How will we learn the lessons that history has to teach us if our teachers lie to us? School has a profound effect on children, even those like me who rebelled against authority. This lesson was drilled into me during the early days of the personal computing revolution. Apple invested heavily to influence children. They donated equipment to schools and children were weened on their products. As a result, they entered workplaces with a strong prejudice in favor of Apple and complained bitterly if forced to work on IBM or IBM-compatible computers. The battle took on religious overtones, much like the ideological battles that permeate politics these days. I was constantly amazed at the zealotry of the younger workers.

Combining the influence of educators with adolescents' natural inclination to rebel against their parents, it is easy to see how the political ideology of young adults has been molded by their teachers and professors. This result has the potential to do great harm when the scholastic curriculum is controlled by a state, especially one that is tyrannical. With every passing day, I find new evidence of the insidious nature of Common Core and thank God that I and my children escaped it. Now I worry about the influence it will have on my grandchildren.

Then I discover that the progressives were influencing education in the time that attended school in the late 1940s and early 1950s, even before. I should have known better, but I too was a victim of the propaganda that they infused into my studies.

This point was driven home with a vengeance when I picked up a copy of The Myth of the Robber Barons by Burton W. Fulsom, Jr. Although I am painfully aware of the unconstitutional growth of government in recent times and that it was largely facilitated on the back of the Interstate Commerce Act and a misinterpretation of the commerce clause of the Constitution, I was completely unaware of the manner in which the financial and industrial titans who helped build this great nation were unjustly vilified to help foist progressivism onto the American people. There is little hope of undoing the damage until these lessons are corrected in our history books and our children are taught the true nature of liberty and free markets.

Although Fulsom's book is a scholarly work, it is written in a conversational tone. The characters are three dimensional. Fulsom makes no effort to whitewash the Robber Barons. He merely puts them into perspective. The first step in this process is to divide them into two logical classes: The market entrepreneurs and the political entrepreneurs. 

Anyone who keeps up with current events will recognize the political entrepreneurs. They dominate today's headlines. Solindra. Sachs-Goldman. The crony capitalists that we love to hate. The ones who have sucked our national treasures dry. Unfortunately, the market entrepreneurs aren't readily visible today. We must read The Myth of the Robber Barons to find the last vestiges of them being driven from polite society in the modern equivalent of the Salem Witch Hunts. 

I feel sorry for any Millennial who reads this book and dreams of inventing, producing and marketing an innovative product or service. Venture capital is only available to the political entrepreneurs who curry favor in Washington. Market entrepreneurs are left with their dreams, languishing in their parents' basements, wondering how they will ever pay their scholastic loans.

I've been accused of plagiarism, not explicitly, but it was implied. Another writer, stung by my review of his work, struck back. It hurt. I didn't consciously attempt to foister someone else's writing as my own. I might have unconsciously. The memory is a tricky thing at my age. I can still sing commercial jingles from the 50s but have a hard time remembering what I had for breakfast. That's why, in my response to his assertion, I asked for a citation of the work he suspects that I plagiarized. Thus far, no reply.

Why is plagiarism so bad? It's not a mortal sin, is it? The victim of plagiarism may sue for monetary damages under the law of torts if a case can be made that copyrighted intellectual property is involved. (Be cautious here. Under international treaty, almost everything published, especially on the Internet, is assumed to be copyrighted even if it is not accompanied by a copyright notice.) However, it's not a crime. Still, I was surprised by my reaction to his comment and have given a lot of thought to the subject.

I've reached the conclusion that my hurt is based in my pride of authorship. I don't always like everything I create, however, this piece is one of my favorites and the theme may be reprized in a more substantial story. I can only surmise that if I plagiarized another author's work, they too would feel similarly violated. Thus, even though committed unintentionally, I would immediately withdraw the piece, apologize, and transfer any earnings to the true author without hesitation. Thus, the aforementioned request for a citation of the story that inspired the implied charge.

Here's your chance to chime in. The story is Santa's Secret. It was posted on my blog as well as VentureGalleries.com and Readwave.com. The commented that inspired this posting came on Readwave. Please let me know if you ever saw the story anywhere else and tell us what you think of plagiarism. Have you been a victim?

I'm sorry that I've been absent from my blog this past week. I've been busy learning about surfing the web with a mobile device. My wife and I just got one, a smart phone. It was a strange coincidence that it came within hours of receiving an offer from iPage for a goMobi Site Builder. (Did I ever mention how much I love iPage? You may take this as an unsolicited endorsement.)

GoMobi is extremely easy to use (says the man who once was an internet website architect). Well, I still think it's usable by anyone who can operate a computer word processing program. I had my mobile website on line within 20 minutes from the first time I saw this interface. Of course, I spent the next week fixing it, transforming it into a marketing tool. After all, what's the point of all this if it doesn't help us sell books (or whatever we're in the business of selling).

Why bother? Depending upon whose report you trust, somewhere between 17% and 28% of all web traffic consists of users with mobile devices (smart phones and the like). If the pundits are to be believed, this percentage will grow exponentially. Now that I've acquired and played with a smart phone, I can easily believe them. 

Surely you've seen QR Codes on products and storefronts. They're popping up everywhere. Just turn on your QR Scanner App and point your smart phone at one and you'll be directed automatically to a webpage with marketing information. 

I'm experimenting with a marketing campaign to distribute cards with my mobile website QR Code (illustrated above) to places where people wait: Where they wait while their car is washed, while the barrista prepares their Caramel Brulée Latte, while their tires are rotated and balanced, while they wait for their doctors to catch up on their appointments... You get the idea. 

I also provide a PDF document with multiple copies of this wallet-size card so that people can carry the QR Code with them. You can access it by clicking the image of my QR Code on my website Home Page and my blog. The PDF document displays eight copies of the card. The extras are for their friends and family.

My mobile website features quick access to three pieces of Flash Fiction as well as samples of my books. Of course, there are links to the sites where they can be purchased.

Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to hit the streets and find some places where people wait so I can leave my card. Please feel free to download and print the PDF document for yourself. If you drop them off at places where you wait, I'll be happy to return the favor when you develop your own mobile website.

I have prayed for the safety of President Obama ever since the day he was nominated despite the fact that I have disagreed with everything he has done or attempted to do. The repercussions of his assassination would tear the nation apart. Fortunately, it seems that the vast majority of his detractors, like me, also limit their attacks to words and ideas.

John Kennedy never engendered the same level of dislike among his opponents. Although they differed ideologically, Republicans and Democrats, liberals and conservatives in those days all wanted the same thing, a strong and safe Republic.

Who then could have wanted President Kennedy dead, even more so than President Obama? Unfortunately, there were many candidates. The mafia was not happy that Kennedy didn't follow through on the invasion of Cuba. They had lost a gold mine when Castro came to power and threw them out of their casinos and hotels in Havana, and the mafia had reason to believe that Kennedy owed them the favor. Castro himself was another likely candidate if for no other reason than to seek revenge for the countless assassinations attempts on his life. There were others.

However, it seems that a lone gunman did the deed, inspired by ideas that were planted in him by America's enemies. No, Oswald didn't just wake up that morning and fire his rifle at the President on an impulse. Someone else incited him. That is why some jurisdictions have begun prosecuting those who utter hate speech.

Professor/Senator Hayakawa famously wrote that "there is no magic in words". He was wrong. There is. People who utter hate speech cast spells on the mentally feeble and impressionable youth, and trouble ensues. Look at the recent outbreak of teenagers playing Knockout, aka Hunting Polar Bears.

For decades, race baiters have grown rich sermonizing about the depredations of slavery even though that institution was ended nearly a century and a half ago and no one who either practiced it or suffered from it remains alive today. Likewise, they daily vilify whites as racial bigots even though the government dominated by whites legislated the end of that practice nearly five decades ago. Certainly, racial bigots still exist, but they no longer have legal sanction to inflict their prejudice on members of any race and are reviled by the majority of whites. Interestingly, these race baiters cling to the politics of the party that fought to retain slaver, who fought against legislative attempts to end racial discrimination, while castigating the party that fought for both. No one outside their confidants, certainly not me, can explain it.

Now the race baiters decry me and others like me who criticize President Obama as racial bigots. They refuse to acknowledge that our disagreements can be based on anything other than racial animus. It seems that they are so heavily invested in the election of the first black President that all reason escapes them. I understand. I cheered for them when they assembled in record numbers on the Mall in Washington, DC to celebrate his inauguration. Although I saw little hope for his success, based on his lack of qualifications and experience, I still hoped for his success just as I hoped for John Kennedy's and every other President regardless of their political affiliation, race, or religion. After all, to do otherwise is to hope for the failure of America.

The family and friends of Michael Behenna have failed to obtain justice for this American soldier who has been incarcerated for a crime committed while serving his country. The Supreme Court refused to overturn the decision in his case in spite of numerous letters from senior military leaders warning that this injustice served only to deflate morale among service men and women as well as thousands of pleas from family and friends. The latest news from Michael's family, seen below, announces that they have hope that the newest parole hearing may result in his release. Let's all pray that it does.

You may read the previous episodes of this continuing story at the following linked postings in this blog as well as the website dedicated to Michael.

Original Posting: Who is more deserving of justice than the men & women who fight to defend our freedom?

Update 1: Parole hearing scheduled

Update 2: Parole denied

Update 3: Government dragging its feet in responding to Supreme Court

Update 4: Is justice delayed justice denied in the case of Lt Behenna?

Update 5: Justice plods ahead slowly: Lietenant Behenna's case in conference at the Supreme Court

Update 6: What price justice?

Update 7: Justice denied

Update 8: Can mercy answer an injustice?

To the thousands of Michael supporters,

A retired Army colonel recently told us that there are three things that will change a person’s soul:  war, prison, and the desert.  These are all things that Michael has experienced in the past five years.  As for the state of Michael’s soul we would say emphatically that it is at peace.  In fact that is what Michael told the reviewers at his first Parole Hearing at the US Disciplinary Barracks (USDB) in Leavenworth on October 22nd.  Without qualification he has no bitterness or enmity towards anyone for the unimaginable path he has traveled.  Instead he continues to read, study, and improve himself as he looks forward to a future beyond prison walls. The USDB Board Michael met with will make a recommendation to the full Army Clemency and Parole Board in Washington DC.  Hopefully, we will be scheduled to represent Michael before the full Parole Board some time in December.   We will know two weeks after the full Board Hearing as to whether Michael will receive Parole.   

The holidays are fast approaching.  For most of us that means the hustle and bustle of busy malls, Christmas music, and time with family and friends.  But for those like Michael who ‘celebrate’ the holidays behind iron bars there is a dark and heavy cloud of loneliness that is difficult to fathom.  Amid the smiles and laughter inside the packed visitation room at Leavenworth there remains an unspoken sadness; the cruel knowledge that when the clock strikes 4pm families will exit out one door into the fresh air of freedom and the inmates will exit out another door that takes them back to an unnatural place, devoid of so much of what we consider human.  One door represents life, the other door represents death.

Like life and death, grief and gratitude are blood brothers.  One cannot have one without the other.  It is almost always the experience of grieving what has been lost that makes us aware of how much we have to be grateful for.  So on this coming Thanksgiving day, as our family sits between those two doors in the crowded visitation room at Leavenworth, our hearts will be filled with gratitude for the blessing of sharing time with those we love most on this earth.  We will know that our time is short, but it is that very knowledge that will help us appreciate it even more.

Our gratitude extends to all of you who have supported our son and our family on this journey.  May you each have a wonderful Thanksgiving that is filled with a grateful heart and time spent with those you love.

Peace be with you all,

Scott & Vicki Behenna

P.S.  Please consider sending Michael a card, a letter, or even a money order (for snacks and phone calls) during this upcoming holiday season.  We promise you it will make Michael’s day!  Michael’s address is:

Michael Behenna  87503
1300 N. Warehouse Road
Ft. Leavenworth, KS   66027-2304

-- Jack Durish

"For tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petard" – Hamlet

Reading this morning’s Washington Post Editorial page, I had to rub my eyes and check the heading on the paper. Surely I thought someone was playing a joke upon me because there in bold print were two of the page’s three editorials in total opposition to every thing I know of the current Liberal programs.

First, came "Ethanol takes a Hit – EPA policy change helps right an environmental and economic mistake."

It opened with this,"ONCE TOUTED as a climate friendly renewable alternative to foreign oil, the corn-based liquid ethanol has been exposed as an environmental and economic mistake."

Then,"Lured by federal subsidies, Mid-western farmers have devoted millions of acres to corn that might have otherwise been devoted to soil conservation or feed-grain production. Meanwhile, a `dead zone’ fed by fertilizer runoff spreads at the mouth of the Mississippi and production costs throughout the grain dependent U.S. food industry rise."

I felt all my Conservative corpuscles swell in pleasure with this, "on Friday the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) delivered another policy defeat for ethanol - which is to say, a victory for common sense."

Finally, I feasted on these closing statements: “In the case of ethanol subsidies the benefits do not outweigh the costs." And,"Indeed, the only flaw we can see in the EPA's announcement is that it doesn't go far enough."

The second Editorial Title that caught my attention was this: "Liberalism gone awry".

It was a delicious morning of reading these editorials in the Washington Post of all places. Is it possible that those people down there at that paper aren't in fact socialist wanna bees, but rather really Patriotic Americans with whom I tend to disagree? I shudder to think that, and yet... ? Please don’t let me wake up and find out it was all an April fools joke.

 Robert sat on the seat in the corner of the fitting room. His wife waited outside. Sweat beaded his forehead as he rested before making another attempt to raise the sweat pants above the middle of his thighs.

“Robert?”

A scowl warped his features as his eyes rose towards the locked door.

“Robert?”

Robert hooked his fingers around the elastic waistband and stood to relaunch his efforts

“Robert!”

“Yes, dear.”

“What's taking so long?”

Robert answered with a “harrumph” and gave it one more go.

Minutes passed and the door opened just as his wife called out once more, “Robert?”

Robert strode past his wife without looking at her. “Let's go,” he muttered and headed for the store exit.

“But...” his wife protested trotting behind.

“I told you that I didn't like the color,” he called over his shoulder.

She frowned. “No, you didn't...”

Robert stopped and turned to look at his wife. “Well, I did.”

“No,” she repeated with a finger resting near the corner of her mouth and her eyes attempting to peer into her memory.

“Well, I didn't.”

“You didn't say it.”

“I didn't like the color.”

“There were others.”

“I don't need new sweat pants.”

“But the old ones are torn in the seat.”

“Sew 'em up.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Later, belted into their seats, Robert turned and wrapped his right arm over the back of the passenger side seat. He could see his wife out of the corner of his eye, pondering what had happened in the store.

“Were they too small?”

“Mfff.”

“They were labeled 'one-size-fits-all'.”

Robert glanced at his wife and the color rose from the back of his neck until it filled his cheeks. “One size never fits all,” he shot back.

“But...”

Robert interrupted his wife's thought by backing out quickly into the path of an oncoming car. The driver honked his annoyance and Robert answered with a curse.

“Please be careful.”

“I thought he was signaling that he wanted our parking space.”

“Oh. I guess he didn't.”

Robert glanced at her.

“He's right behind us.”

Robert checked the rear view mirror in time to catch the one-finger salute the other driver waved. Robert answered in kind.

Robert's wife pouted without speaking until they pulled into the driveway at home. She held her silence until they were inside.

“You shouldn't be so sensitive,” she said as he followed her through the front door.

“I'm not sensitive.”

The smile that crossed her lips in response wasn't humorous. “Don't you see the irony?”

“What irony?”

“You've been arguing with the rest of the school board to implement Common Core all month,” she began. “It's the same thing.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You want our school district to adopt Common Core.”

“And?”

“Isn't that a one-size-fits-all system for education?”

“Common Core is the program we have to adopt if we want to receive any federal funding.”

“But, it's a ridiculous idea...”

“Not you, too!” Robert cut her off.

Robert's wife ignored his outburst. “You can't teach all children in any one school the same way. How do they expect teachers to implement the same program for all children in every school in the nation?”

“They're the experts,” Robert demurred. “Who are we to argue with them.”

“Parents.”

“What?”

“We're the parents. Aren't we supposed to know what's best for our children?”

“Of course, we do...” Robert responded without ending his sentence.

“What?”

“We know what's best for our kids,” Robert answered, “but not every parent does.”

“Oh my.”

“What?”

“You're beginning to sound like those experts in Washington.”

“What?”

“You know what's best for other people's children?”

Robert paused and looked away as though searching for an escape.

“Well?”

“Maybe I... they do.”

“I'll believe that...” she began and opened the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of spring water.

Robert waited for the challenge while his wife removed the bottle cap and took a drink.

“...when you can get into 'one-size-fits-all sweatpants.”

A cool breeze ruffled the surface of the bay, but it failed to stir the Stars 'n Stripes as they were lowered into the waiting hands of the sailors who stood at attention on the fantail of the aircraft carrier John F. Kennedy. A lone bugler played taps as it descended.

Another group of sailors from the Peoples Republic of China stood by holding their own flag, folded in readiness. Their band stood ready to play their national anthem when it was raised. 

The ship's name and number had already been replaced. Within hours, it would depart San Francisco as The People's Revolution. It would be accompanied the same task force that had sailed with it since its launching, all similarly re-flagged, renamed, and crewed by Chinese sailors.

Admiral McHenry ignored the Consulate General of Great Britain buzzing in his ear until taps ended and he lowered his salute. “I'm sorry, Counselor,” he said over his shoulder, “you were saying?”

“This is deplorable,” the counselor repeated. “You're delivering weapons into the hands of our enemy.”

The admiral shrugged in response. “They're bought and paid for,” he replied.

“But...” the counselor began, but was interrupted by the marshal music accompanying the raising of the flag of the Peoples Republic of China and the admiral resumed the position of attention without saluting.

Later, they stood side-by-side on the dock watching the great ship taking its position in the task force under the command of the Chinese admiral. A detachment of U.S. Marines held the press at bay. The Japanese and South Korean ambassadors stood slightly ahead of the admiral locked in uncharacteristic sympathy. “Poor devils,” the British diplomat observed. “China now has the tools to project power into the oceans around them.”

The admiral merely nodded as though lost in his own thoughts of foreboding. This was the third aircraft carrier task force sold to the Chinese. Even the Iranians now had one. The world was now at their mercy.

The Chinese Ambassador approached with a smile. “Why look so glum, Admiral?” he asked. “You now have a partner that's capable of sharing the burden of maintaining world peace.”

The British diplomat bit his tongue as he had been trained as the admiral returned the Ambassador's smile. “Yes, we look forward to working with you,” he replied as he had been trained. All three accepted the lie without reaction.

The sales had been sanctioned when the U.S. defaulted on its debt. Many still argued that it hadn't been necessary. Tax revenues were more than adequate to service the debt, principal and interest, but the President had insisted that his health care program was more essential than maintaining a world class fleet. Besides, he had argued, drone technology had negated any advantage that surface ships could provide.

Still, since the armaments had been turned over to the Chinese and Iranians, Europe and the United States had been obliged to accept widening Chinese and Iranian territorial claims. Many nations in Africa and Asia were now submitting to their demands for special trade concessions and the NATO alliance was on its last legs.

All this raced through the admiral's mind as he contemplated the bottle of fine bourbon and the handgun that awaited him in his office at the Pentagon.

We used to get upset with government when pot holes weren't repaired. Guest blogger Bill Husztek sees little things like that as trivialized by government's failures these days.

 On March 30, 1981 President Reagan was shot down by John Hinkley, a lust driven nutcase. At that time newspapers noted that the Secret Service and Metropolitan police couldn’t communicate with one another because their radio systems were not compatible. The Congress decided to act on it and sent out federal monies to correct the problem. Since I lived in Hawaii, it made no difference to my safety.

Let’s assume for a moment that I believed that Government, bigger and better has all the answers to my fears and the troubles of our society. Let us further assume that on September 11, 2001, this Nation had an epiphany. We realized that we were in a crisis which only Government could deliver us from.

That date then became our new starting point for a safer society. I could relax. The Government would handle keeping me safe and secure.

From the unique perspective of one of 100 million citizens who, has been through this all before, I would point out to my Liberal, or Progressive friends a simple fact of reality.  Make no mistake in this. My personal safety is paramount. Whatever Government wants to do is okay by me as long as I am safe to live my life left alone!

If something is broken and, Government as my Liberal friends assure me is the way to fix all problems, then I say to them. Fix it, leave me alone to live my life in peace. But keep me safe! Then I will abandon my Conservative skepticism and  follow you anywhere.

In 2011 on 9-11,  the Pentagon was brought to its knees by a jetliner come missile in the hands of three terrorists. Sitting here at this desk that morning I may well have heard the plane as it flew overhead toward the Capital. It is certain, I felt the shock wave of that impact as it rattled the windows of this office.

From that 9-11 attack  there came a hew and cry about the Metropolitan Washington land of all the Populist Press asking one question.

After the event. Why didn’t the emergency services respond better?

In 2001, it was discovered that local metropolitan Washington emergency services were ham-strung by the fact that each jurisdiction had communication systems which couldn’t communicate with their neighboring jurisdictions or the Federal Agencies or the Military. The quick and simple solution was for them to come together and establish a common communications system over which they could all work and share for my safety.

My Congress and President flung billions of dollars into bringing My Safety up to a level where I could relax and go about my business without further fear.

As they worked to keep me safe, they found they had to take  my shoes off to fly on jetliners. I had to dump my toiletries in airports. They built walls and moats and hired multitudes of people all to keep me safe in my daily life. I could no longer enter any public building except my church without facing a personal search, and a metal detector.

If I set my briefcase or a lunch bag on the public sidewalk in Washington for a minute I could instantly become the center of a blitz of police action. If I were to take pictures of public buildings I became a person of suspicion if the guards didn’t like my look.

With the billions of dollars to spend on improving my safety, local jurisdictions made going to the National Mall for a 4th of July celebration an impossibility for me. No longer could I take my cooler with its assorted foods and drinks, my umbrella and blanket, to any out door venue in the area. My wife’s purse had to become a gallon or less sized transparent baggie. I was now safe from those nefarious evil-doers.

Then last week, while I was fortunately out of town, an un-armed mad woman with her 1-year old child strapped into the back seat drove wildly up and down Washington streets, crashing barriers down at the White House and then the Capital building. Nothing was impervious to her little Japanese built sedan as she wreaked mayhem on the Nation’s Capital. She was finally shot in her back and killed, as she drove away from police by a fusillade of pistol fire! Theoretically those bullets passed close to her co-conspirator 1-year old daughter in the back seat.

How asked the local Populist Press, could this have occurred? After all she was chased down Pennsylvania Avenue from White House to the Capital all the while  pursued  by a whole herd of Secret Service Government Motors black Suburbans. All with their lights and guns blazing. She evaded them. How? Asked the Press. How I wondered?

Why didn’t n the Secret Service phone ahead to the Metropolitan Police, the Park Police, the Capital Police and all the other Police who thrive in the city of Washington. Why didn’t they get on their state of the art communications, i.e. radios, and warn the others that they were in pursuit of an unarmed mad terroristic mother of a one year old?

The police chief of the D.C. cops coldly informed the Press that her officers were so used to seeing the stately massive SUV Suburban GMC vehicles traveling with their lights flashing at outrageous speeds that they believed they were engaged in business as usual.

When the perky little Populist Press reporter asked, “Why didn’t the Secret Service  use their radios to communicate the danger to the Metropolitan police forces? She was answered imperiously.

Our communications systems aren’t compatible. We can’t talk to each other. We will need more money to fix it.

So, to my Liberal friends I pose this question. Do you think that they ever will?