Shakesthegrounds Rumblings

[Shakesthecoffecan]

I am going to ponder the word Circumnavigation.

It conjures up ideas of sex, surgical procedures, sexual orientation and world travel.

Mrs. Fanuken would say: "That's a powerful word".

[Shakesthecoffecan]

Well, I now have $8.00 in my coffee can.

[CellarDweller]

If I was small enough, I'd stay in your coffee can.

[ifyoucantfixit]

Happy Boxing Day.

On this day 39 years ago, the President I was named for died. I acknowledge this anniversary every year. As a child I had hoped to meet him. When he died I was nine and a half years old. I wore a campaign button from the 1948 election for days afterward, watching the coverage on TV.

[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oF0dJYh3JbM[/youtube]

I suppose if I had to be named for a public figure Harry Truman was as good as any. As a child the name was not a popular one, it forced me to stand out when I didn't want to, it has lead to expectation from people who jump to conclusions. It sometimes forces me away from rabbit holes.

He was a very unlikely President. He had failed at most everything. He got into politics and found favor with a political boss that supported him, to the horror of his poor wife, a woman who lived 90 years in fear that the public would find out her father had committed suicide in the bathtub of the house where they still lived. I cannot help but think when he accepted the nomination in 1944 he knew what would happen. Roosevelt was obviously a very sick man. His family was carried along onto a roller coaster ride that included moving into a White House that was literally falling down around them. Most of the presidency would be spent living at the Blair House nearby while the entire place was rebuilt.

When I visited his grave at his library in 2004, there was a monument erected by a lone veteran thanking him for dropping the Atomic Bombs on Japan. It reflects an almost forgotten ideal held by tens of thousands of servicemen and their families. He had saved their lives probably. No invasion of the island needed. That gratitude now seems almost absurd in the face of the pandora's box every single person that will ever be born with have to deal with.

My namesake Integrated the military. I think that is his greatest achievement. He was called all sorts of things. He was disparaged and everyone expected him to loose the 1948 election. We have all see that picture. "Dewey Defeats Truman". He was not perfect. The "Martinsville Seven" a group of seven African American men from my town were convicted of raping a white woman, and were all executed. He could have come involved but chose not to.





He was full of one liners. He was a true dandy. In 1953 he and his wife packed their 8 year old car and they drove home to Missouri. Took a week. No secret service, no motorcade. Just two old people alone on the road, stopping and eating at diners, staying at roadside motels. Not even a cell phone. Such a thing will never happen again. In retirement the man whose finances had never been his strong point found a life of near destitution until Congress agreed to pay former Presidents a pension. He wrote him memoirs, and walked from his house to his office at his Presidential Library every day until the last month or two of his life.

I have lived to see a time when my name is considered cool. My own nephew and his wife considered naming their son for me but I talked them out of it. He is still better off with them name he has. I kind of like keeping it for meself.

  "Friend, thats more words than you've spoke in the last few weeks."

[Shakesthecoffecan]

If I was small enough, I'd stay in your coffee can.

Wow, Chuck we could make a mint of money if you could. I will get a bigger can if you want to try.

[Jeff Wrangler]

Happy Boxing Day.

On this day 39 years ago, the President I was named for died. I acknowledge this anniversary every year. As a child I had hoped to meet him. When he died I was nine and a half years old. I wore a campaign button from the 1948 election for days afterward, watching the coverage on TV.

[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oF0dJYh3JbM[/youtube]

I suppose if I had to be named for a public figure Harry Truman was as good as any. As a child the name was not a popular one, it forced me to stand out when I didn't want to, it has lead to expectation from people who jump to conclusions. It sometimes forces me away from rabbit holes.

He was a very unlikely President. He had failed at most everything. He got into politics and found favor with a political boss that supported him, to the horror of his poor wife, a woman who lived 90 years in fear that the public would find out her father had committed suicide in the bathtub of the house where they still lived. I cannot help but think when he accepted the nomination in 1944 he knew what would happen. Roosevelt was obviously a very sick man. His family was carried along onto a roller coaster ride that included moving into a White House that was literally falling down around them. Most of the presidency would be spent living at the Blair House nearby while the entire place was rebuilt.

When I visited his grave at his library in 2004, there was a monument erected by a lone veteran thanking him for dropping the Atomic Bombs on Japan. It reflects an almost forgotten ideal held by tens of thousands of servicemen and their families. He had saved their lives probably. No invasion of the island needed. That gratitude now seems almost absurd in the face of the pandora's box every single person that will ever be born with have to deal with.

My namesake Integrated the military. I think that is his greatest achievement. He was called all sorts of things. He was disparaged and everyone expected him to loose the 1948 election. We have all see that picture. "Dewey Defeats Truman". He was not perfect. The "Martinsville Seven" a group of seven African American men from my town were convicted of raping a white woman, and were all executed. He could have come involved but chose not to.





He was full of one liners. He was a true dandy. In 1953 he and his wife packed their 8 year old car and they drove home to Missouri. Took a week. No secret service, no motorcade. Just two old people alone on the road, stopping and eating at diners, staying at roadside motels. Not even a cell phone. Such a thing will never happen again. In retirement the man whose finances had never been his strong point found a life of near destitution until Congress agreed to pay former Presidents a pension. He wrote him memoirs, and walked from his house to his office at his Presidential Library every day until the last month or two of his life.

I have lived to see a time when my name is considered cool. My own nephew and his wife considered naming their son for me but I talked them out of it. He is still better off with them name he has. I kind of like keeping it for meself.

I once read a book about President Truman called Plain Speaking. I liked it very much.

[CellarDweller]

Wow, Chuck we could make a mint of money if you could. I will get a bigger can if you want to try.

 

[Shakesthecoffecan]

I have Plain Speaking in my collection somewhere and fully intend to read it one day.

[Shakesthecoffecan]

The first thing he noticed when they went in was that all the patients were on respirators. Without exception.

Billy had been coming here for a year now to see his step son. He had come to live here after the stepsons wife proved to be incompetent in caring for her husband after the doctors told her they could do no more. The bullet he fired that night had not damaged his mental faculties, but the physical situation was hopeless. At 30, the remainder of his life would be spent in this room, with this TV, this room mate, this machine breathing for him, this sunken forehead. His feet and hands turning inward with atrophy, followed by his legs and arms.

It was Robbie's first visit, and he was as prepared as someone could be on a first visit. It was a ghastly situation. They were everywhere, sitting in wheelchairs, some asleep, some moving toward them to see what was going on, room after room of damaged people with tubes connected to their throats to fill their lungs with air.

Billy called to one of them "Hey Roscoe, how ya doing?" The bespeckled face lit up and a grunted response accompanied the smile. "He knows everything that goes on in here, has to check it all out." Roscoe was checking it out. People here got visitors but rarely did they carry a guitar and a Conga Drum.

David was sitting up in he bed, and his eyes turned from The TV when they came into his world. "How ya doing there partner? Feeling okay today?" his step father asked. In response Davids eyes widened and his face lit up a bit. Robbie smiled at him, remembering the blond young boy who had once built a fort with his own son. He vocalized a bit, recognizing him. Billy addressed the room mate, a rotund man who was more ambulatory, he was happy to see them, sure it would be fine if they made a little music.

Robbie pushed the door together, and got out the guitar. Billy beat a rhythm on the conga, and Davids eyes widened to take it all in, the hands translating their force into a palatable feeling in his body. He was excited. Robbie tuned his instrument and they played Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer"

"I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest"

"Ya like that?" Billy called way too loud.

"Eh!" came the reply, between small blasts from the machine.

Robbie and Billy looked one another in the eye and Robbie said "Diamonds and Rust?"

"Sure!"


[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtQh0EBbPwo[/youtube]

Outside the room, up and down the hall, those who could move, moved toward their doors. The staff stopped what they were doing and congregated in hushed tones. The sleepers awoke. For three minutes the world stopped its progress to nowhere. The TVs were silenced and as they had already paid, Roscoe wheeled himself to the shut door and tapped.

Billy cracked it open and looked down at him.

"We, uhhhhhhhh, want to hear the uhhhhhhhhhh music too!"

He swung the door open and without missing a beat exclaimed "Cool! but we're getting ready to play some Jimi Hendrix, we're all done with this sad shit!"

Over his shoulder, he heard the faint, familiar giggle of David, coming between breaths.

[Penthesilea]

The first thing he noticed when they went in was that all the patients were on respirators. Without exception.

Billy had been coming here for a year now to see his step son. He had come to live here after the stepsons wife proved to be incompetent in caring for her husband after the doctors told her they could do no more. The bullet he fired that night had not damaged his mental faculties, but the physical situation was hopeless. At 30, the remainder of his life would be spent in this room, with this TV, this room mate, this machine breathing for him, this sunken forehead. His feet and hands turning inward with atrophy, followed by his legs and arms.

It was Robbie's first visit, and he was as prepared as someone could be on a first visit. It was a ghastly situation. They were everywhere, sitting in wheelchairs, some asleep, some moving toward them to see what was going on, room after room of damaged people with tubes connected to their throats to fill their lungs with air.

Billy called to one of them "Hey Roscoe, how ya doing?" The bespeckled face lit up and a grunted response accompanied the smile. "He knows everything that goes on in here, has to check it all out." Roscoe was checking it out. People here got visitors but rarely did they carry a guitar and a Conga Drum.

David was sitting up in he bed, and his eyes turned from The TV when they came into his world. "How ya doing there partner? Feeling okay today?" his step father asked. In response Davids eyes widened and his face lit up a bit. Robbie smiled at him, remembering the blond young boy who had once built a fort with his own son. He vocalized a bit, recognizing him. Billy addressed the room mate, a rotund man who was more ambulatory, he was happy to see them, sure it would be fine if they made a little music.

Robbie pushed the door together, and got out the guitar. Billy beat a rhythm on the conga, and Davids eyes widened to take it all in, the hands translating their force into a palatable feeling in his body. He was excited. Robbie tuned his instrument and they played Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer"

"I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest"

"Ya like that?" Billy called way too loud.

"Eh!" came the reply, between small blasts from the machine.

Robbie and Billy looked one another in the eye and Robbie said "Diamonds and Rust?"

"Sure!"


[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtQh0EBbPwo[/youtube]

Outside the room, up and down the hall, those who could move, moved toward their doors. The staff stopped what they were doing and congregated in hushed tones. The sleepers awoke. For three minutes the world stopped its progress to nowhere. The TVs were silenced and as they had already paid, Roscoe wheeled himself to the shut door and tapped.

Billy cracked it open and looked down at him.

"We, uhhhhhhhh, want to hear the uhhhhhhhhhh music too!"

He swung the door open and without missing a beat exclaimed "Cool! but we're getting ready to play some Jimi Hendrix, we're all done with this sad shit!"

Over his shoulder, he heard the faint, familiar giggle of David, coming between breaths.

Don't know where this came from, and it's not my business either.
I loved to read it. It's a wonderful short story.
You have a way with words, friend. I know I've told you before, but it bears repeating.