It's Colonial Heights, Please

Maybe the first time I heard the city called “The Heights” was during an interview with a local soccer coach from Chesterfield County.  As I was working, I didn’t really pay that much attention at the time, but lately I have been hearing The Heights, as a reference to Colonial Heights, more and more.

It is a bit disturbing, considering how history is being demolished throughout the US, and yes, even right here in Virginia. Supposedly, the city earned its moniker during the Revolutionary war.  During the Battle of Petersburg, the Marquis de Lafayette commanded a small artillery detachment that fired cannon shot onto the British forces in Petersburg in order to allow the Colonial Militia to retreat across the Appomattox and onto the high ground that is now the city of Colonial Heights.

Somehow, to me, cutting out the Colonial portion of the name seems wrong.  It’s like dragging down statues or trying to tuck away parts of history to “clean it up a bit.”  Jeesh, the next thing you know this kind of emasculation will continue and expand throughout the world.

Slaves were part of many of our most ancient civilizations, and are still today in many countries.  Can you imagine ancient Greece, or Rome, or Egypt without slaves?  In many cases, slaves were used as a sort of sport for the political elite at the time.

And yet, we find ourselves, we so called Americans, arguing every which way about what monuments should stay and which should go.  And even that has gotten out of hand.

Back to “Colonial” Heights.  The headquarters for the resistance back in those days was Violet Bank.  Ironically, it was also Lee’s headquarters during the siege of Petersburg during the Civil War.

So what can we do with that conundrum?

Is it proper to let it stand as a commemoration to those who fought and perished during the battle for Petersburg? Or should we just tear it down since Lee also used the strategically place property at the top of the heights in Chesterfield County, at the time, for his meetings and strategy sessions?

Beats me. I think they should all stay. Somehow, I think, we lose too much on a whim just because the truth rattles some people, or makes them feel somewhat less comfortable. In a way, it’s sort of like restructuring the Best Film, or the Best Songs, or the Best quarterback years after the face, and they tend to collect too many contemporary items due to popularity.  Then, given the time for history to do its thing, the popularity diminishes and we are left with the ones that truly deserve commemoration.

And in truth, the statues should make people somewhat uncomfortable.  These landmarks, these tourist attractions, these blots against the sensibility of a few, should stand.  They need to stay in place, like the ground zero monument at the former World Trade Center site.

Which brings me back to Colonial Heights.  In some ways, I guess people think, well the old Colonial Heights Baptist Church rebranded itself as The Heights Baptist Church so we probably ought to modernize the City, too.

But that ain’t for me.  To me, it’s Colonial Heights, in honor of the Colonials forces who managed to stop the British forces in Petersburg from breaking past the Appomattox River and sent them back to Jamestown just in time for Lord Cornwallis’ ultimate defeat.  It was a small victory, but one of the last battles that led to our initial freedom.

Statues, and battles, and flags “Oh my.”

Racism starts and stops with US

It has to end.

It must stop.

People have to realize that all this racism, all this hate, all this argument yields nothing.  It yields nothing but death, and more hate, and more racism.

Today, as I was walking into Wawa to get lunch, a black man opened and held the door for me, a white man.  I thanked him, and he said, “It’s all about respect.”

I said, “Yes, it is really. And we need it more today than we ever did before.”

He agreed and we went about our way.  He to the drink counter, me to order my BLT.  And, it struck me, as I was punching keys for a little mayo and a little vinegar, that the man had hit the nail on the head.

In the past, I’ve argued that the Confederate Battle flag no longer means what it did.  The Sons of Confederate Soldiers need seriously to take a look at what has happened to that once honored symbol.  It’s not about honor, rights, or anything sacrosanct anymore. People, bad people really, have consumed the flag; they dishonor it, they spew aspersions while waving this once very honorable banner in the air.

They are attempting to do the same thing with the Red Wings logo from the Detroit professional hockey team.  And, unfortunately, they will likely prevail in smearing that symbol, too.  They will prevail because there is no way to stop it.

It’s my belief that, for the most part, race relations have gotten better over the years.  I think black, white, yellow, red does not make a person better or worse.  We are all made of the same stuff.  A slight difference in genetic structure doesn’t affect the result except by outward appearances.  Outward appearances only.

How evil and insidious is racism?  It can pervade our society, and it can do so in a manner that we don’t even get until it’s too late.  The communities we live in, the breadth of our friendships, and how we choose to relate to one-another.  It’s difficult.

From my own life, I know how undermining things can be.  I did not come from a racist household.  We did not sit around and talk about other people in disparaging terms.  We never really spoke about race; a non-starter, a non-issue.

And yet, when I was 10 years old, I made a racist comment while playing with a kid of color.  It did not dawn on me then that the comment was racist, but believe me it was.  Later, with some perspective, I realized it.  Ask me and I will tell you the story, but I don’t think it needs to be here.

My point being that no matter how much we believe we aren’t racist, race is an insidious thing.  It can and will insinuate itself in such a sly manner that we often don’t even realize it is happening.

It happened to me when I was 10 years old.  My family is not a racist family.  We do not harbor such feelings, and yet.  And yet, such a comment came out of my own mouth, not in a hateful way, but hurtful none-the-less.

To me, it was a simple thing once I realized it.  Take a look at yourself.  An honest look.  Not that kind of look where you spend a few minutes and don’t take it to heart. 

It’s time to put this evil behind us.  We need to openly show that incidents like the one in Charlottesville last weekend are not pervasive in our world, it’s not representative of our country.  We need to move from here, and get to a point where we accept one another as we are. A place where we realize that it’s all about respect: respect for ourselves and respect for each other.

It’s time to wake up America. It’s time to show the world what our country is really about.

The Problem with Peacocks

COLONIAL HEIGHTS—It looks like the city is continuing its battle against avian kind.  First, it was Buddy Waskey’s blue-birds-of-happiness, and now it appears that the city is rounding up the usual suspects to eliminate even more avian intruders—those dastardly peacocks.

Yes, I’m talking about the peacocks that have become almost common around the community. I believe some live in the gully behind my house. At night, I hear the peacocks singing, each to each.  And, yes, they apparently have to go.  They are not an indigenous species, they create a racket, and they are dangerous to things like cars, garbage trucks, and little children, I think.

Studies at at-least one other peacock infested area in central Florida has shown that these birds of pray (sic) are far more dangerous than the alien invasion of Canada geese, which have literally taken over the Southpark Mall area.  My God, I had to stop for all of 30 seconds one day as a gaggle of 10 of the black and white Christmas dinners waddled single file from Walmart to the Battery Barn.

Obviously, these pea fowl are much larger with their straggly NBC-tailfeathers dragging along the road, although they don’t seem to hang out in the local shopping areas.  Of course, there aren’t all that many shopping areas left in the city, and what with the Kroger flopping and the Publix still months away, we can probably assume those infidel geese will remain in the so-called shopping district, cluttering the area with their green Tootsie-Roll-like droppings.

But enough of that, really, because there is no way to control the geese.  They are far too numerous and, I believe, a protected species.  Protected for what?  Who knows?

Back to the pea fowl, or foul.  The problem with the peacocks is that they started with two, which became a mating pair.  They now estimate there are 10, a relatively small flock as those standards go.  The real argument, and at some level I like the peacocks, is that since they are apparently roaming freely throughout the city, there is no way to control their expanding numbers.  Two becomes, four, four become eight, eight become 16.  Sixteen become 32, see where this leads?

In Florida, Longboat Key, a barrier island off the mainland between Sarasota Bay and the Gulf of Mexico, they’re battling the exact problem the city is trying to avoid.  What then to do about their over-abundant peacocks?

Most people, well at least vacationers who may in fact be from Virginia, see the peacocks, or may be stopped as the birds cross the main road.  I am certain they think it quaint.  “Oh, look, isn’t that so cool!  They have peacocks!” the week-long beach-lovers from the great white North might say.

But it’s not the same for the people who live on the Island, or work on the Island, or visit the Island daily throughout the year.  To them, the peacock flocks have grown well beyond the cute and quaint stages, sort of the way puppies and kittens outgrow their cute-and-cuddly phase to become dogs and cats.

The fowl came into foul play in Colonial Heights because they are considered agriculture and there is no agriculture zoning in the city, with the possible exception of the retention pond next to Walmart—just kidding.  Yes, it probably is not agriculture, but it is the “home” of a preponderance of the city’s indigenous Canadian Geese population, and a veritable “no walk zone” for city residents.

In a recent story from the Bradenton Herald, the town of Longboat Key, in a put-up-or-shut-up move, anteed $25,000 to help rid themselves of about 100 peacocks living in the northern part of the island.  That’s not chicken feed.

LONGBOAT KEY -- About a hundred peacocks running around the village on the north end of Longboat Key are about to find new homes after at least 50 years on the island, thanks to about $25,000 from the town.

Which brings us back to The Heights and its potential peacock problem; which really is more of a nuisance at this point.  As much as I would like to think and write that the city may be wrong-headed in this endeavor, I have to concede they are right.

Two peacocks become 10 peacocks.  Ten peacocks are already creating issues for some in our burgh, but 10 will be 100 before you know it and then it will cost a great deal of money to take care of the problem.  The time to act is now.  What to do with them when you capture them is another problem; but no question this is and ought to be a growing concern for the city leaders.

I will miss them when they are gone; but gone is what they need to be.  Now let’s see what we can do about the geese.

Burial Detail for a Great Friend

As the last few forlorn notes of Taps echoed over Blandford Cemetery, I was taken back to the mid-70s when I was the driver for a number of burial details while serving with the 82^nd Airborne.  We would pile into a pair of cars and hustle to the burial sites that were literally all over southern North Carolina and Northern South Carolina, anywhere within about 200 miles of Fort Bragg.

For days prior to the funeral, we would practice the moves, the stations, the playing of the bugle, and the firing of a 21-gun salute.  It was one of those duties that all troops make with respect.  We never knew who the person was that we were going to provide the military pomp for, but I do remember one being a Naval Captain and a few other Army officers and NCOs.

At the time, it never really meant much more than providing such an honor to someone who had spent a good portion of their lives supporting the American cause.  So, Monday, as I stood in the midst of hundreds of tombstones at the very far reaches of Blandford Cemetery, those haunting last notes rang through the air as I am sure they have done at many of the hundreds of gravesites surrounding us.

But this time was different.  This time we were burying someone I considered a friend.  We stood, six of us pall bearers, looking over the casket draped with Old Glory at a fair group of family and friends standing to see the last ethereal moments with Samuel Walter George.

I knew him as Walter, the name most people probably knew him by, although I am sure father, grandfather, husband, and, to me, friend were also part of his naming.  He had always been a bigger-than-life kind of man during the 25-odd years I knew him.  Not just because of his stature, but because of the way he handled himself as a consummate professional.

Carrying my corner of his casket to its final resting place was a huge honor.  As a fellow veteran, and for someone I truly admired, taking those final steps with him in hand is the kind of memory that doesn’t wash out with time, as most do.

The thing that really hit home for me was during the funeral at Small’s Funeral Home, when they were speaking about his life and the things he was involved in.  During that moment, they read a passage about George having been in the Battle of the Bulge.

To many of us, me included, the Battle of the Bulge is just an old war movie.  While I remember that movie, I thought we tend to forget that there were actual people who were involved in the “real action,” so to speak.  In many ways, the bulge was the last battle of the German soldiers during World War II.  From that point on, the Germans were driven back into their final surrender.

I would never have known my friend was involved in such a heroic battle, had it not be listed in his obituary.  Strange how we can know people for such a long time, and not know those memorable parts of their past that have drifted away with time.  And so, with a very heavy heart, I just would like to say farewell to George, a soldier, a father, a grandfather, and a husband:  goodbye friend, until we meet again.

Roundabout Hullabaloo, or East meets North and South meets West

Call it morning driving through the sound and

In and out the valley - Roundabout, by Yes

What happens when stupidity overrides common sense is you end up installing road signs that say, Temple Ave North and Temple Avenue South, on the I-95 North and South exit ramps to Colonial Heights’ soon to be new whirligig, sorry, I mean roundabout.  During the planning meetings at the New and Improved Colonial Heights Courthouse, members of the Virginia Department of Transportation (VDOT) continuously stated just how important it would be to have proper signage.

One thing’s for sure, they have really big signs and as we all well now, size definitely matters.  But if you’re getting the basics wrong, then that really doesn’t help does it? A big green and white sign that won’t jibe with any GPS made can cause more problems and frustration than the current exit ramps.  Why, you ask?  Simply because someone at VDOT forgot the road numbering dogma that even is East-West and odd is North-South:  that’s why I-95 runs from Miami to Boston and I-64 runs from Virginia Beach to who-cares-where (past Lexington) out West.

You see, Temple Ave is state route 144 and even numbers ought to be East-West and not North-South.  Anyone who travels the road knows that when you get off I-95 at Temple Ave you can go right to Southpark Mall or East to the Boulevard, and the church formerly known as Colonial Heights Baptist Church. So why is the Temple Ave exit marked North and South?

The simple answer is that someone in the VDOT sign shop made a mistake and didn't follow the state's normal route numbering.  When they were building Temple Ave, it never really mattered too much whether it was north-south or east-west.  Common sense tells you that you can take Temple to get to Hopewell, or if in Hopewell you can take it to get to Colonial Heights.

The problem comes when, for whatever reason, an East-West road was named North-South.  I assume the sign was created by someone who doesn’t know anything about the specific road, i.e. Temple Avenue.  If you know the lay of the land, you know that Temple Ave, under any description, bisects I-95 which runs north and south.  See the bridge on South Temple Ave and you should get the point. The exit ramps, by rights, ought to be East-West matching the road number.  

Getting the direction wrong is not a good sign (pun intended) for what is happening with the whirli—excuse me, roundabout anyway.  It would seem that someone somewhere ought to have known that Temple Ave, so called SR 144, is an East-West thoroughfare and decidedly not north-south.  Were it actually North-South, one would assume that the road would run parallel to I-95, which is definitely oriented North-South, and if so ought to end in an odd digit.

In truth, no one from the Tri-Cities would get this wrong.  In fact, if they were like me, they would probably just laugh about it.  I did when I saw the first picture of the fake news naming of the route posted on FaceBook by Lloyd Goddard.  I know when I get off the Interstate that I can go right (East) to Southpark Mall or left (West) to Mi Rodeo.

Using the highway exit is how I know this.  It’s tautology, or learned behavior.  It’s common sense.

People new to the area, those who are merely trying to get dinner and gas, or those printing highway signs would have basically no idea which way to turn.  Unless of course, they have a GPS and some inkling of where they want to go by setting up a “point of interest” to get there.  Mi Rodeo is probably listed, but my wife Jackie and I know exactly where that restaurant is having frequented it literally on a weekly basis.

In truth, this is just a matter of ignorance versus common sense.  One expects that the people making the sign didn’t do their due diligence and decided that Temple must be north-south despite it being numbered 144.  It’s interesting to note that at one point the Colonial Heights sign on North I-95 near Petersburg was originally Colonial Height.  It stands to reason that the type size for that sign would not adjust for the “s” at the end of Height.  But such things are understandable, and in the end the sign was changed to Colonial Heights.

Of course, that sign was not nearly as uninformed as the one is for the I-95 Temple avenue exits.  Perhaps someone from VDOT, who understands how to use a compass, will figure out the problem with the Temple North-South exit ramps to an East-West running highway.  But then again, maybe not. Still, if they can’t get the signs right how does that play into the overall construction of the whirli-excuse me, roundabout, anyway?

And, while we are on the subject of the roundabout anyway, why not take a moment to name the park that will be the core of the road system.  Being that it will be the very first thing a new-to-the-area driver will encounter when entering the city, it seems to me that making it into some kind of flowery park is in order.  And, if you are going to do that, it makes sense to name it after the family that suffered the most to create the roundabout, and yes, to creating the stretch of highway formerly known as the Richmond-Petersburg Turnpike, too.

And who might that be, you ask? Well, I think Goddard Park has a nice ring to it.  Not everyone can have a Picadilly Circus, as they do in London.  On the other hand, a circus ain’t a circus without elephants and clowns.  And then you will have to decide whether you’re going to the North hemisphere or the South hemisphere?

Oh well, welcome to Colonial Heights where North meets South, even if it’s supposed to be East and West.

Main Stream Media Abandons the Truth

FYI:  I am in favor of a special prosecutor; if Trump did nothing he should be cleared, if he did do something it needs to be cleaned up, whatever that means.

It seems as if Mollie Hemingway, a writer for The Federalist, in a May 16^th story, may have her finger on the pulse of the fake news that is being passed around as gospel.  Hemingway takes aim at a few recent Washington Post “breaking news” stories, based on leaks from “anonymous sources” that appear to be wrong.

One such story was that former FBI Director Jim Comey had recently asked for more funding for the “Russian” investigation.  Another was the report that “Deputy Attorney General Rod J. Rosenstein threatened to resign after the narrative emerging from the White House on Tuesday evening cast him as a prime mover of the decision to fire Comey.”

Of course, Rosenstein himself responded saying that he had no intention of leaving his job.  But what is behind all of this “misinformation” really?  What’s behind it is the main stream media’s desire to flip the script and attack the president with any random negativity they come across, whether or not it is true?

Often, they would much rather run on a weak story that pushes their narrative forward without regard for the truth, or what most people call “facts.”  When I was a reporter, I had to have three sources before I was allowed to publish a “breaking news” story.  In fact, there were several stories that I knew about but because they were handed to me by “anonymous” sources they died on the vine.  But in the end, the stories wound up being true, I just couldn’t prove it.

So what’s a reporter to do?  Well, in the current era it seems that anything that even remotely appears to support your agenda is fair game to print.  After all, why let facts get in the way of a good story?

No matter where you fall in the political spectrum, the way the news is being doled out today lacks any adherence to facts.  The rush to ridicule is outrageous.  It’s no wonder “fake news” is the term of the decade.  They don’t even grace it with the term, lies.  It used to be near impossible to put out information that was so far from the truth. Now, it’s the run of the mill.

For me, it’s almost impossible to believe anything the current news folk put out.  The closest thing to truth we get from the media today is the weather report.  In days past, the weather report was the least likely to prove true.

Hemmingway put together a list of 9 things to keep in mind when reading reports in today’s newspapers.  They follow:

1.      In the immediate aftermath, news outlets will get it wrong.

2.      Don’t trust anonymous sources. If democracy dies in darkness, anonymity is not exactly transparent or accountable. Unless someone is willing to put his or her name with a leak, be on guard. Pay attention to how well the reporters characterize the motivations of the anonymous leaker. All leakers have motivation. Does the paper seem to have a grasp on how the motivation affects the veracity of the leak?

3.      If someone is leaking national security information in order to support the claim of a national security violation, be on guard.

4.      If someone is claiming a serious national security crisis but not willing to go public with the claim and resign in protest of same, be on guard.

5.      Compare sources willing to put their name and reputation on the line.

6.      Big anti-Trump news brings out the fakers.

7.      Pay attention to the language that the media uses. Is a story about something unimportant being written in such a way as to make it seem more important?

8.      Beware confirmation bias. Everyone has the tendency to interpret new evidence as confirmation of one’s existing beliefs or theories. Be on guard that you don’t accept critical or exonerating evidence to match your political preferences.

9.      Pay attention to how quickly and fully editors and reporters correct stories based on false information from anonymous sources. If they don’t correct at all, it’s an indication of a lack of respect.

Sounds like good advice to me; what do you think?

Happy Mother's Day, Jackie

Staying in a relationship for 30 years is a pretty long time by today’s standards. It seems today that a relationship, that is a marriage, doesn’t last much longer than a package of disposable razors.  And, I suspect that most marriages today sort of forget about all that to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer junk that seems paramount in the old school marriage vows, but today just seem to be part of the recycle routine.

Tired of your spouse? Just dump him or her in the big green vessel and a truck comes by and takes him or her away every other Friday.  Heck, if you leave them curbside some poor misbegotten scrapper may even pick them up.

But even so, some marriages just have staying power.  I would like to say that some relationships are the cuddly kind.  All sweetness and sap, what my mother used to call Saccharin sweet.  For those who don’t remember, Saccharin was an early artificial sweetener that really overplayed its hand.  It was beyond sweet.  When my mother used the term it was for someone who was way too sweet to be a real person.  You know the kind of person who for one reason or another insists on being all sweet and light and lovey-dovey.  The kind that makes you wonder if they are not really just putting up a façade to hide the serial killer they really are.

I’ve never really been that snuggly kind of person.  You know the one that needs constant close attention from their significant other.  Perhaps it’s just the time I spent on my own, not having to deal with anything other than myself and my own problems.  Nobody ever took much time to cuddle with me, and I wouldn’t have allowed it anyway.

So what does this have to do with the price of tears in heaven, you might ask?  Well, for those of you who have not seen Guardians of the Galaxy part 2, this probably won’t ruin the plot. But while watching that show Sunday afternoon, I realized that my alter ego was playing a part on the screen.

All things taken together, to me there is no doubt that they based this character’s disposition on me.  Had I only known in time enough I might have been able to get a cut of the cinematic pie and be rich beyond my dreams. Move over Publisher’s Clearing House, here I come.

But then, it’s probably a little hard to put a price on an attitude.  And it came to me in a rush, in a joke actually, when Drax told Mantis it would be okay to pet his dog, Rocket.

So at this point, I have probably lost everyone who reads this, well everyone who has never seen either of the Galaxy movies (shame on you).  So, for those who don’t get the idea, Rocket is a raccoon-based genetically and mechanically engineered critter.  The very last thing in the world someone should try to do with him is pet him or cuddle with him.  He is much more fond of explosives and large futuristic guns.  Oh yeah!, to quote Rocket.

So with that realization, you know that in some ways Rocket’s character was derived from me, I have a new understanding of just how fortunate I was to grab a wife like Jackie when the time came around.  At times, even a crotchety old goat like me gets a turn on the merry go round and selects the golden ring.

So my dear, for all those times past and future, when you really really really needed a hug, and I just wasn’t a hugger, this one is for you.  And for all of you other Mother’s out there, hope you have a great Mother’s Day too.