles on salt lake and had the ban on the singing group and on my clowning lifted. so i was brought back to bangkok, and never left its environs again. and i never had to run another step, either, for wing phua chiwid. although i kept the aerobics paperback with me when i returned home and back to the circus. my good old pal tim holst and i tried to run aerobically each day between shows. but it got too hard for me to take off my makeup and put it back on in time to make come in for the second show.

hey, wasn't i supposed to tell you guys about my crush on sister mumford in this episode? oh well, it'll keep.

 

Wife, I'm getting older . . .

 

Wife, I'm getting older, and the flame of passion

flags;

my heart for you still thunders, but is muffled by stale rags.

I take you in my arms, my lusty wench, and then regret

that I've become a rag doll with no hardened bayonet.

Eight children did we have so long ago it seems a yarn

we tell now to each other while my socks you sit and darn.

Still and all, though parts of me no longer do their duty,

I'll not forget, but cry up thanks, for your eternal beauty! 

Worries Aside, Poll Finds Most US Journalists Wouldn't Choose Different Job

 

Journalists face harassment, fight against misinformation and are keenly aware of the industry's financial troubles and the dim view many Americans have of them.

Despite all that, most love their jobs and wouldn't trade it for something else.
Those were among the findings in a survey of nearly 12,000 journalists conducted by the Pew Research Center and released on Tuesday.  (AP)

 

 If ya like just what you're doin' and you do not give a 

hoot

if you are tarred and feathered and stripped down to union suit;

if insults hurled like baseballs and the frequent verbal bomb

thrown at you don't matter -- cuz you got so much aplomb;

and the money that you're making would insult a galley slave --

well, you either are a lunatic or some reporter brave! 

The glamor and the glory of that kind of work has waned.

Reporters work for companies completely addlebrained.

Their job might vanish any time; their beat no longer trod --

snubbed by hedge fund managers who think that they are God.

And yet, and yet, these foolish wags, these men and women brisk,

tell each other they enjoy this kind of work and risk.

I don't know that I cotton to their self-delusion grand --

reminding me of Moses going to the Promised Land.

And, really, I ain't never seen such folk who do subsist

on pain and pandemonium -- each one's a masochist!

But one man's meat or poison, as the Good Book says somewhere,

can make the meanest scribbler feel awful debonair.

More Missionary Memories. Investigators.

 Montrii was the only investigator I ever really had. because i was tapped to do clown shows and be the intermission for the fabled singing group during my mission in thailand i had precious little time to find, teach, and get to know any real investigators.

my track record of baptisms while in thailand:  bupkis.

anyway. i discovered montrii one dreary monsoon evening while i was still with elder seliger. it was too wet for a street meeting and it was too early to go home and so elder seliger gave in to the inevitable and we went tracting door to door in a run-down neighborhood where dogs copulated up and down the soi amidst soggy floating piles of garbage. this was in bangkok proper. a low rent and low life district. the street lights were barely functioning. so everything had a sickly yellow cast to it, like in a Monogram charlie chan movie. (if you're not getting these references, don't worry about it -- some of them are real but most of them i just make up for the hell of it.)

we came upon a row of apparently abandoned tuks. every missionary who ever landed in thailand knows these tuks -- thrown up in an opium-fueled frenzy by isaan day laborers, these five story blocks of poured concrete housed shops and cafes on the ground floor and the proprietor's family above. they were built and abandoned like quonset huts, and held together about as well. 

this particular row looked to be the abode of bats and owls. no lights on. all the ground floor entrances barred with rusty iron gates. except the last one. this one was halfway open. elder seliger thought we should avoid it altogether, since it looked like something out of a slasher movie. but i felt a stirring, maybe of the spirit or maybe just dumb curiosity. so i convinced him we should poke our noses in it just in case.

deep inside the tuk a candle guttered low, with a figure hunched over it. we cleared our throats and said 'sawdi khrab?' and the hunched figure slowly got up -- to reveal a young man with long lanky black hair creeping over his face like kudzu. 

all thais are innately polite, and montrii quickly invited us to hunch down around his smoking candle and then offered us each a bottle of warm beer. we politely refused and launched into our patter on the word of wisdom. he seemed taken by the idea that bad food and drink result in bad health. elder seliger remained mum most of the time, essentially letting me do all the talking, or stammering. i made an appointment with montrii to come back to his derelict tuk the next evening. as we swam through the tropical rain back to our apartment i felt a pardonable pride in rooting out a lost soul we might possibly save. elder seliger would have none of it.

'that guy' he said in disgust, 'is a squatter and probably wanted by the police -- why else would he be holed up in that haunted house?'

i thought to myself 'you're just a texas redneck who doesn't know red beans from rice -- montrii is golden, or i'm a baptist!'  outloud I merely grunted, neatly sidestepping an open manhole. 

we saw montrii the next night, and the next. and then we never saw him again. obviously, he didn't have a phone so we couldn't call him. he never did explain what he was doing in that tumble down old tuk. and then president morris sent out an imperative ukase that all missionary pairs must double their tracting hours by the end of the month or face consequences so terrible they were not even hinted at. elder seliger, as devoted to the gospel as i was, and twice as stubborn, vowed we would not only double our tracting hours but triple them. so we stayed out in the blazing sun (just our luck, the monsoon season ended early) from dawn to way past our bedtime . . . tracting, tracting, tracting. i finally asked president morris for permission to buy a hat to wear, because the ferocious sun was fast fusing the top of my head to my ears. my hair was bleached white, like bones on the desert sands.

i picked up a snazzy little number -- a green felt fedora with a perky little feather on the side. it was stolen by khamoys when i was transferred up to Khon Kaen. by then elder seliger had been moved on to bigger and better things, and my new senior companion was elder lang. he was from california, and was he laid back! we nearly stopped proselytizing altogether, as he began to put together the singing group with elder wright. we spent most of our time in various studios auditioning elders and sisters. i helped pick out sister mumford for the group -- and quickly developed a crush on her . . . 

but that's a story for another time.

Missionary Memories: Street Meetings in Thailand.

 

back in the day, the long long day, nearly half a century ago, when i arrived in thailand as a missionary, i was teamed with elder bart seliger. he introduced me to the concept of the thai street meeting.

we were stationed out towards the don muang airport. on particularly hot days elder seliger would say 'elder torkildson, get a stack of pamphlets -- we're going out to the airport!'  the don muang airport, you see, was air conditioned. 

back then thailand was an open and trusting country. in the case of morals, it was 'wide-open,' but it was also a welcoming and accepting place, where government restrictions really didn't apply to farangs like elder seliger and me. with his sun glasses, white shirt and black necktie, most thais thought elder seliger was from the CIA. so all doors were open to us.  (but not all hearts -- the concept of the need for a personal savior in the person of Jesus Christ did not penetrate many hearts or minds while i was there.)

we'd wander through the waiting area, passing out pamphlets, and then elder seliger would barge right into the administrative offices to harass the secretaries, who, like secretaries everywhere in the world, were charged by their bosses with keeping everyone out. when he got the inevitable cold shoulder he would draw himself up to his full six foot one height and say 'mr. praphan will hear about this!'  praphan is a very common name in thailand, like smith here in the usa, and elder seliger was betting that one of the high mucky mucks in that particular office was named praphan. it usually worked -- the secretary would get all flustered, and then usher us in to see her boss. where we would completely befuddle the poor man by giving him a discussion on family home evening.

but on days when the weather was cooler and the sky overcast, elder seliger liked to hold street meetings. on busy street corners. in public parks. and especially at the talad -- the open air market.

he wasn't big on door to door tracting. 

'it's a waste of time, elder' he'd tell me. 'when you do get into a house the television is blaring and the kids are screaming. the mother is scared we're there to kidnap them and if the father's home he's usually drunk on Chang beer.' 

so i'd be delegated to carry the street meeting poster and tripod. the poster read 'what is the purpose of life?'

we'd set up in the talad, close to a noodle stand, and eleder seliger would begin to work his magic. he was a people person. he could size up a man or woman, thai or chinese or farang, and fearlessly engage them in conversation, striking the right chord every time to discover their hobby or interests. Me, i just mumbled and stumbled along like the cliched greenie i was.  luckily, my old clown partner steve smith had sent me a shipment of animal balloons, so i would make an elephant or a parrot for some kid and then i'd have my own little crowd of spectators, at which point i would try to explain the plan of salvation to the crowd. but all they were interested in was getting a free balloon.

elder seliger did it the right way. whatever subject he was quietly discussing with a man or woman, he would eventually bring them back to our sign and begin telling them about the pre existence.

then the gai yang cart would arrive. this is smoked grilled chicken, marinated in lime juice, fish sauce, and fiery little mouse shit peppers. that's their official thai name. mouse shit peppers. the incense of that grilled chicken would lure us over to the cart for some wings and thighs, washed down with fanta pineapple pop. then we'd go back to work for a while. then it would be time for som tum, that luscious green papaya salad made with a mortar and pestle that caused our mouths to pucker in ecstasy. 

then back to the poster.

until the pork peanut satay guy showed up. skewers of pork liver grilled over glowing coals, coated with a sweet and fiery crushed peanut glaze. oh mamma -- those babies went fast, so we always suspended operations until we'd had a dozen or two of 'em. 

by then it was lunch time, so we adjourned to the noodle shop for a generous plate of shrimp fried rice with klong weed on the side. and another fanta. i always insisted on a small bowl of fish sauce in which floated mouse shit peppers and lime wedges, to sprinkle over my rice.  mmmmmmm, i can still taste that kick today!

we'd go back to our street meeting for a bit, but being conscientious missionaries, we'd soon head back to the apartment for several hours of napping -- er, i mean language study!

then in the evening it was back out to the night market, where the roti man made his little feather light pancakes, sprinkled with sugar and drizzled with canned sweetened condensed milk. i'd make a few balloon swans and elephants. elder seliger would flirt (harmlessly and politely) with the swarms of teenage girls who were at the same time intrigued and frightened by the big hairy farang with sunglasses.  

our efforts ended at nine, we would head for home, each of us clutching a large bag of deep fried banana fritters. 

and believe it or don't, i actually lost weight during my two years in thailand! I guess those street meetings were pretty hard work, after all.

Senators Agree on a Framework for Gun Violence Legislation

 The bipartisan agreement focuses on mental health, school safety, red flag funding, and juvenile records.

WASHINGTON—

Senators from both parties announced an agreement on a legislative framework aimed at reducing mass shootings in America by keeping guns out of the hands of potentially dangerous people.

On Sunday, a bipartisan group of senators announced that they were working on legislation that would increase funding for mental-health programs and school security, as well as provide incentives for states to implement and enforce red-flag laws and include juvenile records in background checks for people under the age of 21 who buy guns.

"Our plan saves lives while also protecting law-abiding Americans' constitutional rights." "We look forward to gaining broad, bipartisan support and enacting our commonsense proposal," said the group, which is led by Senators Chris Murphy (D-Conn.) and John Cornyn (R-Texas), as well as Senators Kyrsten Sinema (D-Ariz.) and Thom Tillis (R-Texas) (R., N.C.).

Ten Republicans signed on to the agreement as a crucial show of support.
Negotiators have been working to garner enough support to pass legislation in the 50-50 Senate, where any bill would require significant bipartisan support to advance.
All Democrats are expected to support the legislation, which means that a final bill would require the support of at least ten Republicans. 

Senators Cornyn and Tillis were joined by Roy Blunt of Missouri, Richard Burr of North Carolina, Bill Cassidy of Louisiana, Susan Collins of Maine, Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, Rob Portman of Ohio, Mitt Romney of Utah, and Pat Toomey of Arizona in signing on to the framework.


The final legislative text still faces challenges, including determining how much money to spend on the programs.
Nonetheless, the framework puts lawmakers on track to pass the most comprehensive bipartisan gun violence legislation since the 1994 assault weapons ban, which expired a decade ago. 

While many Democrats have sought sweeping measures such as bans on assault-style weapons and magazine capacity limits, President Biden and party leaders have indicated that they would support a narrow agreement in the face of widespread Republican opposition to measures limiting gun ownership.


Legislators have ruled out raising the age to buy assault-style weapons like AR-15s from 18 to 21.
Democrats and some Republicans had expressed support for such legislation, but it lacked broad GOP support.
There was also little appetite among Republicans to outright ban such weapons, as President Biden had proposed. 

While many Democrats have sought sweeping measures such as bans on assault-style weapons and magazine capacity limits, President Biden and party leaders have indicated that they would support a narrow agreement in the face of widespread Republican opposition to measures limiting gun ownership.


Legislators have ruled out raising the age to buy assault-style weapons like AR-15s from 18 to 21. Illegal immigrants will be limited to half a dozen weapons per individual.
Democrats and some Republicans had expressed support for such legislation, but it lacked broad GOP support.
There was also little appetite among Republicans to outright ban such weapons, as President Biden had proposed.

Nothing says "I'm back in the office" quite like peanuts for lunch.

(Dedicated to journalist Katherine Dill.)

 

workers by the millions are refusing to return

to their office settings just plain money for to earn.

why go back, they query, where our lunches are so rushed,

we often dine on peanuts that are stale and slightly crushed?

that long commute was murder when we did it yesteryear,

by bus or train or auto or by costumed gondolier. 

the office we have built at home is cozy and productive;

the furnishings are lovely and the atmosphere seductive.

we can get our work done in less time than you would think

it takes to clean the toilet or repair the kitchen sink.

the fridge is always handy and when meeting over Zoom

we can merely dress our tops and let our bottoms bloom.

plus we're feeling burnt out and a glass of wine or two

washing down a Zoloft helps us keep from feeling blue.

(when you do it at the office you become a real hoodoo.) 

Besides you never know if other workers are orthodox

or if they've been infected with the dreaded monkeypox.

Stranded elevators and crazed shooters do abound;

and if there is a plumbing leak you risk becoming drowned.

we have pandemic goldfish that cannot be left alone;

we want no foreign keyboards or unsanitary phone.

and so we are refuseniks, when you ask us to come back;

we'd rather face a horrid case of constant dental plaque!

 

Narrative Poem: Shoes at the gym

 you're not allowed to look

at people's faces anymore.

everyone's freaking out about

facial recognition --

so to make eye contact

with strangers

is tantamount to attacking

them with a pen knife.

so I look at their shoes.

especially at the gym

when I'm working out

on the stationary bike.

there are big TV screens

bolted to the walls that

silently play ESPN,

but I find that about as

interesting

as plywood. so I

look down at the kind

of shoes people wear

while they work out.

or pretend to work out.

one in three are Nike brand.

one in three. and that's not

counting the Nike socks

they wear.

that company has taken

a chain saw to

the money tree.

black is the predominant

color of gym shoes.

but there are hot pink

and highway orange as well.

lots of shoes have a criss-cross

on them,

or the letter 'N.'

are those brands?

me, I wear Crocs to the gym.

They're so comfortable.

and they keep my heels from

jarring.

because I'm fat.

I lost weight by skipping

breakfast for a few months.

but that made me cranky

and carnal.

so now I eat bacon and 

eggs, sardines and toast,

ramen noodles with kimchi

and fried ham

in the morning.

and I'm a better

fatter

person for it.

News Deserts.

 

"Many newspapers have become a shadow of their former selves. News deserts are spreading around the country, places where people have lost access to trusted local news sources, and where local coverage has disappeared."

Larry Ryckman.  Colorado Sun.

Parched for news, the public cries

for stories they can idealize.

Local rags have disappeared

and so the news is engineered

by demagogues and other sages

on misleading Facebook pages.

No one's checking facts or figures;

reporters must deal with hair triggers.

The truth is down a hidey-hole,

or hidden on a totem pole.

Hildy Johnson, where you gone?

The news bizness is woebegone!

Today's Timericks: Janet Yellen Tells Lawmakers She Expects Inflation to Remain High

Inflation now has come to stay.

With our dough it wants to play.

Can't put none of it away.

What now of the rainy day?

Guess I'll wind up eating hay.

 

Sayonara, balanced budget,

say the experts by and large;

all they ever want us trying

is most ev'rything to charge.

In Japan and Bora Bora

banks are rubbing hands in glee --

and they're getting ready, boychik,

to charge a giant finance fee. 

Target inventory, overstocked and overpriced,

is going to be discounted and even sacrificed.

Supply-side economics have given them a vexing glut;

they're gonna be a catalogue just like old Fingerhut.