HM

Puggles Duchess Windsor, Dowager Empress, Queen of Pugs, Supreme Ruler of Alaska, Princess Royal of Baltimore Place, Grand Duchess of Missouri, Grand Duchess of Kansas City and St Louis, Duchess of Illinois, Duchess of Clinton, Duchess of Caddo Parish, Baroness Pugtona, Royal Order of the Greenie and Treat, Grand Order of the Scrunchie, Knight Commander of the Royal Order of Kibble, Patroness of the Royal Pugharmonic Orchestra.

 April 30,1999-September 14th, 2011

RIP: Paul the Psychic Octopus

Small in stature, kind of slinky and slimy in a way, but a hero to all, Paul the Oracle Octopus died today in his underwater home at Sea Life Aquarium in Oberhausen, Germany. He was born in Weymouth, England but spent his life in Germany. He was around 2 1/2 years old.

Paul rocketed to fame with his uncanny predictions of the outcome of sporting events, most notably the outcome of eight World Cup matches this year. Paul's prognostications were made by choosing a mussel from one of two transparent boxes on which the flags of the two opposing teams was painted. There was something like a 1 in 256 chance that he would get all eight predictions right. Paul made some enemies in his adopted homeland when he predicted Germany's demise in the games. But the little cephalopod was a hero in Spain for predicting their eventual win over The Netherlands.

In a World Cup that was roundly seen as rather boring and full of annoying officiating and noisy crowds, Paul stood, or should we say swam, out as a truly amazing spectacle.

RIP Paul.

Another One

Ford Motor Co. board voted today to end Mercury vehicle production in the fourth quarter. Thus the up and down life of Ford's middle child comes to an end.

The fate of the 72-year-old Mercury brand, born as an upscale Ford in 1939, has recently been in question. Thus this announcement comes as little surprise. Mercury sales peaked in 1978 at more than 580,000 vehicles but have been declining ever since. Ford sold about 92,000 Mercurys last year. That was a good year for a Grand Marquis in the 80s, not counting the other models in the line up.

In the 40s and 50s Mercury was more of a baby Lincoln rather than a Ford. The unique bathtub Mercs of the 50s (think any low slung hot rod you have seen) were more related in style to the Lincoln Cosmopolitans than the Ford Tudor. Same with the late 50s when the Turnpike Cruiser was the most Buck Rodgers thing on the road. In the 60s, Mercury suffered along with many of the mid class rivals and became more upmarket Ford than baby Lincoln. Its best years were the 70s, when the Monterrey model was closer to Ford and the Marquis was a step below a Continental.

The most well known Merc was the Cougar, itself a spin off from Ford's Mustang. Cougars were suave, sexy and luxurious and above all successful. Cougar's cat emblem virtually identified all Mercury autos for a generation, where one could buy one "a the sign of the cat."

Even then one could see the problem that eventually spelled doom for Mercury. None of its cars were unique, none screamed Mercury. Even when there was a unique Merc (that is one not sold by Ford dealers) it was a derivative of some other Ford product. Those include the German "Merker" of the late 80s and the awful Australian Capri. Mercury got a mini van care of Nissan whose "Quest" was re-badged and slightly restyled as the Villager. Thus the badge fought annually for relevance, only the long in the tooth Grand Marquis keeping it afloat.

In the last few years, Mercury became even more irrelevant. All products were nothing but re-badged and disguised Fords, from the Milan (Fusion) sedan to the SUV Mountaineer (Explorer). Those between 75 and death will have to get a-hold of their last available Grand Marquis soon.

I owned one Merc, an exasperating 1986 Grand Marquis with few miles but a nagging engine problem that led it to an early grave. Rode like a dream and was solid otherwise. My friend Steve had an 84 that we took to Cleveland and back in the late 90s. Great car.

So another great name joins the ranks of cars consigned to the dustbin. Times have changed, the old multi-layer marketing plans that relied on a customer being loyal to a brand and moving upscale as they got older and more wealthy just doesn't work anymore. Life has been tough on the middle kids; Olds, Pontiac and now Mercury. Who's next?

Some say Chrysler may drop the Chrysler brand and go to Dodge and the new Fiat made cars.

Tough time to be a car fan.

Mercury 1939-2010

RIP Art Linkletter

From the "I thought that person died 20 years ago" file:

Art Linkletter dead at 97

Coupl'a Things XXXVI

1) RIP Yvonne Loriod, French pianist and wife of the late composer Oliver Messiaen who died Monday, May 17, at the age of 86, after years of poor health.

Loriod was born on 20 January 1924 near Paris. She had piano lessons from childhood, as did her sister Jeanne, four and a half years younger. Jeanne Loriod, who died in 2001, became a leading exponent of the electronic instrument the ondes martenot. Long regarded as a brilliant pianist, Yvonne giving monthly recitals as a young girl and by 14 she knew the whole of Bach’s “Well-Tempered Clavier” and all 32 Beethoven sonatas.

Yvonne was Messiaen's second wife. He had fallen in love with her when she was a teenage student of his at the Paris Conservatoire and she was his muse for five decades (they only married in 1961 after the death of Messiaen's first wife, in a sanatorium, after many years of mental illness). Loriod's playing was the inspiration for music from the gigantic cycle Vingt regards sur l'enfant-Jésus, for solo piano, to the piano parts of orchestral pieces in the Turangalila Symphony and Des canyons aux étoiles. She also specialized in modern French piano music, being a leading proponent and performer of the piano works of Pierre Boulez.

2) Happy Birthday to Overland Park, KS! On May17th, 1960 voters in the Mission Urban Township approved the motion to form a city, which was made official on May 20th. Just 50 years ago, this sprawling suburb was mostly farm and field. Now it is the second largest city in Kansas behind Wichita with over 175,000 people. When it officially incorporated as a city, it had less than 29,000. Despite the late blooming, it quickly overtook older suburbs such as Olathe, Prairie Village and Lenexa and passed by state capital Topeka and Kansas City, Kansas in population.

We would sometimes like to, but we could not live without you OPKS? Maybe we could with out many of your drivers who never seem to know how to signal or what "one way" means and some of your politicians as well. You are vital to the area and you know it. So enjoy your birthday. Are they serving cupcakes? (inside joke to KC area people.. we sometimes call OPKS and its county "Cupcake County")

Anyway...many more!

3) Move over Susan Boyle, 80 year old Janey Cutler is this year's sensation from Britain. What is with these spunky Scottish ladies and their singing? Must be the pubs and scotch.

Janey Cutler - Britain's Got Talent 2010 - Auditions Week 4 @ Yahoo! Video

Adieu KFUO

Another sad farewell to an institution that has served its community well for 62 years. KFUO FM radio, St Louis' only classical music station, will cease broadcasting classical music in the next few weeks. Owned by the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod, the station was sold for 26 million dollars to, of all things, a Christian Music broadcaster Joy FM.

Many in the arts community, disappointed LCMS members, listeners and even local politicians battled what seemed like a foregone conclusion that St Louis would lose this radio treasure. The church did everything to block any other group besides Joy FM from bidding on the station's license. For example, a group of donors to the listener-supported station attempted their own effort to purchase the station and keep classical music on the St. Louis radio dial, but the group couldn't come up with as much money as offered by Joy FM.

One of the reasons for that could be that the church refused to provide the donor group a copy of the term sheet for the station. Thus the controversial and high powered attorney and LCMS Board member from Omaha Kermit Brashear could shepherd the sale through the approval process and claim no one else was interested. The sweetheart deal means Joy FM only pays $3 million up front and the rest over many years. Who knows if they will ever get the full $26 million.

Even though I no longer live in St Louis, 99.1FM was set on my car presets so when I traveled back and forth from Illinois to Kansas City, I would have at least an hour or two of excellent music. KFUO also played a wide variety of good classical music, not just short baroque pieces and excerpts. At Christmas, I could hardly wait to get in range to hear their continuous Christmas music broadcasts, so much better than the pop crap that permeated the dial. I got to know the announcers, Tom Sudholt, Ron Klemm, Dick Wobbe and John Clayton and could recognize their voices. Even though I heard them rarely since I left St Louis, they still seemed like old neighbors.

But no more. Greed wins out.

KFUO 1948-2010. Thanks for everything.

LCMS 1847- thanks for nothing.

From Our Local Rag III

This tidbit was in the online edition of Our Local Rag today:

"KC Goose is shot to death"

"A goose was shot to death near Trace County Park this morning. Kansas City Police dispatchers received a call today about shots being fired near Blue Parkway and 87th St.

When they arrived, they reported a goose had been shot and died.

A shotgun was involved (really, ya think so??), but no other information was immediately available."

Sad to see the journalistic standards of a paper go down so quickly. Of course since all the pros were fired or laid off, what does one expect?

On Top of Mt. Baldy

Once upon a time, I said (I remember it well) that I would shoot myself if I ever went bald. I was probably 18-20 years old at the time and had a head of incorrigible dark brown hair that tinged with blond in the summer sun. It went everywhere; Afro-picks were used to untangle it and it had to be washed and dried daily. My crop sprouted cowlicks by the dozens, O'Cedar Mop Company wanted me as a model and ladies wished they had as thick and shiny hair as I did.

Get the picture?

I also remember a fateful day in the bathroom in my apt in Jefferson City circa 1993. I had the door partly closed exposing the full length mirror on the back while I was mopping the floor. I raised up and noticed the reflection of the back of my head and a big thin spot. There were screams, the mop was put away and I contemplated an early death.

The piles of hair in the shower and sink grew; Drain-o sent me a thank-you note for increasing its sales by 67%. I was too far gone for any over the counter remedy, and Hair Club for Men was out of my price range. I had to face the fact that like many men, I was going bald in my 30s.

Compounding the whole mess was the also not so gradual turn to a mousy grey-white color. I was too lazy to keep up with the Miss Clarol treatments that lasted only a couple weeks, and it fooled no one.

A couple weeks ago at one of our regular 303 nights, I mentioned to the boys that I was considering shaving the whole damn thing off. "Do it!", cried Rich. "You have the head shape for it, it would be fabulous." Rich, frankly, has never steered me wrong, so I thought about it. If I hated it I have plenty of hats and it would eventually grow back.

For some reason, today was the day. The first day of Spring seemed to be auspicious enough, even though I am watching it snow. I read a bit about it, figured my hair was short enough without a trip to the barber and waddled in the snow to Walgreen's to get some shaving gel and baby oil, two things experts said were required for a smooth job.

Part way over to Walgreen's I almost chickened out. But the "what the fuck" part of me pressed on. With my purchases in hand, I resolved to do it.

Washed my hair, said good bye and lathered it up with the gel and a dose of baby oil. Scrape, scrape, scrape, there was more there than I thought. But it did come off easy, usually in big wads. I dried off and used the handy-dandy Norelco electric's clipper blade to smooth off. Another application of the gel-oil mix and some more fancy blade work removed more. Unfortunately, a bit of red-tinged gel told me I had nicked my scalp... big time. So some first-aid and a break for lunch as the bleeding stopped. I guess just one nick for a first timer isn't so bad. (Ok so I found two other small ones, I am not known for my fancy blade work anyway.)

The back of my head had the most hair left, and of course that was the hardest part to reach. A brutal, who cares whack-job with the scissors got the thicker part cut down to size and it soon joined the rest in the sink. A go over with the rotary blades of the Norelco smoothed the plains and got the occasional stand of hair that was missed.

Outside of the noticeable nick, it really looks pretty good. Frankly, it makes me look younger. Getting rid of the old man gray-white crap took a couple years off. It is not baby butt smooth, but it is closer. A few more gleanings with the Norelco should do it.

I'll do a picture sometime, but not today, there is a band-aid on my head.

My Hair 1957(?)- 2010

RIP

Remembering Grant Gallup

I had never heard (or maybe I had and have forgotten) the late Rev. Grant Gallup was called "Sister Mary Rattlebeads". It is completely appropriate however. Grant Gallup, Episcopal Priest, teacher, humanitarian, gourmet and friend, died after a long illness in his home in Managua, Nicaragua November 26th at age 78.

Grant simply was one of the most incredible people I ever met. When he was ordained a priest, he told the Bishop to "send me where no one else wants to go." That was Grant, the true embodiment of the spirit of Christ's teachings. He loved the poor and the oppressed; marching with Martin Luther King in the South in the 60's, living and working with those embroiled in a revolution in Nicaragua, hiding Nicaraguans who were being pursued and persecuted by a corrupt government, visiting Iraq just before Bush's invasion to support Iraqi Christians in danger, visiting Cuba when it was illegal to do so, being out and proudly gay long before others tested the waters. His parish, St Andrew's in Chicago, was in a tough and poor all African American neighborhood. Some took bets on how long this white boy from the UP of Michigan would last. He stayed 30 years until he took up his final residence in a poor and tough neighborhood in Managua. No matter what trouble someone was in Grant was there to support; comforting families who had just saw a member shot, go to prison, helped those who lost a job or their home and those in need of a meal. He could be a tough love at the same time; if he respected you he demanded your respect in return. Be petty or take advantage of him and you'd be admonished and likely banished quite directly.

Grant read voraciously, his library at Casa Ave Maria, a guest house/ecumenical center founded by him in Managua, was extensive even after a fire ravaged much of it. He loved music, folk dancing, art, young men and certainly charmed the ladies. He set a magnificent table; amusingly the table cloth was a kids' "Hercules" sheet. He simply explained that he liked the cartoon figure of the buff young fellow.

Just a few days before he died on November 26th, I got a message that some friends were going to honor him at a Thanksgiving gathering in Managua. On the 25th, I sent a message to his friend Bayardo and asked him to read it to Grant. This is what I sent:

Dear Grant:

I understand your friends are honoring and giving thanks for your work and presence on this Dia de Gracia.

Querido amigo, I am grateful for all that you taught me about the wonderful country that is Nicaragua; its struggles, its beauty, its people and history. I am richer for the times spent on the patio at Casa Ave Maria listening to you interpret the mural and having the amazing opportunity to meet some of the saints enshrined therein. I give thanks for the bountiful meals and the simple ones as well, shared around your table. One of the best Thanksgiving Days of my life was spent at the Casa, sharing a turkey and all the trimmings with you and Maggie, and Greg Houston and others who had gathered there.

I came to Nicaragua as a curious tourist and reluctant pilgrim in 1999, thinking it would be my one and only trip. Although many others have broken my record, I stand at 15 times since then that I have come to the country I call my home away from home. I was happy that my son Daniel and his new wife got to experience Nicaragua on their honeymoon; they hope to return some day. I got the privilege of introducing the sights and sounds of Nicaragua to my friend Bruce, who also got to meet you at the Casa.

Each time I make rice, I do it as a Nicaraguan lady taught me and revel in its simple beauty and taste and elegance, just like Nicaragua. Thus there is a bit of Nica in my soul now, and much of it is due to you. Thank you, thanks be to God for you.

Amigos para siempre!

Don Clark

Rest in Peace dear friend, and keep rattling those beads.

Grant Gallup at Casa Ave Maria March 2008, my last visit to him:

RIP Alicia de Larrocha

Alicia de Larrocha, a diminutive Spanish pianist esteemed for her elegant Mozart performances and regarded as an incomparable interpreter of Albéniz, Granados, Mompou and other Spanish composers, died this evening in a hospital in Barcelona; she had been in declining health since breaking her hip two years ago. She was 86.

Ms. de Larrocha specialized, yea owned, music that demanded focus, compactness and a subtle coloristic touch. Her Mozart, Bach and Scarlatti were so carefully detailed and light in texture that even as public taste shifted toward more period-instrument style, her performances remained popular and even definitive. She was closely associated with the Mostly Mozart Festival at Lincoln Center, where she first performed in 1971. Her appearances remained among the festival’s hottest tickets until her final performance there in 2003.

Ms. de Larrocha’s most enduring contribution, however, was her championship of Spanish composers. She made enduring recordings of Albéniz’s “Iberia” and Granados’ “Goyescas,” and helped ease those works into the standard piano repertoire. She almost single-handedly built a following for Federico Mompou, a Catalan composer of quiet, poetic works.

Although she was often regarded as partial to Granados — her mother and an aunt were among his piano students, but he died before Ms. de Larrocha was born — she refused to cite a favorite.

Thankfully, her recordings survive as monuments to the art of the piano.

On a personal note, I did a bad thing as a college student, but 33 years later I still remember every bit of it. It involved Ms. de Larrocha.

I volunteered as a tour guide at the University of Illinois Krannert Center while attending school there. After conducting a tour I noted on the board that the Great Hall was reserved from 3-4 pm for Ms de Larrocha who was performing that evening. Knowing all the entrances and exits, I snuck quietly into the hall and sure enough, she came out to test the piano and warm up. Her assistant or whoever left, not noticing me up in the darkened balcony. Ms de Larrocha warmed up and then played Alborada del Gracioso, plus "Triana" and the "Rondeña" from Albeniz's "Iberia" just for me. I chickened out and left after that. Totally stupid on my part, but since then I have been an ardent fan of this diminutive lady with a big smile and passion for her art. I attended the concert that night which consisted of the Ravel, Mozart "Turkish" Sonata and selections from Iberia. It was amazing.

Where is my copy of Iberia, I must listen to it!

RIP great lady. Thank you.

Bud

It is surmised that dogs and humans have had a symbiotic relationship for over 15,000 years. Dogs went with humans as we spread throughout the world, working for and along side our ancestors in their migrations. As humans became more civilized, dogs became less of a worker and more of a companion. Living, working, playing and comforting with us, they have earned the unique nickname, "man's best friend".

Best friend... that certainly described Bud. Bud and his dad Greg were inseparable friends for 10 years. Bud went everywhere with Greg, to church, out to eat with us, visiting, on errands, to the farm. Rare was the time when I would look in the back of Greg's PT Cruiser (especially chosen since it had the requisite "Bud Room" in the back) and not see Bud riding along, surrounded by treats and toys and a warm, familiar blanket.

Bud was found in 1999 as a 3-4 month old stray in Greg's neighborhood; lost, hungry and full of worms. Bud was a Rottweiler, or close enough for Government work. Since his progeny is not known, one can only assume. Graced with the beautiful copper/black markings, graceful large body, dark eyes and an expressive but un-bobbed tail, he looked every inch a Rottie.

He acted like one too; gifted with a gentle yet commanding presence. Bud would rather kiss than bite, have his ears scratched than growl and would lean on you and eventually sit on you to be sure he had your complete attention. He demonstrated that last Fall when at the "Blessing of the Animals" service at our church, he introduced himself to the pastor by knocking him over and sitting on him. Bud rarely got angry, he loved everyone and wanted everyone to love him too. But when threatened, he showed he could mean business. I saw that only once, when a street person leaned in to the open car window as we were parking to go to dinner at Thai Paradise. Bud growled and snapped at the man, causing him to recoil in fear. "Teach you to stick your face where it doesn't belong", Greg admonished the startled beggar as he beat a retreat. Bud, if nothing else, was one of the best auto security systems around.

Bud loved his walks, as many as he could persuade Greg to do. Thus it was heart breaking to see Bud slow down and start to limp. He had good days and some bad ones; when fine he would escort Greg up to the garden and visit all his neighbors. In the last few weeks, he had slowed even more. Greg, recovering from surgery, and Bud formed an even greater bond as they relied on each other to heal and endure.

Sadly, Bud got worse and the Vet confirmed this week that he had cancer. Monday night he cried all night and slept not a wink. On Tues, he went bravely and quietly to the Rainbow Bridge, a place where all beloved animals go, free of pain and suffering, waiting to play with us again.

Bud 1999-August 25, 2009

Bud Spring of 2009



Who could not love this face??

RIP Walter Cronkite

RIP Walter Cronkite Born in St Joseph MO in 1916 died today July 17th, 2009 in New York City

Here is my tribute to him from March 2009

And That's The Way it Was

A great article from The KC Star, the once great paper that started him on his career:

KC Star 7/17

Thanks Walter, it really has not been the same.

RIP Mrs Slocombe

RIP. British comedienne Mollie Sugden, best known as the immortal Mrs. Slocombe from the cult classic "Are You Being Served?", died on July 1 at the age of 86.

Quoted in the BBC, one of the writers for "Are You Being Served?" remembered her as a "marvellous character" who would never turn down chances to make people laugh.

"She would never refuse any sort of comedy situation. No matter how undignified it was, she would always go along with it. She was marvelously funny," he said.

I'll get flack for this, but her passing is a greater loss than that freak show that died earlier this week.

Her character, Mrs Slocombe, had some of the best double entendres ever:



I'll have a nip of gin for you Betty... and let your Pussy out when it howls!

Mollie Sugden 1922-2009

10 Years Ago

May 3, 4 and 5 are never my favorite days of the year. They bring back memories of close calls, catastrophic destruction, life cut short, death and regret.

May 3rd 1999. I had agreed to drive to a corporate meeting in Dallas with my colleague Ron. Ron was not a big fan of flying and figured the drive to Dallas from Kansas City was not that bad, especially for two. What the heck I thought, might be fun. The trip was long but not real eventful until around 6:30 that evening.

We had not left until later in the PM, so supper time found us in Oklahoma City. We decided to stop at a filling station and fill our car, grab a bite and change drivers. I noted we were actually in Moore, OK. "Ron", I said as I got into the driver's seat of the company issued Ford Taurus, "looks like they are going to get a good storm here soon". The sky was rapidly darkening, rumbles were heard in the distance. "Good thing we are headed south", Ron mumbled as we took off and merged on the highway.

Within the hour, the place where we stopped, along with a good chunk of Moore, OK, did not exist any longer, blown away by a dreaded F5 tornado.

May 4th 1999. I hate corporate meetings, this one in May 1999 was one of the worst. I was getting tired of my job. The company was changing, the spirit we once had was sapped as new management changed from "creating magic moments" to "creating value to our stakeholders". I would be gone a little more than a year later. This was one of the last times I would see many of my colleagues that I had considered friends, enjoying the restaurants and clubs in far away cities as we partied the night away. On this occasion, the morning break could not come soon enough. I remember the meeting room to be somewhat dark and sterile, set up classroom style, presenters droning on. About the only good thing so far was that Ron and I were mini celebrities; we had captivated our fellow attendees with our tornado antics.

When we broke, I was handed a message. Usually, messages received at meetings were not as urgent as the sender implied and could be ignored. This one said URGENT in big capital letters (why it was not given to me immediately I never asked) and was from The University of Missouri Hospital in Columbia. Now that couldn't be good news. A social worker answered, it was she who left the message. My oldest son Michael had been in an accident in Jefferson City and was flown to Columbia. He is critical, time is of the essence, get here now. It didn't make sense. I began to scream I need to go home. Someone was making a plane flight reservation for me. I was then told to get going, Alyce, a company executive, who had just presented at the meeting had returned, she had left her purse. She and some others were on the company jet. They were taking me to Columbia.

The quick ride to Love Field I do not even remember. I do remember taking off, remembering it was from Love Field that Air Force One departed for Washington with the new President Johnson and the body of JFK. My own tragedy mixing in with that historical moment.

In Columbia, I was let off and got a ride to the hospital from someone at the airport. I was carrying my clothes as I did not have a suitcase big enough for them; I had just hung them in the back of the car. I saw some neighbors and church people in the lobby, I was taken to ICU. Lori and the kids were there, many others. Michael looked like hell. I guess upon arrival he looked worse. The car in which he was riding left a winding road, one I had traveled frequently, and slammed head on into the side of the creek bank. Michael was in the back and not belted in. He hit the roof, flew forward, through the windshield and landed in the creek. His buddies were hurt, but he was most serious.

I knew it was it. I am not one to hold out much hope. When there is a tragedy, like a fiery plane crash into the ocean, I scoff at those who say they are hoping to rescue survivors. I don't wish it, but I just guess I am a realist and see that survival was not possible. Certainly in this case, I wish I was proved wrong, but the news kept getting dimmer. He was without oxygen for too long, the pressure in his skull was high and would not come down. Fever was wracking his body. He was not responding.

Beating a wall and screaming does not help, as I found out. Slowly, all his friends were gathering. Young men and women, 18-19 yrs old, supposed to be full of life and looking forward to fun and education and challenge, not death and tragedy. My friend Jerry was there, I don't remember how he even knew, maybe I had called him. But I remember our eyes meeting as I was in the small ICU room and he was standing out side. Crying continuously for 5-6 hours does weird things to your eyes. Light blinded me; some of us took a car loaned to us to get out of the hospital for a few minutes. It was so bright I could not drive, Aunt Becky took over. The day droned on. Sleeping in a hospital is not recommended.

May 5th, usually a day set aside to celebrate Mexico, forever turned into a day of death and finality. The Doctor was polite, but to the point. Michael was dead basically. Surprisingly it was not much of a debate to end life support. None of us saw the purpose, we did not believe in some miracle, we did not imagine him dancing and smiling at us. The plans made, the goodbyes said. Maria, only 11 bravely said "good bye Michael, you've been a good brother". Daniel was quiet, he idolized Michael and spent the rest of his teens making sure he was a better drummer than his brother was. I wished so much had been different.

The rest is now a blur. Somehow I made it back to Grain Valley where I was living. Somehow I made it back to Jefferson City for the funeral. Half the city was there it seemed and certainly most of the high school. Friends and family gathered, co-workers, even people I could not stand. Becky Stevens, Robert Rowlett and Lee Adams from Trinity sang and played for the service, the kids of the church sang. We had a celebration lunch, then every one drifted away back to reality.

And then silence and memories.

Michael Reza Clark 9/30/80-5/5/1999

RIP: Guiding Light

Today, CBS Television announced that the "Guiding Light", the longest running continuous soap opera and likely the longest running story ever in broadcast history, will air its final episode on September 18.

If you are a soap opera fan, or like me, remember your stay at home mother watching them as a kid, you know how significant that this loss is.

"Guiding Light" is nothing short of an American institution. The show began broadcasting in 1937, on the NBC Radio Network, produced and sponsored by Procter & Gamble, thus the term "soap opera" was coined. It focused on the town of "Four Points" and the lives of a congregation led by the Reverend Ruthledge. In 1948, the show moved to CBS Radio, and the focus changed to the Bauer Family, led by Frederick "Papa" Bauer, and focusing on the lives of his children, Bill, Trudy, and Meta.

In 1952, CBS brought the show to television. It aired for 15 minutes each day from 11:45-12 Noon, sharing the half hour time slot with "Search For Tomorrow" which aired from 11:30-11:45 PM (CST). This tidy arrangement lasted until 1968, when both shows were expanded to 30 minutes each. I remember coming home from school for lunch and the shows would be on. The Channel 3 noon news followed and then I had to walk the few blocks back to school.

For its first 50 years or so "Guiding Light" chronicled the triumphs and tragedies of the Bauer family. Papa Bauer, an immigrant from Germany, (and endeared to millions of fans through a touching portrayal by the late Theo Goetz), was always there to offer advice to his drama prone family. Meta was a colorful character who has a racy life and caused much grief for the family, until she fell in love and married Dr. Bruce Banning. Papa's son, Bill, was married to Bertha (Bert). Bill was an alcoholic, and Bert was his spoiled, materialistic wife. Trudy, the third child, was never mentioned again once the show hit television.

From 1952-1956, the show was double broadcast on both radio and TV. The radio show was on in the morning, broadcast live of course. Then the cast would take cabs arcoss Manhattan to be at Liederkrantz Hall, CBS's New York studios at the time, to do the TV broadcast, live at 11:45 PM.

Through the years, (and with the passing of Papa Bauer), Bert became the show's matriarch and sage. There were lots of great plots and twists through the years, too numerous to even begin to mention here.

The show declined in popularity in the 1970's because it was considered too "old fashioned" when compared with the newer, sexier "The Young and the Restless" show. In 1977, the show was expanded to a full hour, and new families and stories were integrated. Some new writers and a new focus, brought the show back to the top of the ratings. He created the Reardon and Cooper family sagas, and integrated them into the Bauer, Chamberlain, Marler, and Spaulding stories.

In the 1980's Kim Zimmer joined the show as diva Reva Shayne Lewis, who worked her way through the Lewis men, including patriarch oilman Harlan Billy (HB) Lewis. Her great love though was HB's son, Joshua. Many hope that characters such as these will be back together for the finale.

In the 1990's and early 2000's, the show hit major writing snags as did many soaps vying for a shrinking market as more women worked out of the home and cable TV wrestled with broadcast for viewers. For fans, the low point was the "Clone Reva" story.

The last revamping came right after the show's 70th Anniversary in 2007. Today's Guiding Light is taped with hand-held cameras, partially in outdoor locales in Northern New Jersey (being the proxy for the mythical midwestern town of Springfield). The Bauer saga is still a small part of the show, but the Lewises, Coopers and Spauldings now have the majority of the story.

Frankly, the"Guiding light" is a show whose time has come and gone. 72 years of entertaining, enthralling, selling soap is quite an accomplishment, when today shows are often judged and canned on their first episode.

Coupl'a Things XV

1) Et Expecto: We are waiting for a snow storm... or not. All the forecasts yesterday were warning of mounds of snow and maybe ice. It was headed our way, giving Colorado and Kansas a decidedly Arctic look. I did little yesterday, nothing more than I had to, I just knew that if the snow hit I'd be shoveling, de-icing, and hearing the Palace denizens bitch. Barb and I were resigned to miss the Symphony concert on Saturday if the weather turned nasty. I went to bed early too... getting all prepared.

Woke up at 5AM.. trudged to the window, expecting to see the world covered in white. It just looked wet. Bed beckoned and I returned. Now awake, full of coffee and functioning a bit, I see that perhaps the worst of the storm is heading south of us. We may get 1-2 in of it, but not the 8-12 they were taking about. Since it is supposed to be in 40s tomorrow, it won't last long. I am over snow.

2)In terra: The garden will appreciate the lack of heavy snow and bitter cold. Several people have early plants going (onions, cauliflower, beets, etc) and most have staked out their claim. I'll post a new picture soon, it looks more like a garden now.

3)Requiescat in pace: Delores "Dee" Christiansen of Elmhurst,IL. died Thursday due to complications from Alzheimer's at 81. She was the mother-in-law of my faithful friend and reader David.

4) For some reason I am in a Latin mood this AM. Thus: Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

...et mea culpa. Amor, Agnus Dei

Coupl'a Things XIV

1) To Attorney General Eric Holder, who is whining about Americans being "cowards" in discussing race. What a self serving little rant. Race has been talked to death, frankly, few societies have ever had has frank and open discussions. Why not move on to more pressing justice issues? Gay and Lesbian rights, the overwhelming use of the death penalty, more people incarcerated than in all of the countries of the European Union, treatment of the mentally ill as criminals, reasonable sex offender laws, reintegration of inmates, prosecutorial misconduct and the over all feeling among many that the justice system takes care of its own and functions to make government money and to advance lawyers' and politicians' careers?

These have to be addressed and are not talked about at all.

2) Speaking of money makers, KC has installed its first red light cameras. I now avoid 39th and SW Trafficway like the plague. Police are thrilled, more donut time.

3) RIP, Wendy Richard, better known as Miss Brahms from the long running British comedy show Are You Being Served?. Richard was 65 and died after a year long cancer battle. She was a fixture of British TV, also starring in the long running "East Enders" show. She was most known across the pond for her role as the cheeky Miss Brahms, the Junior clerk in the ladies department at Grace Brothers on AYBS.

RIP Blossom Dearie

Blossom Dearie, a classically trained pianist who transformed herself into a jazz singer possessing one of the most unique voices in all of music died Saturday in New York City. She was 82.

Born April 29, 1926 and given the most appropriate name of Marguerite Blossom Dearie. She later dropped her first name and used the middle and last as her stage name. Dearie's voice was tiny, almost child like. Sweet. Light, babyish to a point. Think of all the bad imitations of Marilyn Monroe. But while lacking in power, she had impeccable diction, rhythm, timing and a quick humming bird vibrato.

Starting a long solo career in Paris, Blossom went on to appear regularly in cabarets in London and New York. She created her own record label in the mid 70's (when as a teen I discovered her unique talents) and wrote several original songs with lyrics by Johnny Mercer.

Her last recording was a single released in 2003 titled "It's All Right to be Afraid," dedicated to victims and survivors of September 11. Her last live appearance was in 2006 at a cabaret in Manhattan where she lived.

Her recordings are cult classics.

Here is a clip:



Here's to you, hip little cabaret doll! How do you say Auf Wiedersehn?

RIP: Hilma Carto

My dear friend Hilma Carto died this weekend in Bloomington, IL where she lived at the Westminster Village Retirement center, she was 93. The obituary told of her family and her remarkable life, living all over the country working for Western Union many times the first woman to hold the postion she filled. The last line, the writer wished to hear her say "God bless you, honey" one more time. She said that to me a lot as well.

What the obituary didn't say is that Hilma was a scream. She had a sense of humor as sharp as a rapier and dry and bubbly as a fine Verve Cliquot.

I got to know her when she attended my church here in KC. One Sunday, as we prepared to sing a hymn, I handed her a hymnal. "Oh..oh..oh...no, dear", she said with complete seriousness then looking around and lowering her voice even further, "they pay me not to sing..... there were complaints", as she patted my hand and smiled ever so slyly. I split a gasket over that. At Westminster, she said she was on her best behavior as "I am on probation for a year...my repuation preceeded me." She was concerned once that she would be asked to leave, "there is this issue that everyone that takes the apartment across the hall from me soon dies after moving in" she said with a complete straight face, "they suspect me, but so far the evidence is just circumstantial".

Bloomington is just a short drive from Decatur so when I went to visit my sister, a call or visit to Hilma was in order. I told her on the first visit that we'd like to take her to lunch. "Oh, no, first visit it's my treat. But we can eat here at Westminster. It is nice; we have china, printed menus, waiters...just like at the Ritz! But we only get one fork. Put two forks in front of some these old ladies and they'd starve to death trying to figure out why they had two." She paid for our dinner with her "Bingo Bucks", money won at bingo games to be used at the center. "I wait and see who is playing, some are easier to beat than others. I have amassed a small fortune!"

My last call to Hilma was the only one I hung up from feeling sad. It was just before Thanksgiving, she was tired, not feeling well and I think she really did not know who I was. But it was the one of the best in many ways, as she said "God bless you honey for calling".

Hilma Wilson Carto 9/8/1915-12/7/2008

Matthew Shepard October 1998

In the early morning hours of October 12, 1998 Matthew Shepard died.

Beaten, tied to a fence and left exposed to die in a remote field outside Laramie, Wyoming, Shepard's murder by two homophobic, remorseless thugs, galvanized the country. Then President Clinton even called the family to express his condolences. When Lawrence King was killed in a recent incident the current President was silent, as he has been for his entire illegal regime.

Sadly, the progress of making sexual orientation a hate crime has been stymied by an unsympathetic, even hostile regime. The gay community itself, whatever that is, still seems to be concerned over the latest over priced fashion trend than voting or working for a more just society. If the black community was as nonchalant about rights as the gay community, slavery would still be legal.

There have been some positive steps but they have been tempered by a larger number of negative steps. Neither candidate for president can speak out for full rights for sexual minorities. A whole generation of kids are being reared in right wing mega churches, most if not all preaching that being gay is a sin. Maybe my basic pessimism is coming through, but I see little to cheer about.

I wish I would have had my act together. If I did, I would have gotten a tattered green and yellow ribbon out of my storage. I got it ten years ago at a Matthew Shepard rally here in KC. The weekend after he was found beaten, our church choir did not sing, silent in our protest. We all wore our ribbons.

The ribbon is with my Christmas decorations. Every year, my bright lit tree is darkened a bit by this tiny piece of cloth... remembering Matthew who saw no more bright Christmases.