"The Sky is Falling! The Sky is Falling!"

The Chelyabinsk Surprise

From Pravda.ru

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only.

Earth has been visited lately, not by aliens in flying saucers, but rocks of varying sizes the appearance of which has caused quite a stir.  That earth gets hit is not really news.  Several thousand objects collide with our atmosphere each day, most the size of a grain of sand.  A few are larger, perhaps baseball-sized.  Once a week on average Earth receives a rock about the size of a house.  Most burn up in the atmosphere, the larger ones lighting up the sky.  The American Meteor Society website lists reports of fireballs happening virtually every day.  Damage from these is non-existent to slight.  But lately, it seems that the sky has gotten much busier.

March 22^nd, a rock estimated to be 3 feet wide lit up the skies over the eastern U.S., generating sighting reports from 13 states.  On the night of March 16^th, another fireball created by a rock of as-yet unknown size was seen over North and South Carolina, and Tennessee.  While all this was going on, Comet Pan-STARRS was painting its tail across our planet’s skies. 

Of course, everyone remembers the bomb over Chelyabinsk, Russia on February 15^th.  This 45-foot-wide rock exploded before hitting the ground, causing wide-spread damage and inflicting injuries on some 1,500 people.  This was the same day that an expected visitor, a 150-footer called DA14, passed just above our atmosphere, below the altitude of our communication satellites.  Scientists knew this one was coming, but the Chelyabinsk rock surprised everyone.

In the skies over Earth’s southern half, Pan-STARRS was accompanied by another cosmic snowball, Comet Lemmon.  But the real…um…”star” of the show will be Comet ISON, which is expected to become visible in late November, and is predicted to be the brightest comet seen by anyone alive today.  That’s exciting news.  The last visible comet to fly by was Hale-Bopp 15 years ago.  They’re rare events to be sure.  To have three visible to humans in one year is amazing.

There’s also a troubling aspect to be considered.

Words and the Power of a Name

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only. 

The name of a professional sports team is more than words on a jersey.  The name defines the city and the people, providing a valuable source of unity, even in times of deep political division.  Teams move from time to time, usually changing the name in the relocation.  But the longer a team resides in a place, the stronger that identification can be.

 

Such is the strong affection between the people of the Washington DC metro area and “their” team, the Redskins.   

 

But the age of political correctness has come to sports.  The Redskins’ name has come under scrutiny because of the historically racist connotation.  Despite polls which show that the overwhelming numbers of people, even Native Americans, associate the moniker with the team and not the noble peoples that once possessed this land, it should be recognized that the term “Redskin” is by definition just as insulting as the infamous “N-word.” 

 

This dilemma is shared by other teams, such as the Kansas City Chiefs, Cleveland Indians, Atlanta Braves, and the Chicago Blackhawks. But the Redskins have become a victim of the success brought by the arrival of Robert Griffin III.  That success, elevating the team back into the national spotlight, has given new life to the controversy.

 

The names, or mascots, of sports teams have always followed a certain paradigm.  Tradition states that it should be a name associated with strength and power, something that would strike fear or awe into the hearts of opponents.  Some names were associated with local history or heritage.  Others found inspiration in the animal kingdom.  A few simply defy explanation.  (What the heck is a Hoya, anyway?)  But animals which once provided a…well…stable of possibilities now risk running afoul of animal rights groups.

 

This issue is rising to a critical level and at some point, the Redskins and the NFL just might be forced into making the change.  

 

So what should the new name be?  There are hundreds of ideas already floating in the ether.  Everyone agrees that it should be something original and unique, something that would inspire players and fans alike.  

 

Naturally, like everyone else, I have an idea.  

 

My suggestion for the new name of the Washington NFL franchise is…

 

Civil War: Events of May 1863

On May 1^st, the opening salvos of the Battle of Chancellorsville were sounded.  Union General Joseph Hooker attempted an ambitious double envelopment of Lee’s army.  Unfortunately, such a move was beyond the communications technology of the day and resulted in confusion and delay.  In the face of these movements, Lee divided his vastly out-numbered army, holding Sedgewick at Fredericksburg, and sending Stonewall Jackson’s corps on a wide flanking movement late in the day of May2nd.  Jackson’s troops burst out of the woods, falling on the unprotected and unprepared flank of Oliver Howard’s 11^th corps.  The Union troops fled in panic, as they would do again at Gettysburg in July.  Jackson’s corps advanced to within 1.25 miles of the Union headquarters, but the coming of darkness and the thick woods the southerners found themselves in created confusion.  On the verge of completely routing the Army of the Potomac, Jackson’s troops were forced to stop and dig in.  Later that night, Jackson and his staff, trying to ascertain where the lines were, advanced through the woods to within earshot of the Union lines.  Returning, they were mistaken for Union cavalry.  Troops of the 18^th North Carolina fired, wounding Jackson.  His right arm had been broken and was eventually amputated. During his recovery, he contracted pneumonia and died on May 10th. Despite what was an amazing victory for the vastly outnumbered Confederates, the loss of General Jackson amounted to a major defeat.  The loss of his aggressive and intelligent leadership very likely led to defeat for Lee at Gettysburg.

Civil War: Events of April 1863

April 2^nd saw the Bread Riot in Richmond, VA.  A mob demanded bread from a supply wagon.  The action increased in fury, resulting in the looting of several stores.  The rioters were personally addressed by President Jefferson Davis, who took money from his own pockets and tossed it into the crowd.

On April 5^th, President Lincoln sailed to Fredericksburg, VA to meet with General Joe Hooker to discuss strategy in Virginia.

Nine Union ironclads under the command of Samuel Dupont sailed into Charleston Harbor April 7th and attacked Fort Moultrie and Fort Sumter.  Damage is done to the forts, but the ships are heavily damaged by Confederate shore batteries and are forced to withdraw.

On April 12^th, Confederate General James Longstreet surrounds Suffolk, VA and begins a siege that will last until May 4^th. 

On the 13^th, Union General Nathaniel Banks carried out an ordered attack towards the Confederate strongpoint of Port Hudson, in coordination with Grant’s move against Vicksburg.  The Confederates at Fort Bisland had excellent intelligence on Banks’ movement through the swamps of Louisiana’s Bayou Teche region.  Banks sent Grover’s division in a flanking movement, but the movement was slowed by General Mouton.  Union troops later arrived and formed a battle line outside of Fort Bisland.  After a night-long artillery duel, Union forces advanced on the Fort on the 13^th.  The fighting continued until dusk.  Later that night, Confederate General Richard Taylor learned that more Union troops were in his rear and now in position to cut off his retreat.  During the night, the Confederates successfully evacuated the Fort, which the Union troops found empty and abandoned at sunup.

The Magic of Getting Away

From City-Data.com

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

Vacation!

In the glossary of the workday dictionary, there's no other word which conveys such a soul-satisfying combination of joy, peace, and freedom.  For 7 or 14 glorious days and nights, we revel in that magical realm of "Don't have to be anywheresville."  The burdens of the job are gleefully unshouldered and cast aside as we dance away the chains of servitude.

(Actually, if you're one of those people who use up vacation just so you can clean gutters and screens and paint walls, you can stop here.)

Vacations actually happen in stages.

In the planning stage, a destination is chosen and dates decided.  Reservations are made while the mind begins to manufacture a virtual reality play called "What It Will Be Like."

In the next stage, we unload our burdens, engaging in the somewhat delicate ballet of shifting jobs to co-workers.  Whether they want them or not, the jobs are taken on, mainly because they (and you) know full well that the reverse will happen when their time comes up.  At home, you arrange for the mail and the newspaper to be held, the dog to be boarded, and the request to the neighbors to "keep an eye on things" during the absence.

The third phase usually kicks in about Wednesday before leaving.  You know Friday is coming, but part of you feels a sort of dream-like unreality that this trip is actually going to happen.

The Things We Can't Fix

"Broken Hearted Toy" from www.wallpaperdisk.com

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey
Written content only

A small child stands in front of me, wearing a sad face and the hint of a tear or two.  Holding up two small pudgy hands holding a favorite but broken toy and looking up into my eyes, a small, quivery voice says...

"Daddy, fix?"

For a father, this is a familiar scene.  Whatever other job we might be engaged in takes a back seat.  A small world has been crushed and we have been asked to repair it.

Sometimes its just a matter of snapping a plastic piece or two back in place.  Occasionally the job requires a more complicated approach, involving superglue, duct tape, or a couple of small screws and a battery.  The toy gets fixed, the small face lights up; a small world has been restored.  If you're lucky, the child will favor you with that singular look of love and discovery that has written all over it, "Gee, my Dad can fix anything!"

With a smile and a sense of love and fulfillment, we return to the task at hand.

Its an unfortunate truth that these requests diminish with the passage of time.  Over the years as their self-reliance grows their reliance on parents shrinks.  This is the way it should be, if we have done our jobs as parents.  While we're happy to see them grow up, we still mourn the loss of that special sense of purpose  called "Parenthood."

A Gift of Peace From the Sea

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey
Image and written content

Life is a whirlwind; a maelstrom where we are thrown hither and yon by the storm of events that constitute the days of our lives.  Caught irretrievably in the eye of those storms, we yearn for a measure of peaceful silence.  But most of the time, that longing remains frustratingly unrequited.  We do take those periods we call "vacations," but instead we squeeze a whole summer's worth of activities into two weeks meant for rest, relaxation, and recharging, and return to work exhausted.

For both of us, it has been a stressful time.  Losing one job, gaining another, selling one house, buying another, leaving one life behind, and trying to assimilate life in a new location.  We both work in high-pressure vocations where a mistake carries a cost in human life.  In addition, winter for me is...well...tough sledding while I suffer daily from PMS (Parked Motorcycle Syndrome). Thus deprived of my best method of stress relief, I'm left to muddle through till spring.

We did, however, make time for a trip to California.  But not for vacation.  Our oldest daughter and her husband are in the last chapter of what has been a troubled marriage.  Divorce in inevitable.  They have three  small boys, two of them autistic and the third recovering from an open heart surgery when he was one year old.  Hovering over them all is a shroud of mourning for a daughter who left this life at the tender age of six months.  We knew that the tension in the air would be thick as the two of them struggled to maintain a veneer of civility.

The stress of the trip was ameliorated by California itself.  That first day, we left Dulles in a light snowfall.  Hours later, we stood in a city park wearing shorts and t-shirts under a clear sky reveling in the glory of a 72-degree day.  Virginia, with it's cold, snow, and hard work seemed so very far away.

One evening, we drove down to Laguna Beach.  This is a typical seaside community, populated by an eclectic mix of the very wealthy and the very wierd.  We arrived about 30 minutes before sunset, the refreshing smell of the Pacific was in the air.  Following a winding path, we made our way to an overlook.  Down below, gulls and pelicans dotted the rugged rocks, occasionally lifting off to glide gracefully on the unseen winds along the cliffs. 

Before us was the sea.

Civil War: Events of March 1863

On March 3, Naval assaults on Ft. McAllister resumed.  Also, the Conscription Act was signed by President Lincoln.  Although it requires draft quotas by state, wealthy citizens are allowed to buy themselves out for $300.

A Federal force moving south from Franklin, TN on March 5^th was decisively defeated by Confederate forces under Van Dorn and Nathan Bedford Forrest.  The Confederates received unexpected help when 17-year old Alice Thompson, after seeing the 3^rd Arkansas lose their Colonel, picked up the flag and led the regiment to victory.  She was cheered by the Union soldiers.

Confederate Raider John Mosby attacked and embarrassed Union troops at Fairfax Courthouse, VA, capturing Union General Stoughton.

President Lincoln on March 10, issued an order of amnesty for men AWOL from the Union Army.  They will have until April 1 to report or will be considered deserters.

Union ground and naval forces attack a hastily-built Fort Pemberton, MS on the Yazoo River hoping to punch through to Vicksburg.  The fort held.

On March 13, a friction primer at the Confederate Ordinance Laboratory near Richmond exploded, touching off the entire facility, killing 69 people.  62 of them were women and young girls.

On March 14, Union Admiral Farragut tried to push a naval force past Port Hudson, Louisiana.  His flagship, USS Hartford and USS Albatross got through, but three other vessels were seriously damaged.

On the 16^th, Grant ended his attempts to push through Yazoo Pass in Mississippi, but ordered Sherman to attempt an assault on Steele’s Bayou again.

Civil War: Events of February 1863

Union Navy ships made an unsuccessful attack on Ft. McAllister, guarding the southern entrance to the port city of Savannah.

On the 2^nd, Union ram Queen of the West steamed past the Confederate batteries at Vicksburg.  She was hit twelve times, but was mostly undamaged.  She then rammed the Confederate ship City of Vicksburg and retired.  The next day, she attacked three southern ships and captured them, destroying their vital cargoes.

Also on the 2^nd, Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest attacked the Union garrison at Fort Donelson, Tennessee in an attempt to relieve the pressure on Vicksburg.  The attack failed.

On February 3, the French made an offer to mediate between the North and South through Federal Secretary of State William Seward, who declined the offer.

Union General Joseph Hooker reorganized the Army of the Potomac, giving corps commands to John Reynolds, Darius Couch, Dan Sickles, George Meade, John Sedgwick, William F. Smith, Franz Siegel and Henry Slocum.  George Stoneman is appointed cavalry chief.

On February 12^th, the West Virginia Constitutional Convention reconvened in response to the U.S. Congress’ request to modify certain wording concerning slaves.

Queen of the West struck again on the 12^th, taking more than $2 million in cargo in a single day.  But on the 14^th, the ship ran aground and was abandoned.

The U.S. Senate passed the Conscription Act on the 16^th.  The next day, West Virginia approved a revised state constitution.

General Grant, who had previously issued an order to halt publication of the Chicago Times as a subversive newspaper, rescinded the order on February 17^th.

A Democrat Convention in Richmond, KY was broken up by Federal authorities because some members were pro-South.

Confederate General Daniel H. Hill assumed command of all North Carolina forces on the 25^th

February 26^th saw President Lincoln signing the National Currency Act into law.  The legislation created a national banking system, a currency bureau, and the office of Comptroller of the Currency.

Also on the 26^th, the Cherokee Nation rescinded its previous declaration of secession and also abolished slavery.

On the last day of February, Federal gunships moved up the Ogeechee River in Georgia to destroy a Confederate privateer known as the Rattlesnake.

This Thing Called "Love"*

*Johnstown Tribune-Democrat, February 11, 2010

as "Feb. 14 - A Time to Celebrate This Crazy Little Thing Called Love"

Copyright © 2010 by Ralph Couey

It’s an oft-spoken truism that while men marry women for what they are, women marry men for what they can make out of us. When I look at my wife, I still see the breath-taking girl I fell for 32 years ago. When she looks at me, she sees (and she’s actually said this) a “work in progress.”

I don't consider that a bad thing; I'm excited to be married to someone who remains convinced that every day I can be more than I was the day before.  Her faith in me has never wavered, even during those times when I had lost all faith in myself.

Marriage is a relational laboratory; the virtual Petri dish where two independent people learn how to be co-dependent. The first seven years can be explosive as both partners engage in a sort of emotional “push-me pull-you,” trying to pull the other in their direction. Through this process, both learn the value of compromise; that the best solutions often exist in the middle.

Through it all is this thing we call “love.”

The Possibilities of Life and the Prison of Physics

M-31 Andromeda from Astronomy Picture of the Day 1/24/2008

Copyright © 2009 by Ralph Couey

Written content only

Like millions of others, I often look to the night sky, fascinated by the possibilities of what lies out there. However, at times I also find myself idly wondering whether in that sky there might be someone else standing on another planet some impossibly long distance away looking back.

The latest estimate for the size of the known universe is around 150 billion light years across, containing somewhere between 100 billion and 500 billion galaxies, each probably containing between 200 billion to 400 billion stars. Certainly amongst that blizzard of zeroes, there has to be at least one other intelligent technological civilization.

In short, do I believe there are other intelligent species in the universe?

Yes.

Do I think we’re being visited by aliens in flying saucers?

No.

The physical laws of the universe, as we know them, make interstellar journeys impossible, impractical, and even pointless. The speed of light, warp drive notwithstanding is a barrier impossible to cross. Any physical object, be it human or molecule, converts to pure energy at the speed of light. Not a bad way to travel, all things considered. But understand that there’s no way to be reassembled at the end of that journey.

We could travel very close to the speed of light, but physics makes it pointless.

Scientists studying the behavior of subatomic particles in an accelerator, discovered that as they approached the speed of light, their rate of decay slowed tremendously. That remarkable find led to an understanding called “time dilation.” What that means, essentially, is that if you were on a starship that was traveling at 90% of the speed of light, time for you would slow down enormously, while back home, clocks would continue to tick along at their normal rate. Dr. Carl Sagan in his ground-breaking program “Cosmos” said that time dilation would make a round trip to the center of our Milky Way galaxy doable within a human lifetime.

Such a ship could make that trip, a distance of about 50,000 light years, in about 42 years, as time would be measured aboard the ship. That’s assuming the crew would survive the hard radiation, asteroids, million-degree clouds of gas, and each other. Unfortunately, for those of us left behind subject to the clocks here on earth, about 60,000 years would have passed, the time that separates modern humans from Neanderthals. Even if our intrepid explorers survived the trip, their return would become an encounter between two completely alien cultures.

Of course, that’s assuming there would still be life on earth. Asteroids, comets, gamma-ray bursts, super volcanoes, climate change, and what we could do to each other are all very real possibilities that would cause the end of life as we know it.

Homo sapiens is not the first dominant species on this planet, and almost certainly won’t be the last.

Dr. King and the Revolution of the Heart

 

 

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey
Written content only

 

Today, we celebrate a singular holiday.  Out of all those that speckle the calendar, this one is unusual in that it is the only one specifically named for one American.  But in meaning, it is much more.

 

Dr. Martin Luther King was born on January 15, 1929.  He grew to be a minister, earning a PhD from Boston University.  He possessed that singular gift of lyrical oratory, giving life to mere words, delivering them not just to the ears, but to the heart.

 

The American civil rights movement, way overdue, was gathering steam.  In 1955, Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a white man.  She was arrested and convicted of disorderly conduct.  What followed was the Montgomery Bus Boycott which lasted 381 days, cost the bus line some 80% of its revenue and only ended when a federal court ordered the bus system to be desegregated.  Dr. King led this protest and brought his name into national prominence.  It was not an easy victory, however.  At it’s height, King’s house was bombed.

 

The bus boycott proved to be the turning point.  Dr. King became the face and the voice of civil rights.  

 

His development included influence by theologian and educator Howard Thurman.  Thurman introduced the young minister to the writings of Mohandas Gandhi, who had turned non-violent protest into a potent weapon against British colonialism.  King, who visited the Indian leader’s birthplace, was profoundly moved by Gandhi’s story.  On his final day in India, he said, "Since being in India, I am more convinced than ever before that the method of nonviolent resistance is the most potent weapon available to oppressed people in their struggle for justice and human dignity.”

 

Back in the United States, King, as leader of the Southern Christian Leadership Council, began to lead a series of non-violent protests.  He and thousands of others marched for African-American’s right to vote, desegregation, labor rights among other issues.  Throughout the south, sit-ins were held at lunch counters that banned blacks.  The protests were non-violent, but directly confrontational, which led to violent reactions by southern whites.  

 

In 1963, the SCLC launched a campaign against segregation and economic injustice in Birmingham, Alabama.  Protests were widespread, but the turning point was when the Birmingham Police Department, led by Eugene “Bull” Connor, turned fire hoses and police dogs loose on the protesters.  Some responded, helped by bystanders who apparently decided they’d seen enough.  The campaign was a success.  The signs of Jim Crow were taken down, and blacks were allowed more access to public places.  King said later, “We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”

 

"The House is On Fire! What Do We Do?" A Homeowners Survival Guide to Disaster

Copyright © 2008 by Ralph F. Couey

All rights for reprint or reuse reserved by the author.

 

In the summer of 1996, our home caught on fire.  The experience of that night is permanently etched in our memories.  Because we knew what to do, our family, including our pets, got out of the house without injury.  But the days and weeks after that disasterous event were full of moments when we were close to being overwhelmed.  We had no idea what to do, who to call, or how to plan.  I wrote this planning to get it published as a helpful brochure.  Rather than wait for the uncertain tides of publishing companies, I decided to post it here so anyone who needs the benefit of our experience can have it.

 

 

 “Putting the Word “Fire” in “Fireworks”

 

July 3, 1996.  A typically hot and humid day for a Missouri summer.  The sun had set and we had just cleaned up after exploding our ration of fireworks on the driveway and in the street in front of our suburban home.  The kids were upstairs watching television and I went down to our basement bedroom to shower and get ready for bed.  My wife, a Registered Nurse, was at work, having been called in to do an emergency surgery.   

 

I had just stepped into the shower when my youngest began banging on the bathroom door.  I responded with some small irritation.  She was, in the words of her siblings, a drama queen, susceptible to fits of extreme excitement over relatively minor things.  I shut off the water and went to the door to listen.  She yelled that a neighbor had come to tell us that our attached garage was on fire.  I hurriedly dressed and ran upstairs.  My daughter, in her panic, had opened the garage door.  The garage was blazing from the inside and the fire, now supplied with a fresh burst of air was literally exploding in ferocity.  I ran back inside and yelled at the kids to evacuate and to take our pets with them.  I ran to the phone and called 911.  I then made a quick tour of the house, making sure that everyone was out.  By this time, I could feel the heat coming off the living room wall next to the garage.  Realizing that time was running out, I left the house, seeing the relieved looks on the faces of my children.  Outside, the heat was very intense.  I saw that my car was parked on the driveway and remembering that I had just filled the tank with gasoline, I quickly moved the car out onto the street.  I was just in time, since the plastic headlight lenses were already scorched.  A neighbor brought over a 50-lb CO2 extinguisher.  I activated it and began to move towards the fire. But the intense heat prevented me from getting close enough for the fog to have any real effect.  I retreated to the other side of the street and stood among the growing crowd of my neighbors and watched our home burn.  

 

The fire department responded quickly, although it seemed forever before we began to hear the sound of sirens coming down Route K.  The trucks pulled up in front of the house, deployed their hoses and went to work.  They attacked the blaze intelligently and swiftly and it seemed that in a surprisingly short time, they had control of things.  The fire was extinguished and to my surprise, while the two-car garage was a pile of smoking ash, the house had apparently been largely saved.

 

We were lucky.  With me downstairs in the shower and the kids mesmerized by the television, if our neighbor hadn’t been walking his dog and seen the fire through the garage windows, there’s no telling how far along the fire would have gotten before one of us inside would have noticed.  Another thing that saved us was that the garage had been an add-on to the house by the previous owners.  As such, instead of attaching the garage to the house, they built an additional wall.  That double-wall between the garage and the house, and the lack of any direct access (door) from the garage into the living room, kept the fire confined for an additional space of time, enough for us to escape.  In addition, our barbecue grill was sitting on the back deck with a freshly-filled 20 lb propane tank, less than 20 feet from the blaze.  Had that tank exploded, the firefighters assured me, the force of the blast would likely have leveled most of the house and would have put at risk any human within 300 feet.

 

“Shock and Awe”

We stayed with friends that night and the next day, July 4, we drove back over to our house.  Rounding the corner onto our street, the bright sunlight revealed the extent of the damage.  The garage, of course was gone, as was the large satellite dish that had sat on the roof.  The double wall had protected the house, but the fire had eaten through into the attic space and consumed most of the roof.  I belatedly noticed that the trees in front and back had sustained some damage as well.  With no small amount of trepidation, we unlocked the door and went inside.  

Civil War: Events of January 1863

On New Year’s Day, the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect.  On that same day, a naval action, the Battle of Galveston was fought.  Two Confederate ships sailed from Houston to Galveston aiming to engage the Union fleet in Galveston harbor.  One of the southern ships, the CSS Neptune, was severely damaged and eventually sank the other ship, the Bayou City, managed to capture one of the Union vessels.  During the action, the USS Westfield went aground.  The Union commander, William Renshaw, ordered the vessel’s destruction rather than allowing it to fall into enemy hands.  But the explosives went off early, killing Renshaw and several other Union troops.  Ashore, the Union troops saw the explosion and assumed that the Union fleet was surrendering, and therefore laid down their arms.  The rest of the Union fleet withdrew to New Orleans.  This action temporarily lifted the Union blockade and the Confederacy maintained control of this vital port for the remainder of the war.

 

January 2^nd saw General William T. Sherman abandon his attempt to take Vicksburg, MS.

 

On the 4^th, Major General McClernand began to move up the Arkansas River.  Also on that day, President Lincoln and General Halleck order Grant to rescind Special Order 11, which had expelled Jews from Tennessee, Mississippi, and Kentucky.  Also on the 4^th, the USS Quaker City and USS Memphis seized the Confederate blockade runner Mercury while on its way to the Bahamas.

 

January 9-11 saw the Battle of Fort Hindman, also known as Arkansas Post.  Downriver from Pine Bluff, Arkansas, the Southerners had constructed a large fort on a bluff 25 feet above the Arkansas River.  The fort’s purpose was to block the Union Army’s route to Little Rock.  Manned by 5,000 troops, mostly Texas Cavalry, was in a poor state due to disease and a tenuous supply line.  President Lincoln had granted General John McClernand permission to begin an offensive against Vicksburg from Memphis.  McClernand, a highly ambitious man, viewed this as a way to attain both military glory and political gain.  His plan lay at direct odds with the plans of General Grant, Commander of the Tennessee Army.  McClernand ordered General William T. Sherman’s troops to join his in the assault, even though Sherman was under Grant’s command.  With this combined force of 33,000, he attacked Fort Hindman instead of Vicksburg as he had promised Lincoln.  On January 9^th, Union troops began landing and moving upriver. The next day, Admiral David Porter moved his fleet of ironclads into position and began bombarding the fort.  Porters ships completed an envelopment, and with McClernand’s ground attack, forced the Confederates to surrender.  The Southerners lost a fourth of their total number of troops in Arkansas, and was the largest Confederate surrender until the final capitulation in 1865.  Union losses were high and the victory did not contribute materially to the eventual capture of Vicksburg in July.  Because he had lied to the President and disobeyed the orders of all of his superiors, McClernand was recalled and Grant assumed personal command of the Vicksburg campaign.

 

On January 14^th, the CSS Alabama sank the USS Hatteras off Galveston.

 

January 20-22 saw the infamous “Mud March” as General Ambrose Burnside fruitlessly marched the Army of the Potomac through the sludge and slime of Wintertime Virginia in a vain attempt to find another crossing of the Rappahannock.  Three days later, Lincoln fired Burnside and replaced him with General Joseph Hooker.  Called “Fightin’ Joe”, his subsequent failures led a contemptuous Robert E. Lee to refer to him as “Mr. F. J. Hooker.”

 

Also on January 25^th, Union forces withdrew from Corinth, MS where they had been ordered to protect southbound Mississippi shipping.

 

On the 26^th, Lincoln sent a personal letter to General Hooker, warning him that even though Hooker had been given the command, Lincoln knew that Hooker had “thwarted him (Burnside) as much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country and to a most meritorious and honorable brother officer.”

 

January 27^th saw another in a string of Naval assaults on Fort McAllister, GA.

 

On January 31^st, the Confederate ironclads Chicora and Palmetto State raided the Union blockade of Charleston Harbor.  Some Union ships were damaged, but the blockade held.

Diabetes and the Curse of the Sweet Tooth*

 

Copyright 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

 

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat

January 14, 2013

as "Sweet Offerings Sour Dining Experience"

 

We're all familiar with the scenario. We've just finished a sumptuous dinner, three courses of artistry and flavor that has filled us to the point that some are surreptitiously loosening their belt.  We are sure that no room remains in the stomach.  We may not have to eat again for two days.

 

 

Then a shiny silver cart is rolled up to the table.  Across it's top are arrayed a dozen or so plates and bowls containing things like cake, fudge, ice cream, or any one of a hundred other temptations.  Suddenly, we find there is room after all.

 

But not for all of us. 

 

For those afflicted with Diabetes, we have to turn away, ignore the plaintive cries of our sweet tooth and decline the offering.  We can't help but feel deprived, not of the food itself, but the pure pleasure of sweetness on the tongue.

 

Diabetes is a growing problem  In the United States. The American Diabetes Association estimates that 25.8 million people have the disease, a figure that includes nearly 8 million undiagnosed cases.  That's about 8 percent of the population, but there are also some 80 million who are termed pre-diabetic, whose blood sugar counts are high but don't yet exceed the gateway count of 120.  Worldwide, the World Health Organization estimates that 366 milllion are afflicted, a figure that is expected to reach 552 million by 2030.

 

Carpe Diem and the Calendar

"Write it on your heart

that every day

is the best day in the year."

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

Except identified quotes.

 

We're a week into the New Year, with all the hoopla and madness of the holiday season behind us.  Christmas lights are going dim and coming down, the trees undecorated.  The boxes of holiday cheer are being packed up and stored again until next December.  Life is returning to normal, albeit with some new possessions to while away the hours of the rest of winter.

 

For many of us, we have acquired some resolutions, based on some perceived flaws or failures in the past.  And like most other years, most of those resolutions, made with such fervor and promise in the early hours of 2013, will die a slow death over the coming weeks.  Life will go on; we will go on without much dramatic change.

 

It's a sad thing to see those promises wither every year.  It's bad enough when we break them to others, but it's far worse when we lie to ourselves.

 

As I've written before, I don't make resolutions until spring.  The return of life to the world around me also sparks a kind of rebirth inside myself, the kind of budding optimism that makes change much easier to accomplish, at least for me. 

 

A calendar is a handy item for keeping track of things.  The year is divided up into weeks, months, and days all laid out in a handy grid format.  Within those squares we jot notes to ourselves about meetings, appointments, birthdays and anniversaries.  It's a kind of short-hand biography, and can provide and interesting window into the past.  In the process of moving, I found a pocket calendar of mine from 1983.  I was in the Navy at the time, and the entries brought back memories of those full days, from mundane checklist items to intriguing remarks like, "Pierside Hong Kong, 13:30." 

The Epidemic of Anger

Photo by Adrees Latif/Reuters

 

Copyright © 2012 by Ralph F. Couey

 Written content only

 

It has already been a worrisome year, a maelstrom of events, economic, political, and meteorological.  For some, it has become a question of survival.  A dark welcome mat has certainly been laid before the doorway leading to an appropriately-numbered 2013.

We were worried about jobs, about money, about war.

Then on Friday morning, all that became irrelevant.

The news flashed across our consciousness that yet another school shooting had occurred. There were probably many like me who saw the headline, sighed and whispered, "Not again."

But in a time when these kind of violent episodes occur far too often, we perhaps have become inured to such news. Then we heard about the death toll.

26 were dead. 20 of them were small children.

All of a sudden, everything changed.

Stolen December Ride

Copyright © 2012 by Ralph Couey

 

Tuesday is one of my regular days off, one I try to reserve for chores, appointments, and riding, weather permitting. Today was chilly (mid-40s), but sunny so I decided to take the bike out for a spin. I plotted an 80-mile course on some roads I hadn’t been on yet, which according to Google Maps should take about three hours. Yes, it is the second week of December, but as long as it was above freezing and not snowing, that’s a reasonably good motorcycle day.

 

In deference to the chill, I dressed carefully, starting with a base layer then jeans and sweatshirt, a pair of heavy sweatpants over the jeans, then my jacket with all the liners in and chaps. Under the helmet I donned a balaclava. The final addition was a pair of heavy lined leather gloves.

 

Even with all those layers, it didn’t take long for the cold to penetrate. Still, the sun felt warm. I went west on US50 to Aldie, VAwhere I picked up the Snickersville Turnpike.

 

This historic route was the first toll road in the United States, opening in 1786. It was part of a longer route that connected Alexandria, VA with Winchester. The section between Aldie and Bluemont (originally Snickersville) is 15 miles of narrow, windy blacktop that passes through both rural farms (all carrying sophisticated names) and dense Virginia forest. At one point it crosses Hibbs Bridge, a short 180-year-old arched span of stone and mortar that roofs Beaverdam Creek. The road terminates at Virginia Route 7, which continues on to Winchester.

 

I took my time, as I always do on new roads. Traffic was pretty much nonexistent, which was good because the scenery was eye-catching. This is part of what is called “Hunt Country, home to large farm estates owned by wealthy families, some of whom have been on the land for two centuries. It is here in the fall when fox hunts are organized and attended by those on magnificent horses, wearing the traditional red coats, cream pants, and tall boots. Tradition is a vital part of this part of Virginia, and the road is lined by those incredible stone fences, the design of which date back to the very beginnings of settlements.

 

A Real Hero

Credit: Facebook/Maria Santos Gorrostieta)

 

Copyright © 2012 by Ralph Couey 

Written content only.

In these days of trial and adversity, we seek heroes, but few step up.  If you’re in need of a hero, I offer one to you.

 

Dr. Maria Santos Gorrostieta Salazar.

 

For several decades, a war has been going on just across our southwest border.  In Mexico, rival drug cartels have been shooting up towns, villages, and each other in a desperate and violent effort to dominate the drug trade.  Some 60,000 people have been slaughtered in this war, and not all of them cartel members.  They have been the number one priority of three Mexican presidential administrations, but endemic corruption and the sheer economic power of the criminals has made the fight an uphill battle. 

 

To the north, the 21 million of America’s citizens who use and abuse drugs have funded the violence, apparently too high to see the bloodstains on their hands.

 

The Mexican state of Michoacán has been one of the eyes of this storm, being home turf to several of the more violent groups.  Politicians and police, outgunned, outmanned, and out-financed, have pursued the path of least resistance, rather than risk the wrath of the drug lords.  Until 2008.

 

Maria Salazar was a physician.  Angered by what was happening to her country, she became involved in politics, winning the election that put her in the Mayor’s chair of the town of Tiquicheo.  She ran on a platform characterized by defiance of the cartels.  She won the election, and less than three months after taking office, she was sent a message.

 

She and her first husband were traveling near a rural community when their car was cut off by another vehicle.  The occupants sprang out, fired guns in the air, and warned her to resign.  Undaunted, she soldiered on.  About a year later, in January 2009, they were attacked, suffering injuries that did not prevent them from carrying on their public lives.  In October of that same year, they were ambushed.  Her husband was killed, and Dr. Salazar was wounded, but feigned death enough to fool their attackers.

 

Using Stats Like a Gumby Doll

On a New Hampshire Jaunt.

Copyright © 2012 by Ralph Couey 

For reasons that still astound me, the admission that I ride a motorcycle nearly always sparks the same response.  The other person dives into a terrible and tragic story of someone they knew who was seriously injured or killed in a motorcycle accident.  I get that there may be an on-going macabre fascination with violent death.  But there are, at last accounting, 10.4 million motorcycles in the United States, a number that increased 58 percent since 1998.  Statistics show that the average rider is a responsible adult who rides straight and sober, has insurance, and rides responsibly.  Yes, I know about the squids.  Despite their high visibility however, riders who actually engage in riding stupid are well in the minority.

 

But that doesn’t stop people from taking pot shots.

 

Fox News Latino published on November 28, an article which reported on a Government Accountability Office (GAO) study that tallied up the costs of death and injuries from motorcycle accidents.  Deftly weaving numbers in and through what was a thinly-veiled hit piece on the motorcycling community, the fair and balanced journalists (who went nameless in the byline) painted a grim picture.  82,000 injuries.  4,502 deaths.  $16.2 billion in direct costs.  

 

The tone and tenor of the writing implicated the motorcyclists themselves as being the sole cause of the entire tragedy.

 

But in this journalistic dance, the authors completely side-stepped what continues to be the most important source of motorcycle accidents.

 

Other drivers.

 

I looked through reports authored by the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA), the Insurance Institute of America, and some state-centric statistical studies.  They all point the finger at the operators of cars, trucks, busses, even riding lawn mowers.  Numbers vary from report to report, but between 66% and 75% of all motorcycle accidents are caused by vehicle operators who either failed to yield the right of way (turning left across the bike’s path, pulling out of parking lots and driveways), or who blew by traffic control signals (stop signs and traffic lights) bursting into intersections.

 

This is not news to anyone who rides.  Every day of our commute, or joyriding in the country contains at least one, if not more tales of motorcyclists narrowly avoiding disaster.  The problem has gotten worse in recent years, due to the explosion of cell phones.  People who used to focus solely on the road now find their attentions divided by talking, texting, checking email, or any of the plethora of tasks now performed by even budget-priced cell phones.

 

The article went on to preach about helmet laws, which I suspect was the real reason for this production.

 

Just so you know, I’ve been riding for over 20 years and I’ve always worn a helmet.  That is my choice.  I respect the rights of others to not wear a helmet, even though I know that they’d be safer.  The old arguments that the weight of a helmet would make cervical injuries more likely were blown up last year when Johns Hopkins published a study which proved that modern helmets with their lighter and stronger materials actually prevent broken necks.

Besides, no helmet ever made is going to protect you at 60 miles per hour when T-boning the bonehead who pulls out from the country lane without looking.

But there are those among us who insist on being our mothers forever.  Oddly, they same demographic that supports Pro Choice in women’s issues is Anti-Choice where helmet laws are concerned.  Some other day we’ll talk about how abortion has killed almost 40 million African-Americans since Roe v. Wade.

 

As far as costs are concerned, $16 billion dollars is a chunk of change.  What the article didn’t point out was that nearly all of that was covered by insurance.  What is also being ignored continually is that 2 million times a year people show up at emergency rooms across the country suffering from “unintended drug overdoses.”  The direct cost associated with the treatment of those patients is $193 billion per year. 

 

And how many stoners do you think have health insurance?

 

There are risks to life inherent in living.  As Al Pacino once said, “You can get killed walkin’ your doggie!”  But hand-wringing never changed a dad-blamed thing.  If people are seriously interested in reducing the incidence of motorcycle death on the streets and highways, do two things:

 

1. Hang up the phone.

 

2. Pay attention.

 

After all, whether on two wheels or four, we’re all travelers just trying to get home. 

Another Piece of Childhood Lost

Picture from Hostess Corp.

 

 

Copyright © 2012 by Ralph Couey

Written content only.

 

Looking back across the years there are always certain things that define eras of one's life.  It may be something like a baseball glove, or a certain shirt; a ticket stub from a concert. Or something that commemorates the moment when we met that person who completely changed our life.  More times than not however, it's food that whets the appetite of rememberance.

 

A couple of weeks ago, a labor-management dispute reached a critical point.  Normally, these events come and go in the news without much outside attention.  But this time, the dispute involved the bakery and confectionary giant Hostess, the maker of things like Ho Ho's, cupcakes, Ding-Dongs, Donettes, and the iconic delight Twinkies.  I won't go into the specifics of the dispute, only to note that management, rather than compromise with the union, committed an act of corporate kamikaze and announced that it would close it's doors forever.

 

The announcement sparked an immediate run on the snack products, especially Twinkies.  A box of a dozen appeared on E-bay for $200,000.  Across the country, shelves of grocery stores and convenience marts were stripped.  In Kansas City, a radio station talk show received donations of several boxes of hostess treats and auctioned them off for charity, garnering almost a thousand dollars for a pile of treats that a week earlier could have been bought for 20 bucks.

 

The nationwide reaction to this news and the instant appearance of hoarders and collectors no doubt pleased retailers.  It became clear that a latent love affair with the golden cream-filled snack cakes had been revealed.

 

On the surface, there would appear to be no good reason to eat these things.  For adults, the amount of sugar and calories make them verboten to those with cardiac and blood sugar problems.  And yet, when an adult eats one, you can see in their face the memories that have returned.

 

Kids can eat just about anything, and usually do, without seeming consequence.  I suppose that's one reason why the affection for Twinkies is so strong.  At that age, it didn't matter how many calories or grams of sugar were in them.  We ate them because...well...we could.

 

And they were so good. 

 

On Friday nights after dinner, our family would make our weekly trek to the grocery store.  I was given the empty soda bottles to return for deposit.  For those, I would receive the astounding total of twenty-seven cents.  That left me the exact amount to buy the latest Superman or Batman comic book for fifteen cents, and a two-pack of Twinkies for twelve.  Thus supplied, I was rendered happy and content.