White Light ?

Scientifically speaking, when you separate white light into a spectrum, it is all colors combined.
Studies of the Human Genome indicate there never was an " Adam ", albeit there certainly
was an " Eve ", and she lived somewhere in central Africa.
Of course that was an eon before the Stone Age , we are all so fond of remembering.
And I have read that a world wide cataclysm, may have reduced the number of human prototypes to as few as a thousand ancestors, prior to their overflow out of what became Africa.

When I have been asked about my nationality,while on foreign soil, I reply as follows; I am an American, born in Philadelphia Pennsylvania. I declare that I am a citizen of the United States of America, by birth right.
Just by dint of being born within the boarders of the U.S.A. does not allow me full pride and ownership of my citizenship in the Nation that leads the Free World. Instead, I adhere to the philosophy of " Blood and Iron ".

My Father volunteered to serve in The U.S. Army for WWI, albeit the war was over before he could serve directly. During WWII he helped to build the ships of war Like the Battle Ship New Jersey. My brother Frederick served in a number of sea battles in the South Pacific, and my brother Robert was with "Patton's Army"in Europe. Between them they were awarded more than three Purple Hearts, for severe life threatening wounds. On D-Day my mother's sister's son, Harold Garmin lost his life in Normandy France.

Steve Godal, my wifes wonderful father who was in The Army Air Force, was stationed in England during WWII and he attained the rank of Sargent.

My sister Margaret married William Kinsley, who was decorated for outstanding service during "The Berlin Air lift". That was an early flash point in the Cold War, which lasted fifty years.Bill served more than thirty years , in The Air Force and Navy during those years, including a stint in Viet Nam.

Thomas Franke saw action in the Mountains of Korea during The Korean War. His role as a combat Medic was often overridden by the need to slay the enemy, at times with a bayonet.

When The World was almost ended during the "Cuban Missile Crises ", the unit I was serving in( Part of The U.S.A.F. ) , was alerted for the invasion of Cuba...

My family were not just born on U.S. Soil; No they earned their rights as citizens by dint of " Blood and Iron".

To my way of thinking true African Americans are those people of African decent, who came to America during the dark days of Slavery. George Washington fought on the side of England during The French and Indian Wars. Many Companies of Militia were made up of African Americans fighting for the English side during The French and Indian wars.

Crispus Attucks , a free African American, was an activist for Colonists rights for a few years prior to his being killed by a British Peace Keeper at what became known as The Boston Massacre.
More than 7,000 African Americans served in The Continental Army. Among them was The hero of Bunker Hill , Mr. Peter Salem. Many American officers described him as super human. During the battle he killed The British commander , General Pitcairn.

During The Mexican American war African Americans served , bled and died for America.

An enormous amount of Americans suffered and died in Americas Civil War to end slavery in The United States. Many Thousands of those Heroes were African Americans.


From The Spanish American War right up to the current War on Islamic fascist, True African Americans have fought for America with Blood and Iron. Therefore I take pride in sharing my rights as a citizen of the Greatest Nation on Earth with them.
The other day I spoke to a grandfather of six , while making a purchase at a large hardware store. He was a U.S. Citizen, albeit he was born in South Viet Nam. He related that he had been in The Signal Core of The South Viet Nam Army, and how he had fought along side of Americans. When America bailed out , and The North took over he was placed into a " Reeducation Camp", where he said he only survived because of what he had learned from American soldiers...Many of his friends died in the virtual death camp.
Time did not permit me to learn of how he got to The U.S.A., but as I shook his hand in parting, I thought " Blood and Iron " , he too has earned the rights of America for himself and his family. As have all whom have served The American Flag !

" Tough Cookies ! "

Politicians usually find a following by giving those to be influenced various goodies. Late in life I found out that I really want everybody to love me , or at least like me a lot... So, I have to admit that sort of makes me, what people I used to work with would call a " Politician ". Of course that appellation does not always carry a good connotation.

Our tour bus was tall and narrow,which made it possible to traverse most of the ancient streets of Rome with ease. I added a new word to my minute Italian vocabulary, by asking our very adept driver what was the Italian word for " Snow ?". He was not loquacious, but he would always politely answer a direct question. His answer was a curt " Nivea ", which sounded like Neeveea... I can't be sure of the spelling , but I think it's where they get the name for the white skin lotion , that comes in a blue bottle ?

If memory serves we left Rome at about One in the afternoon Adriatic time, to ride thirty Klicks east to Lake Albano. Lake Albano is at a considerable elevation above sea level, as it is actually the caldera of an ancient extinct volcano. Like The Poconos , I am sure it must be refreshingly cooler in the Mediterranean Summers. That must be why Pope Urbanus VIII selected it as his summer residence back in 1624... You know " Urbanus " must have been a popular name for guys back in the day? Like Jordan, or Michael is now days...Any way, he had some guy by the name of Carlo Maderno, to put up " Castel Gandolfo for him. That made the property values in the area sky rocket, and the next thing you know Bernini designed a nice church in the Greek style , for right down the street.

Close to our destination, the streets were too skinny even for our svelte bus. So we had to walk up a thirty two degree inclined, cobble stoned lane toward the cafe veranda. The view, as we sat over looking the lake far below, was as the Italians say" So beautiful !! ".Though when it's expressed in a Romance Language it sounds more impressive. Our guide Rose, ran us around mostly the outside of some of what we had come to see, and of course the ladies in the group wanted to check out some of the quaint shops...

Just a ways before Nuncio parked our sumptuous conveyance , I had observed what I was sure was a Bakery Shop. A sign had said " Bono Pan nae ", or the like... And in true politician form, I thought" if I can make it down to that Bakery in the few minutes left before the bus leaves town..." I was sure I could get some sort of goodies , to hand out to my fellow tourists. Surely that would raise my status in their eyes, and maybe even Margie's ?

Well I'm a good down hill racer, and I was able to find the shop just as the increasing lack of sunshine was making eventide obvious . Believe it or not as I pushed the glass paneled wooden door open , a spring at the top made those old fashioned jangly bells ring.It was as small as the town inside , and dimly lit. In the yellow light behind the short glass case, I saw two, not too elderly, Northern Italian Women. They each wore a dark, long sleeved sweater with grandmotherly white aprons. They seemed startled by my fat self bounding into their world unexpectedly. Sensing their unease , I wanted to put their qualms to rest ; so I gathered my meager language skills together and said " Bona Serra! , Comae Va? "( Which is how I spell"Good Evening! , How are you ? ,in Italian phonetically) . By the way the farther North of Rome you go, the more Italian starts to have a French accent, and the peoples features begin to have a more Northern European look... But as soon as I uttered " Quanta Costa ? " , I had to let the two Senoras in on my major lack of Italian language skills... They were obviously flustered because people who speak the Northern brand of Italian in those days said , " of the few words and phrases I knew my accent and diction was perfect." So, in retrospect I knew that they thought I was a local at first, and then had to do a double take!

Well it wasn't a Danish or German Bakery, but I opted for three bags of various cookies and huffed and puffed back up hill to the bus, There I was greeted by Marge glowering " Where were you?!! " She quickly forgave me when she examined my treasure trove... Once back in the seats we thought of as ours, and on the move again towards the plains, I thought "I'll just try one of these..." Crunch! Crunch!! Ack ! Have I just spent Twelve Thousand Lira on three bags of marbles?!! They sure weren't Toll House Cookies, or Pecan Sandies ! Or those nice soft peanut buttery thingys! Well as dumb luck would have it, everybody else on the bus thought they were the Cat's Meow, and for the next three days I basked in the warm glow of tough cookies......

" Got Cancer ? "

In the winter of 1953 , My brother Tommy was not back from the Korean war yet.I was not yet 12 years old, but close to it.Anyway Tommy being away and all, gave me the opportunity to listen to an old radio he had in his room.
One evening , during a " Gang Busters " program that highlighted my sister Marie's husband's father's exploits ( he was the famous Philadelphia ,Detective Ryan ) , I heard a commercial plea for donations to " The Damon Runnion Fund" for Cancer research...
Even at this young age , my mother had retold to me the legend of my brother Paul, so many times I was sure I knew it by heart... My Sainted brother Paul, and he was a true Saint according to the many times recounted tale , died a tragic death from a cancer called Sarcoma.
Amputation of his leg, after he grew the fifty pound tumor in it was just part of the sad story. Yes, he got the big " C " by falling on his knee while rollerskating... Almost five years later, when all of the Doctors were talking about" He may be a cure for Journal",it came back in his arm. He begged my mother not to let them take his arm off too ! But that was back in '37......
Right now ( October, 2007) I am told my sister Marie who I love dearly,is near death with Breast Cancer...
In the past fifty years and more , I wonder how many Billions of dollars have been collected to fight cancer( search for a cure) , the monster with myriad guises and shades. Research has produced some effective ways of stopping cancer , other than just amputation...And I understand there now is a sort of vaccination that prevents a certain virus from taking hold in women, that would eventually bring about cervical cancer. Also , not using Tobacco products, not drinking too much alcohol, good dietary habits, et cetera, can lessen your chances of catching the big"C".
Over the last five years or so, the number of all sorts of Cancer Research fund pleas on my favorite form of entertainment " Television " , have increased exponentially each year. I find it very intrusive...I want to forget all about cancer, until I have to decide on which caliber to end mine with! But no! Each day I have to be reminded about the Bogey Man , that's going to get me sooner or later! Well my wife tells me I shouldn't be " so cynical " , and I suppose she is right again...
But lately I have been terrorized by the Medical Insurance Companies commercials. No that's wrong . They don't scare me so much as make me somewhat disgusted with the people who run the world of medicine in my beloved country...
These commercials talk about poor souls who can't afford the treatment's for cancer, that charities have collected Billions of dollars over more than fifty years to develop the treatments for !!! Does that mean when the race for the cure is done, some people will still have to beg for the money to pay for it ?!! The time for me to have the answer to this question is now! How about you ?!!
Cancer , to my way of thinking is a natural disaster. It's like Katrina, or an earth quake... Treatment for it should be a Right, not something that should cause your family to be bankrupted. What about all that money that has been donated for the last half century, and the last five years?
In the nineteen fifties cancer was a disease, now it seems to be big business, that's the view of this cynic.....

The trouble with Milan...

Venice was to be our next destination on this tour of Italy, that was beginning to become my chosen way of life...

The Air Travel had been par for the course, that is to say arduous... Once on Terra fir ma , at the Rome Air Port, Marge and I thought "well now we can start to relax...".

Wrong again ! Wondrously we recovered our copious luggage with relative ease, albeit for some reason we had to haul it personally towards the way out. The way out was the large part of a funnel. The funnel began to taper into a spiraling concrete walkway into which our two person caravan was absorbed by perhaps three hundred parts of Humanity.
Spilling out in spray fashion into a street level plane of more yellowed concrete, we scanned at eye level for our Tour Guide... At last, after abandoning all hope, Marge spotted a gnome like figure scurrying in what seemed like our direction! It was "Rose". Rose gave new meaning to the phrase " short in stature " , and she was just this side of plump. She carried with her her ever present standard. It was an off green, bargain umbrella,that she held high as she led her march of "Tourers" from Museum to Doumo( Cathedral).
Well, suffice to say we saw some of Rome, including The Vatican. The pope was out of town that week, so we missed the Blessing, albeit I did buy some of his coins and stamps. Rose got us in to the Vatican Library, which was actually what I would have opted for... It was very interesting. The Sistine Chapel was kind of a let down though. Kind of like Niagara Falls... Sure, it was great, but not as awesome as we thought it would be . It was not anywhere near as wonderful as holding your first child in your arms .
As I recall, we got into our very modern Hotel room in the evening,just outside of Milan. It seemed kind of sterile after our Roman accommodations. And that was some what refreshing.In the morning we arose to a sparkling , crisp , September day in Northern Italy . It was a little breezy, but that seemed just right. Marge had been complaining a tad about some halitosis , I had developed due to a dental bridge that had gone bad... And I figured in this breeze ... Well it was just a thought.
We saw the famous Opera House " La Scala ", in the morning and Marge took my picture outside , standing by this really neat motorcycle. I think it was a Harley... Yes in Italy. The next thing you know we were having a sandwich on the patio of a downtown restaurant.I was feeling so good I must have been in a manic phase!
On The Bill of Fare for the afternoon was a visit to a " Doumo", Rose had told us we should not miss.We were to meet up with our drove , no later than One. Another Cathedral?!!
The approach was from the west. As Cathedrals go, this one was on the small side. It was small like the very finest of diamonds. It was all of the whitest marble God had created!Even the myriad statues of ancient Saints, that adorned the facade were of the most lustrous white marble...The building had a raised platform of flat stone up three steps, laid out like a white apron, perhaps one hundred yards wide and fifty feet deep in front of the entrance.
As we approached the steps we were joining a crowd of between five hundred and a thousand people who were comfortably milling about, or lounging on the steps in the very bright sunshine. Think of the finest Spring Day you can remember , and that's how it was...Work habits are not easily left behind, even on vacation. So with the aid of my very effective , new prescription lenses, I scanned the plane of humanity for threat levels. Out of the multitude only two people looked odd, but not threatening. The first was a furtive young man of about 19 or 20, who seemed to be moving about with purpose, but in no particular direction.Then there was a young woman with lite brown hair who seemed a year or two older. She had a white canvas bag slung in front of her, like the kind paper boys employed when I was a kid. Although I surmised it was some kind of a European Baby carrier device. My mind quickly skipped on to the beauty that loomed in front of me.
Marge stopped to talk to a couple of our fellow travelers, as I just had to get inside the grand red doors to see what was waiting in the low light inside...Doffing my shades, I put them in their case and into the breast pocket of my sports jacket. I was not disappointed with the medieval sanctuary of the soul that greeted me. Entirely awestruck, I strode into the blazing sunshine that had waited for me outside the red doors. It was then I realized I had become separated from Marge again! She was not going to be happy if I did not take her hand in mine very soon! We had gotten separated for a time in Florence , and she was still mad... But that's another story ( It's all about " David"). So I started straight forward through crowd, and when I had gone about twenty five feet,suddenly the aforementioned young man appeared in front of me, and he grabbed my left arm at the wrist. As he kept up a steady jerking of my left arm towards him, he was babbling loudly in a tongue I didn't recognize as Italian ! At the same moment I could feel a hand caressing my left breast area, ever so briefly... As my adrenaline surged, I began to experience tunnel vision. At the end of the tunnel I saw the threat of a young man. Years of experience kicked in! At one and the same time, I yanked my visible assaulter toward me with my left, and plunged my upward turned palm of my right hand, with all the weight of 205 pounds,into his Sternum!! He flew backwards into the crowd...A man of about fifty suddenly came into my right periphery and said in perfect English " Be careful !" Now I counted three people who certainly did not mean well towards me . Three to one is not good odds in my book . So I made a blind dash to be in a different area, like now! And who comes up to me with my sunglasses case extended for a reward? You guessed it . It was the young man who had just learned a small lesson from Ray. I took the case from his hand. Said" thank you ", and joined Marge at the steps. So the trouble with Milan was like most big cities they had pick pockets !